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The Value of Irish Humor (some good, clean, wholesome jokes :-)
Catholic Exchange ^ | March 17, 2006 | Tom Purcell

Posted on 03/17/2006 7:41:51 AM PST by NYer

It's my great good fortune to be a fellow of Irish descent. I share my good fortune with a quarter of all Americans, who can also trace their heritage back to the rolling green hills of Ireland.

As a lad, I remember my father, the Big Guy, sitting on the back porch on Sundays. Uncle Mike would sometimes visit for a couple of beers, and few things gave them more pleasure than swapping Irish jokes.

Such as the one about the fellow who was touring the Irish countryside. Hungry, he stopped at a farm and asked for refreshment. The lady of the house served him a bowl of soup. There was a pig in the house that kept running up to the fellow.

"That is the friendliest pig I ever did meet," he said to the woman.
"He's not friendly at all," said the woman. "That's his bowl you're using."

I know that I'm not really "Irish," but an American through and through. I know, too, that I'm also of German descent, and, much to my father's horror, my great grandmother on his side turned out not to be Irish, but 100% French.

Still, in my family we idealize what it means to be Irish. Being Irish means to laugh easily, to never take yourself too seriously, to be wary of getting lost in the narrowness of your own point of view.

Which reminds me of the one about the German spy who is sent to Ireland during World War II. The German is instructed to meet an Irish spy named Murphy and confirm Murphy's identity by saying, "The weather could change by Tuesday."

After the German parachutes into Ireland, he sets off for town. Along the way, he asks a farmer where he might find a man named Murphy.

"Well, sir, it all depends on which Murphy," says the farmer. "We have Murphy the doctor, Murphy the postal carrier, Murphy the stone mason and Murphy the teacher. As a matter of fact, I, too, am Murphy, Murphy the farmer."

The German gets an idea.

"The weather could change by Tuesday," he says.

"Aye," says the farmer, "you'll be wanting Murphy the spy."

James Thurber, one of my favorite humorists, says the wheels of humor are set in motion by the damp hand of melancholy. Aristotle wrote that comedy and tragedy are close cousins. The Irish have long known that humor and laughter are our chief weapons for combating sadness and pain.

Which reminds me of the time a young Irishman tells his mother he's in love. Just for fun, he brings home three girls and asks his mother to guess which of the three he has chosen to be his bride.

After his mother interviews all three, she says, "Your fiancée is the one in the middle."

"That's amazing, ma. How did you know?"

"Because I don't like her."

British academic and joke theorist Christy Davies says a good joke can help clarify and express complex feelings. A good joke can cut to the heart of the matter better than any speech or law or government policy.

If only every country and every culture held such a point of view. How much better the world would be if all people responded to humor by laughing or at least by thinking — instead of rioting and blowing things up.

These days, with all the conflict and disagreement going on, we could all profit from a better sense of humor.

Which reminds me of the time Pat explained to Mike why his valiant effort to scale Mount Everest fell short.

"Aye," says Pat, "I would have made it to the top had I not run out of scaffolding."


TOPICS: Catholic; Current Events; History; Humor
KEYWORDS: catholic; humor; irish; jokes; stpatrick
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To: Chickensoup

Thanks for those jokes! I really needed a good laugh.


21 posted on 03/17/2006 10:49:06 AM PST by NYer (Discover the beauty of the Eastern Catholic Churches - freepmail me for more information.)
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To: NYer
"Aye," says the farmer, "you'll be wanting Murphy the spy."

This reminded me of a Russian cold war-time joke. A CIA spy, capping a lifelong career of language, history and culture training, is parachuted into the Russian woods deep inside the Soviet Union. As is the plan, he discards the parachute and remains in baggy peasant pants held up by a rope, crude boots and a collarless shirt. He treks to the nearest village and as the custom he knows so well is, knocks on the front window of a dilapidated log cabin. An old woman emerges and greets him,

-- Good day, son.
-- Good day mother. Would you kindly give a poor soul a drink of water,-- the spy intones.

The woman remerges with a scoop filled with water. As he drinks, she dolefully remarks:

-- Son, God forgive you for you are an American spy.
-- Mother, as God is my witness, ... Damn, how did you know?
-- Son, your are black.

22 posted on 03/17/2006 11:02:46 AM PST by annalex
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To: NYer

Paddy O'Flannigan was a-lyin' there on his deathbed, breathin' out his last, and his good friend Seamus O'Sullivan was standin' there next to him, to see him off, as it were.

So Paddy says to Seamus: "Seamus, ye know, laddie, I tink this is it, I don't tink I'm gonna make it through the night."

And Seamus says: "Don't be goin' on like that, now, Paddy, ye hear. Everyting is gonna be just fine, I can feel it."

And so Paddy says to Seamus: "Well, be that as it may, boy-o, I have a last request that I'd like to trust to ye."

And Seamus says: "Well, what is it, man?"

And so Paddy says: "Well, you see that bottle of fine Irish whiskey oop there on me mantle?"

And Seamus spies it on the mantle and says: "Aye, that I do."

And Paddy says: "Well, after I'm dead and buried, I'd like ye to pour it over me grave for me, as a partin' token of the world I'm leavin' behind."

And Seamus says: "Sure, I'll be doin' that for you Paddy, but don't be goin' on like that..."

And then he seemed thoughtful, and he says: "Paddy...would ye be mindin' if I asked ye a question?"

And Paddy says: "Nay, what is it that's troublin' ye?"

And so Seamus says: "Well...'tis a fine bottle of Irish whiskey as ye've so keenly observed...would ye be mindin' terribly much if I passed it through me kidneys first?"


23 posted on 03/17/2006 12:06:30 PM PST by magisterium
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To: magisterium

God Bless the Irish -- they'd rather fight than win!


24 posted on 03/17/2006 12:45:28 PM PST by Syberyenta
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To: magisterium

HEHE, I heard that one before... prob from the comedian Dave Allen, not sure... so Seamus thinks it's a good tribute to piss on Paddy's grave? LOL


25 posted on 03/17/2006 1:01:16 PM PST by Irish_Thatcherite (~~~A vote for Bertie Ahern is a vote for Gerry Adams!~~~)
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To: Irish_Thatcherite

Aye, 'tis no finer tribute than not to waste the stuff!


26 posted on 03/17/2006 1:06:36 PM PST by magisterium
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To: magisterium

That's actually a good point!!


27 posted on 03/17/2006 1:08:29 PM PST by Irish_Thatcherite (~~~A vote for Bertie Ahern is a vote for Gerry Adams!~~~)
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To: Syberyenta

LOL!!


28 posted on 03/17/2006 1:08:56 PM PST by Irish_Thatcherite (~~~A vote for Bertie Ahern is a vote for Gerry Adams!~~~)
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To: PandaRosaMishima
A man is waiting for the light to change at a Belfast street corner. Suddenly, he feels a gun pressed into his back.

"Alright, me lad, be you a Catholic, or a Protestant?"

The man thinks quickly and says, "I'm Jewish."

"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! I must be the luckiest Muslim in all of Ireland!"

29 posted on 03/17/2006 1:13:23 PM PST by BeHoldAPaleHorse (Tagline deleted at request of moderator.)
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To: TXBSAFH
ROTFLOL!!
30 posted on 03/17/2006 1:16:05 PM PST by Irish_Thatcherite (~~~A vote for Bertie Ahern is a vote for Gerry Adams!~~~)
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To: Irish_Thatcherite

My Boston Irish brother inlaw had his blood typed once, it came back as sourmash.


31 posted on 03/17/2006 1:30:37 PM PST by TXBSAFH (Proud Dad of Twins, What Does Not Kill You Makes You Stronger!!!!!!)
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To: TXBSAFH

HEHE..


32 posted on 03/17/2006 1:34:12 PM PST by Irish_Thatcherite (~~~A vote for Bertie Ahern is a vote for Gerry Adams!~~~)
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To: nutmeg
Ping
33 posted on 03/17/2006 1:58:32 PM PST by evilC ([573]Tag Server Error, Tag not found)
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To: NYer

Here's one of my favorites (and yes I have 2 granparents who emigrated from Ireland):

A young priest has his first posting in a rural area in the west of Ireland. Week after week he gets up on te pulpit and delivers a sermon filled with the word of God, as he was taught in the seminary, but the congregation seem to be uninterested.

He speaks to his pastor and asks for guidance: "I don't know what to do Monsignor, I'm trying as hard as I can, but I don't seem to be getting through...."

"Ah, my son, 'tis not you but the method you're using. This is the WEST and the people are more likely to understand the spirit, not the spiritual! Add som talk of the old beliefs: lepredhauns, the pooka, ghosts and the like, they'll come around."

The next Sunday, the young priest stands in the pulpit and enquires "How many of you believe in GHOSTS?"

They all raise their hands.

"And how many have SEEN a GHOST?"

80% raise their hands.

So on he went: "...touched a GHOST?...spoken with a Ghost?...." and so on, until he finished with "How many of you have had SEX with a GHOST?!"

Silence, and on little old man, 90 if he's a day, raises his hand.

The young priest is taken aback and shouts "YOU, SIR....YOU'VE HAD SEX WITH A GHOST?!"

The old man cups his habd to his ear and says

"GHOST? I thought you said GOAT!"


34 posted on 03/17/2006 3:45:49 PM PST by Former Dodger ( "Insanity: Doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results." --Einstein)
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To: NYer

What is Irish and always stays outside?

Paddy O'Furniture.


35 posted on 03/17/2006 5:26:27 PM PST by Straight Vermonter (The Stations of the Cross in Poetry ---> http://www.wayoftears.com)
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To: Former Dodger

ROFL! That's bad :-)


36 posted on 03/17/2006 6:31:12 PM PST by NYer (Discover the beauty of the Eastern Catholic Churches - freepmail me for more information.)
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To: evilC
Hey, belated Happy St. Patrick's Day to you, FRiend (about one minute left to March 17, 2006). I sure wish we all could've spent today in NYC at the big parade, and raised a pint or two at one of the many great Irish bars in the city afterward.

Oh well... perhaps next year? ;-)

37 posted on 03/17/2006 9:00:15 PM PST by nutmeg (NEVER trust democRATs with our national security)
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To: Theoden

Classic


38 posted on 03/16/2007 5:23:38 PM PDT by cowtowney
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To: NYer

Paddy was driving down the street in a sweat because he had an important meeting and couldn't find a parking place. Looking up to heaven he said, "Lord take pity on me. If you find me a parking place I will go to Mass every Sunday for the rest of me life and give up me Irish Whiskey"

Miraculously, a parking place appeared.

Paddy looked up again and said, "Never mind, I found one."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Father Murphy walks into a pub in Donegal, and says to the first man he meets, "Do you want to go to heaven?"

The man said , "I do Father."
The priest said, "Then stand over there against the wall."
Then the priest asked the second man, "Do you want to go to heaven?"
Certainly, Father," was the man's reply. "Then stand over there against the wall," said the priest.
Then Father Murphy walked up to O'Toole and said, "Do you want to go to heaven?
O'Toole said, "No, I don't Father.
The priest said, "I don't believe this. You mean to tell me that when you die you don't want to go to heaven?"
O'Toole said, "Oh, when I die, yes. I thought you were getting a group together to go right now."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Paddy was in New York He was patiently waiting, and watching the traffic cop on a busy street crossing. The cop stopped the flow of traffic and shouted, "Okay pedestrians".
Then he'd allow the traffic to pass. He'd done this several times, and Paddy still stood on the sidewalk.
After the cop had shouted "Pedestrians" for the tenth time, Paddy went over to him and said, "Is it not about time ye let the Catholics across?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Gallagher opened the morning newspaper and was dumbfounded to read in the obituary column that he had died.
He quickly phoned his best friend Finney.
Did you see the paper?" asked Gallagher. "They say I died!!"
Yes, I saw it!" replied Finney. "Where are ye callin' from?"



~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Walking into the bar, Mike said to Charlie the bartender, "Pour me a stiff one - just had another fight with the little woman."
Oh yeah?" said Charlie "And how did this one end?"
"When it was over," Mike replied, "she came to me on her hands and knees.
"Really," said Charles, "now that's a switch! What did she say?"
She said, "Come out from under the bed, you little chicken."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Flynn staggered home very late after another evening with his drinking buddy, Paddy. He took off his shoes to avoid waking his wife, Mary.
He tiptoed as quietly as he could toward the stairs leading to their upstairs bedroom, but misjudged the bottom step. As he caught himself by grabbing the banister, his body swung around and he landed heavily on his rump. A whiskey bottle in each back pocket broke and made the landing especially painful.
Managing not to yell, Flynn sprung up, pulled down his pants, and looked in the hall mirror to see that his butt cheeks were cut and bleeding. He managed to quietly find a full box of Band-Aids and began putting a Band-Aid as best he could on each place he saw blood.
He then hid the now almost empty Band-Aid box and shuffled and stumbled his way to bed.

In the morning, Flynn woke up with searing pain in both his head and butt and Mary staring at him from across the room.
She said, "You were drunk again last night weren't you?"
Flynn said, "Why you say such a mean thing? "
Well," Mary said, "it could be the open front door, it could be the broken glass at the bottom of the stairs, it could be the drops of blood trailing through the house, it could be your bloodshot eyes, but mostly.....it's all those Band-Aids stuck on the hall mirror.


39 posted on 03/17/2007 3:12:59 AM PDT by cowtowney
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To: Running On Empty

Marking


40 posted on 03/17/2007 8:30:17 AM PDT by Running On Empty
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