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> Six retired Irishmen were playing poker in O'Leary's apartment when Paddy Murphy loses £500 on a single hand, clutches his chest, and drops dead at the table.
> > Showing respect for their fallen brother, the other five continue playing standing up.
> Michael O'Conner looks around and asks, "Oh, me boys, someone got's to tell Paddy's wife. Who will it be?"
> They draw straws. Paul Gallagher picks the short one.
> > They tell him to be discreet, be gentle, don't make a bad situation any worse.
> "Discreet??? I'm the most discreet Irishmen you'll ever meet. Discretion is me middle name. Leave it to me."
> Gallagher goes over to Murphy's house and knocks on the door.
> > Mrs. Murphy answers, and asks what he wants.
> > Gallagher declares, "Your husband just lost £500 playing poker, and is afraid to come home."
> "Tell him to drop dead!", says Murphy's wife.
> "I'll go tell him." says Gallagher.
> > ************ ********* ********* ******
> > Into a Belfast pub comes Paddy Murphy, looking like he'd just been run over by a train.
> > His arm is in a sling, his nose is broken, his face is cut, and bruised, and he's walking with a limp.
> "What happened to you?" asks Sean, the bartender.
> "Jamie O'Conner and me had a fight," says Paddy.
> "That little O'Conner," says Sean, "He couldn't do that to you, he must have had something in his hand."
> "That he did," says Paddy, "a shovel is what he had, and a terrible lickin' he gave me with it."
> "Well," says Sean, "you should have defended yourself. Didn't you have something in your hand?"
> "That I did," said Paddy, "Mrs. O'Conner's breast, and a thing of beauty it was; but useless in a fight."
> > ********* ********* ********* *******
> > > A drunk staggers into a Catholic Church, enters a confessional booth, sits down, but says nothing.
> The Priest coughs a few times to get his attention, but the drunk continues to sit there.
> Finally, the Priest pounds three times on the wall.
> The drunk mumbles, "Ain't no use knockin, there's no paper on this side either."
>
> Six retired Irishmen were playing poker in O'Leary's apartment when Paddy Murphy loses £500 on a single hand, clutches his chest, and drops dead at the table.
> > Showing respect for their fallen brother, the other five continue playing standing up.
> Michael O'Conner looks around and asks, "Oh, me boys, someone got's to tell Paddy's wife. Who will it be?"
> They draw straws. Paul Gallagher picks the short one.
> > They tell him to be discreet, be gentle, don't make a bad situation any worse.
> "Discreet??? I'm the most discreet Irishmen you'll ever meet. Discretion is me middle name. Leave it to me."
> Gallagher goes over to Murphy's house and knocks on the door.
> > Mrs. Murphy answers, and asks what he wants.
> > Gallagher declares, "Your husband just lost £500 playing poker, and is afraid to come home."
> "Tell him to drop dead!", says Murphy's wife.
> "I'll go tell him." says Gallagher.
> > ************ ********* ********* ******
> > Into a Belfast pub comes Paddy Murphy, looking like he'd just been run over by a train.
> > His arm is in a sling, his nose is broken, his face is cut, and bruised, and he's walking with a limp.
> "What happened to you?" asks Sean, the bartender.
> "Jamie O'Conner and me had a fight," says Paddy.
> "That little O'Conner," says Sean, "He couldn't do that to you, he must have had something in his hand."
> "That he did," says Paddy, "a shovel is what he had, and a terrible lickin' he gave me with it."
> "Well," says Sean, "you should have defended yourself. Didn't you have something in your hand?"
> "That I did," said Paddy, "Mrs. O'Conner's breast, and a thing of beauty it was; but useless in a fight."
> > ********* ********* ********* *******
> > > A drunk staggers into a Catholic Church, enters a confessional booth, sits down, but says nothing.
> The Priest coughs a few times to get his attention, but the drunk continues to sit there.
> Finally, the Priest pounds three times on the wall.
> The drunk mumbles, "Ain't no use knockin, there's no paper on this side either."
>
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