My wife and I were sitting at a table at her high school reunion, and she kept staring at a drunken man swigging his drink as he sat alone at a nearby table.

I asked her, ‘Do you know him?’
‘Yes,’ she sighed, he’s my old boyfriend…  I understand he took to drinking right after we split up those many years ago, and I hear he hasn’t been sober since.’

‘My God!’ I said, ‘Who would think a person could go on celebrating that long’

And that’s when the fight started..

An Irishman who had a little too much to drink is driving home from the city one night and, of course, his car is weaving violently all over the road.

A cop pulls him over. ‘So,’ says the cop to the driver, ‘where have ya been?’

‘Why, I’ve been to the pub of course,’ slurs the drunk.

‘Well,’ says the cop, ‘it looks like you’ve had quite a few to drink this evening.’

‘I did all right,’ the drunk says with a smile.

‘Did you know,’ says the cop, standing straight, and folding his arms across his chest, ‘that a few intersections back, your wife fell out of your car?’

‘Oh, thank heavens,’ sighs the drunk. ‘for a minute there, I thought I’d gone deaf.’

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’Connor 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, and is afraid to come home.’

‘Tell him to drop dead!’, says Murphy’s wife..

‘I’ll go tell him.’ says Gallagher.

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.

I rear-ended a car this morning… So, there we were alongside the road and slowly the other driver got out of his car.

You know how sometimes you just get soooo stressed and little things just seem funny?

Yeah, well I couldn’t believe it… he was a DWARF!!!
He stormed over to my car, looked up at me, and shouted, ‘I AM NOT HAPPY!’

So, I looked down at him and said, ‘Well, then which one are you?’

And that’s when the fight started…

At a dinner party, several of the guests were arguing whether men or women were more trustworthy. “No woman,” said one man, scornfully, “can keep a secret.”

“I don’t know about that,” huffily answered a woman guest. “I have kept my age a secret since I was twenty-one.”

“You’ll let it out some day,” the man insisted.

“I hardly think so!” responded the lady. “When a woman has kept a secret for twenty-seven years, she can keep it forever.”

Three mothers were sitting around comparing notes on their exemplary offspring.

“There never was a daughter more devoted than my Alice,” said Mrs. Davis with a sniff. “Every summer she takes me to the Catskills for a week, and every winter we spend a week at Delray Beach .”

“That’s nothing compared to what my Anna does for me,” declared Mrs. Jones proudly. “Every winter she treats me to two weeks in Miami , and in the summer two weeks in the Hamptons, in my own private guest house.”

Mrs. Smith sat back with a proud smile. “Nobody loves her mother like my Jackie does. Nobody.”

“So what does she do?” asked the two women, turning to her.

“Three times a week she gets into a cab, goes to the best psychiatrist in the city, and pays him a hundred and fifty dollars an hour – just to talk about me!”

Patton staggered home very late after another evening with his drinking buddy, Paddy.   He took off his shoes to avoid waking his wife, Kathleen. 
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, Patton 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, Patton woke up with searing pain in both his head and butt and Kathleen staring at him from across the room. 
She said, ‘You were drunk again last night weren’t you?’
Patton said, ‘Why you say such a mean thing?’
‘Well,’ Kathleen 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.

A woman sought the advice of a sex therapist, confiding that she found it increasingly difficult to find a man who could satisfy her, and that it was very wearisome getting in and out of all these short term relationships.

"Isn’t there some way to judge the size of a man’s equipment from the outside?" she asked earnestly.

"The only foolproof way, is by the size of his feet" counseled the therapist.

So the woman went downtown and proceeded to cruise the streets, until she came across a young fellow standing in an unemployment line with the biggest feet she had ever laid her eyes on. She took him out to dinner, wined and dined him, and then took him back to her apartment for an evening of abandon.

When the man woke up the next morning, the woman had already gone but, by the bedside table was $200 and a note that read, "With my compliments, take this money and go out and buy a pair of shoes that fit you."

Father Murphy walks into a pub in Donegal, and asks 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,’ the man replied. 
‘Then stand over there against the wall,’ said the priest.
Then Father Murphy walked up to O’Toole and asked, ‘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.’