Michael Mullins was in court for non-payment of maintenance to his ex-wife. The judge decided to increase his wife's allowance. So he told Michael, "I have decided to increase this allowance and give your wife 50 Pounds per week."
Mullins replied, "Yer a real gentleman sir, and I might even send her a few bob meself!"
Pat and Mike were sitting in Mahoney's, discussing the illness of a friend. "Poor Michael Hogan!" Pat said. "Faith, I'm afraid he's goin' to die."
"Sure, an' why would he be dyin'?" asked Mike.
"Ah, he's gotten so thin. You're thin enough, and I'm thin -- but by me soul, Michael Hogan is thinner than both of us put together."
McNulty was dying and Father McGuire was administering the last rites. Annointing McNulty's head with the oil, the priest whispered firmly, "Denounce the devil! Let him know you hate him and all his evil!"
The dying man said nothing. The priest repeated his order. Still McNulty said nothing.
Father McGuire asked, "Why do you refuse to denounce the devil and his evil?"
"Until I know where I'm heading," McNulty said, "perhaps I shouldn't aggravate anybody."
McNulty lay on his deathbed. Around him are his wife and four sons. Three of his sons are tall, strapping lads while the fourth is a thin, near-sighted fellow, always a disappointment to his father.
McNulty beckoned to his wife Fiona. "Tell me the truth my love, I've always wondered. With these three strapping sons, is that wee, ugly little fellow really me boy? I'll forgive you for lying on the other side of the blanket that one time. I just have to know."
Fiona looked McNulty straight in the eye and said, "As God is my witness, Sean McNulty, he is your son true from your loins."
McNulty smiled weakly and then he was gone.
As Fiona gets up from the bedside she said, "Thank the Almighty he didn't ask about the other three!"
Sadie went to the police station with Maggie to report that her husband was missing. Constaple McGillicuddy asked for a description.
"He's 35 years old, 6 foot 4, has dark eyes, dark wavy hair, an athletic build, weighs 185 pounds, is soft-spoken, and is good to the children," Sadie told him.
Maggie protested, "Sadie, your Patrick is 5 foot 4 inches, chubby, bald as an egg, has a big mouth, and is mean to your children."
"Aye," agreed Sadie. "But who wants him back?"
Father McGuire was driving down to Dublin to see the bishop and was stopped for speeding. The constaple smelled alcohol on his breath and he saw an empty wine bottle on the floor.
"Ye haven't been drinkin', have ye, Father?" he asked.
"No, no," breathed the priest. "Only water."
"Then why do I smell wine?"
"Faith!" cried the priest. "He's done it again!"
Shamus lurched into the police station and up to the desk, trying to bring Constaple McGillicuddy into focus.
"How tall is a penguin?" slurred Shamus.
Holding his palm above the desk, the constaple said, "About that high, lad."
"Faith! I just ran over Sister Mary Elizabeth!"
Lawyer McCurdy had just undergone surgery, and as he came out of the anesthesia, he said, "Why are all the blinds drawn, doctor?"
"There's a big fire across the street," Dr O'Brian told him, "and we didn't want you to wake up and think the operation was a failure."
"What's wrong with Sister Mary Elizabeth?" Pat asked the doctor. "She looked terribly pale, and she jest ran right by me without even sayin' 'hello.'"
"I examined her," Doctor O'Brian said, lighting a cigar, "and told her she was pregnant."
"Sister Mary Elizabeth is pregnant?" asked Pat.
"No, but it certainly did cure her hiccups!"
Constaple McGillicuddy saw a car weaving all over the road and flagged it down.
"You're drunk, man!" he told the driver.
"Drunk is it?" Mike exclaimed. "Thank God for that, I thought the steering had gone!"
Percy the Englishman felt a little hungry, so he stopped by Mahoney's for a meal. "How do you prepare your chickens?" he asked Mahoney.
"Why, nothing special, lad. We just tell them straight out that they're goin' to die."
Pat and Mike were walking home from Mahoney's late one night and they headed down the railroad tracks. "This is the longest flight of stairs I ever climbed in my life," Pat exclaimed after a mile or two.
"Ah," Mike replied, "it's not the stairs that bother me so much, it's these low railings!"
Delaney needed a bull to service his cows but had to borrow the money from the bank. Banker McLaughlin came by a week later to see how his investment was doing. Delaney complained that the bull just ate grass and didn't even look at the cows. Banker McLaughlin suggested a veterinarian have a look at the bull.
The next week the banker returned to see if the vet helped. Delaney looked very pleased: "The bull has serviced all me cows, broke through the fence, and serviced all Donovan's cows, as well!"
"Faith!" cried McLaughlin, "what did the vet do to that bull?"
"Just gave him some pills," replied the farmer.
"What kind of pills?" asked the banker.
"I don't know what they were," Delaney replied, "but they sort of taste like peppermint!"
A drunk staggered into St Mary's and wandered over to the confessional. He opened the door, sat down and said nothing. Father McGuire waited for a few minutes, allowing the drunken man some time to collect his thoughts. Growing impatient, the priest coughed to attract his attention, but still the man said nothing. The priest then knocked on the wall three times in a final attempt to get the man to speak. Finally, the drunk replied: "No use knockin', lad, there's no paper in this one either."
Whilst walking his beat, Constaple McGillicuddy was bemused to find young Seamus, clearly drunk, staggering about with a key in his hand.
"They've stolen me car," the drunk shouted. "It was right here earlier, right on the end of this key."
"Aye, lad, I'm sure they did." said Constaple McGillicuddy, "And are you aware that yer pee-bug is hangin' out yer drawers?"
Seamus looked down, confused, then wailed: "The bastards! They got me girlfriend as well!"
Farmer Delaney was walking through his fields one day and discovered his donkey lying out flat on the ground, deader than a doorknob. After the donkey had died, its penis had become limp and hung down at right angles to its body.
Delaney was concerned that passing school children might see all this before the knacker arrived to cart away the body so he pulled out a knife, chopped off the donkey's dangling appendage and threw it over a nearby stone wall.
This wall happened to enclose the convent garden and Sister Mary Elizabeth happened to be working there when the appendage landed at her feet. She couldn't believe her eyes! Running quickly back to the convent, she called on several other sisters to come see what had probably been sent from Heaven directly to her.
After a few minutes there was a huge cluster of nuns in the garden busy staring at the ground. Mother Superior, attracted by all the commotion, came bustling out to check on the wayward sisters.
"Sister Mary Elizabeth, just what is this commmotion all about?" she asked. Sister M.E. pointed out the remains of the donkey lying on the ground at her feet.
Mother Superior recoiled in shock and horror and exclaimed, "Just look what those horrible Protestants have done to poor Father O'Malley."
A man walked into Mahoney's, obviously drunk, and staggered up to the bar. He seated himself on a stool and, with a belch, asked Mahnoney for a drink. The bartender politely informed the man that it appeared he had already had plenty to drink, he could not be served, and could a cab be called for him? The drunk was briefly surprised, then grumbled, climbed down off the bar stool and staggered out the front door.
A few minutes later, the same drunk stumbled in the SIDE door of the pub. He wobbled up to the bar and hollered for a drink. Mahoney, still politely -- but more firmly -- refused service, and again offered to call a cab. The drunk looked at Mahoney for a moment, angrily, cursed, and showed himself out the side door, the while grumbling and shaking his head.
A few minutes later, the same drunk burst in through the BACK door of the pub. He plopped himself on a bar stool, gathered his wits and belligerently ordered a drink. Mahoney came and emphatically reminded the man that he was clearly drunk, would be served no drinks, and that either a cab or the police would be called immediately.
The surprised drunk looked at Mahoney, and in hopeless anguish, cried, "Faith, man! How many pubs do you work at?"
Perhaps a bit inebriated, Pat somehow got turned around while walking in the woods. He thrashed about in underbrush for a couple hours, finally reaching the bank of a rather wide stream. The water ran deep, and the current was uncomfortably fast. There was no bridge to be seen, either upstream or downstream, and no place that looked like it might be a ford.
On the other side of the stream, Pat spied a lass walking, and he called to her to get her attention. "How do I get to the other side?" he shouted to her.
The girl looked upstream, then looked downstream. Then she scratched her head. Finally she hollered back: "You are on the other side!"
Farmer Delaney went into Mahoney's, took a seat at the bar, and ordered five pints. Mahoney gave him an odd look since the old man was all by himself, but he served up the five pints and lined them up on the bar.
Delaney downed them... One, Two, Three, Four, Five. He finished the last one, gave a polite belch, and called to Mahoney, "Four pints, please, Mr. Mahoney!"
Mahoney served up four more pints, lining them up on the bar. Delaney downed them....One, Two, Three, Four.
Delaney belched loudly, swayed slightly on the stool, and ordered three more pints. And one after the other, he knocked them back....One, Two, Three.
"Two more pintsh, Mishter Mahoney!" he called, and the barman placed two pints in front of him. Down they went....One, Two.
As Delaney slammed the last one down on the bar, he said, "One pint, if you pleazh, Mishter Mahoney."
Mahoney filled the glass. Delaney just sat there, staring at it for for a moment, trying to focus. Then he looked at Mahoney and observed, "Y'know, it'sh a funny t'ing, but the lesh I drunk, the drinker I get..."
Mahoney was polishing a glass when a very tired-looking man walked into the pub and ordered a drink. Mahoney poured him a double shot of the dew, but as soon as the bartender put it down a little leprechaun, green as grass and just a foot tall, ran out, snatched the glass from the table and ran away, cackling insanely.
The man didn't look suprised. He told Mahoney that he'd pay for any damages and could he have another whisky. But as soon as Mahoney put the glass down, the leprechaun ran out again and this time he pissed in the glass, then ran away.
"Faith!" said Mahoney, his eyebrows nudging his toupee. "Excuse me for prying, lad, but what's goin' on here with the wee leprechaun?"
The tired man looked up a little and said, "Well, 'tis a long story, y'see. But, to make it short, I was stranded on a desert island once. 'Twas a genie I found, in a bottle. He said he would grant me one wish, so without even thinkin' about it, I asked him for what I'd wanted all me life: a twelve inch prick."
Pat came to tell Mrs. O'Flaherty about her husband's untimely drowning in a vat of beer at the brewery.
"Oh, me poor Michael," Clara sobbed, "Please, tell me, did he suffer much?"
"I don't think he did," Pat replied. "He came out three times to pee!"
As soon as she finished parochial school, young Lena shook the dust of Ireland from her shoes and made her way to New York where before long, she became a successful performer in show business.
Eventually she returned home for a visit and on a Saturday night went to confession in the church which she had always attended as a child. In the confessional Father McGuire recognized her voice and began asking her about her work. She explained that she was an acrobatic dancer, and he wanted to know what that meant. She said she would be happy to show him the kind of thing she did on stage. She stepped out of the confessional and within sight of Father McGuire, she went into a series of cartwheels, leaping splits, handsprings and backflips.
Kneeling near the confessional, waiting their turn, were Maggie and Clara. They witnessed Lena's acrobatics with wide eyes, and Maggie said to Clara, "Will you just look at the penance Father McGuire's is givin' out this night, and me without me bloomers on!"
Pat and Mike were approaching a Londonderry pub when there was suddenly an enormous explosion. A Prostestant bomb had gone off in the very building they were intending to visit. Quickly they ran toward the building, and as they did, a head rolled out of the smoldering ruins and across the pavement, to spin to a stop before them. Pat stooped, picked it up and held it for Mike to see.
"Sure now Mike, isn't this Sean Murphy?"
Mike looked closely, then let his breath out in relief. "No, Pat, no, it couldn't be. It's an amazin' resemblance, I'll admit, but Murphy is much taller than that."
Mike was staggering home with a pint of booze in his back pocket when he slipped and fell heavily. Struggling to his feet, he felt something wet running down his leg.
"Please, God," he implored, "let it be blood!"
Father McGuire and Rabbi O'Levin found themselves sharing a compartment on a train. After a while, the priest opened a conversation by saying "I know that, in your religion, you're not supposed to eat pork... Have you actually ever tasted it?"
"I must tell the truth," the Rabbi said. "Yes, I have, on the odd occasion."
Then the Rabbi had his turn of interrogation. He asked, "Your religion, too... I know you're supposed to be celibate. But..."
Father McGuire looked around, then leaned forward and replied confidentially, "Yes, I know what you're going to ask. I have succumbed once or twice."
There was silence for a while. Then the Rabbi peeped around the newspaper he was reading and said, "Better than pork, isn't it?"
Old Shaughnessy was walking through the woods when he heard someone grunt. Peering around a corner, he saw a wee little man squatting with his tights around his ankles. The leprechaun grunted again, trying to pass a hard one, then grunted yet again in surprise as Shaughnessy's hand closed on the back of his collar.
"Faith! 'Tis a leprechaun!" quoth Shaughnessy.
"Faith! 'Tis a hand on me collar, and me backside only half emptied!" quoth the leprechaun.
Shaughnessy waited until the leprechaun was finished, even loaning him a few sheets of the roll he carried with him for similar purposes when in the woods.
"Ye'll be wantin' yer three wishes now, I take it?" the leprechaun said, rearranging himself and recollecting his dignity.
"Was I stingy with the loan of me roll?" Shaughnessy asked.
"No, and I'll not be stingy with me grantin' o' wishes," the little man said. "Y'caught me, fair and square. When you've had yer wishes, I'll be off, fair and square. Now, what would you like?"
"I'd like a bottle of the finest dew in all Ireland, that'll never go empty!" said Shaughnessy.
Poof! The bottle appeared in Shaughnessy's hand. He drank deeply, and it was the finest of Ireland's finest product. Wiping his mouth on the back of his hand as he tried to catch his breath, he saw that the level in the bottle had gone down not a whit.
Just to make sure, he had another drink, as the leprechaun waited. The level in the bottle never diminished and the taste was as fine as the first drink.
"And now," the leprechaun asked, "for yer other two wishes?"
"Why," said Shaughnessy, "I'll have two more of the same, thank you!"
Mary walked up to Father McGuire after mass and he commented on the fact that she was wearing black.
"Ah, Father," she said, "me poor Eamon died last Tuesday."
"That's terrible, Mary. I didn't even know he was sick. Did he have any last words?"
"Aye, Father, that he did. He said, 'Fer God's sake, Mary! Put down that gun!'"
A man stumbled up to the only other patron in a bar and asked if he could buy him a drink. "Why of course," came the reply.
The first man then asked, "And where might you be from, sir?"
"I'm from Ireland," replied the second man. The first man responded, "You don't say! Well, I'm from Ireland too! Let's have another round to Ireland."
The first man then asked, "Where in Ireland are you from?"
"Why, I'm from Dublin, born and raised," came the reply. "I can't believe it," said the first man. "I'm from Dublin too! Let's have another drink to Dublin."
Curiosity again struck and the first man asked, "What school did you go to?" "Saint Mary's," replied the second man. "I graduated in '62."
"This is unbelievable," the first man says. "I went to Saint Mary's and I graduated in '62! Have another, to Saint Mary's!"
About that time Pat and Mike came in and sat down at the bar. "What's been going on?" Pat asked Mahoney, ordering a whisky.
"Nothing much," replies the bartender. "The O'Mally twins are drunk again."
McGinty was a man of dignity. His entire family was noted for its dignity, and had been for hundreds of years in their native town.
One day McGinty was standing in the town square speaking with the bishop, the mayor and five silver-haired fellows from Parliament about the new town hall they wanted to build. Most of his friends and neighbors were standing around them, listening as he spoke, for McGinty was also a fine speaker.
And then, as McGinty stretched forth his hand to point to the site, suddenly, without warning, he cut the loudest, smelliest fart anyone had ever encountered. The cheese was so ripe, the bishop's eyes rolled up in his head. The mayor gagged. Several women and one member of Parliament swooned on the spot.
That very afternoon, McGinty packed a single bag and left town, left Ireland entirely. He joined the French Foreign Legion, changing his name to Nadir. He spent 16 years in North Africa, tromping the desert, seldom saying a word. From there, he went to the Yukon, where he lived for eight years in the wilderness, panning for gold. He spent six years in Central America, running guns to the rebels, then went to Katmandu, where he lived on top of a mountain for ten years. Finally he went to India, where he worked with the nuns for ten more years, feeding the hungry and caring for the sick.
Full fifty years went by before McGinty set foot in the land of his birth again. McGinty's plane landed in Dublin and he took his breath of fresh Eire. The old man, now in his nineties, hired a driver to take him home, so that he might see his boyhood home once more before he died.
The cabman stopped in the town square and McGinty got out and looked around. They had built the town hall, and the church now had a fine stone facade. There were a few different names on the signs over the shops, but the town looked much as it had when he left.
"Do y'know this town?" McGinty asked the cabman.
"Aye," said the man. "Been here several times."
"And would y'be knowin' when they put that facade on the church over there?"
"Ah, that's been many years now," the cabman said, thinking hard to recall. "It was before my time. In fact, it couldn'ta been more'n ten, fifteen years after McGinty cut that big fart in the town square!"
Percy the Englishman, McDuff the Scotsman, and Mike walked into a pub at the same time. Each proceeded to buy a pint of Guinness. Just as they where about to enjoy their drinks three flies landed, one in each pint, and were stuck in the foam.
Percy pushed his beer from him in disgust and ordered another.
McDuff scooped at his beer until he washed the fly out and then continued drinking.
Mike carefully picked the fly out of his drink, then held it out over the beer and yelled, "Spit it out, you bastard! SPIT IT OUT!"
Pat and Mike and Shamus, were stumbling home from the pub late one night and found themselves on the road leading past the graveyard.
"Come have a look over here," says Pat. "'Tis Michael O'Grady's grave, God rest his soul. He lived to the ripe old age of 87."
"Still a young man when he was taken," poo-pooed Shamus. "Why, here's Patrick O'Toole. It says here that he was 95 when he died."
"Still a child," Mike said. "Still a child. Why, here's a fella that was 145!"
"And what was his name?" asked Pat.
Mike fumbled for a bit, awkwardly lit a match to see what else was written on the stone marker, and exclaimed, "Miles, to Dublin."
Pat, Mike and Shamus were dowining a few at Mahoney's when the conversation turned to who was the boss in their respective households. Pat, who was single, stated that when he married, he, By God, would be the boss. Shamus, the newlywed, said that he was in charge in his house, and By God, he'd stay in charge.
After they were finished blowing their steam, Mike finally put in his opinion:
"I'll tell you who's the boss in me house, lads. Why, jest the other night Maggie came to me on her hands and knees."
Both men were taken aback, as both had known Maggie for a long time. She was not a woman to be trifled with!
"And what happened then?" Pat finally asked, trying to visualize the picture in his mind.
"Why, then she said, 'GET OUT FROM UNDER THAT BED AND FIGHT LIKE A MAN!'"
Pat hobbled into Mahoney's Bar on a crutch, with a cast on one arm. His nose was flattened and both eyes were blacked. "My God, man! What happened to you?" Mahoney asked.
"Riley and I had a disagreement," Pat said, sheepishly.
"Riley? He's just a wee fellow," Mahoney said, surprised. "He must have had something in his hand."
"Aye, that he did," Pat said, downing a whisky. "A shovel it was."
"Dear Lord! A shovel, was it? And you had nothing in your own hand?"
"Aye, that I did." Pat said. "And a beautiful thing it was, but that part of Mrs. Riley is of no use in a fight!"
O'Toole went out drinking, and a fine bender it was. He knew he was loaded when Coleen McGillicuddy asked if he wanted to dance with her. O'Toole stood up and reached for her and fell flat on his face.
Things got worse. He crawled to the toilet and ran some water through the old hose, and he crawled back into the pub, where he had one more whisky before crawling out the door and all the way home, falling into the canal and almost drowning on the way.
The next morning O'Toole awoke and his head was throbbing. The Missus looked at him with a gimlet eye. "And you'll be wantin' some of the hair of the dog that bit you, Mr. O'Toole?" she asked, sarcastically.
All O'Toole could do was groan.
"A man your age and in your condition," the Missus went on. "For shame, Paddy!"
"And what makes you think I was out drinkin', Missus O'Toole?" Paddy finally managed to ask, thinking he might lie his way out of it.
"Why, Mr. Mahoney's already called," she told him. "And y' left yer wheelchair at his pub again!"
Pat and Mike used to go out drinking every Saturday night. It was always the same: the two would go out boozing, and Mike would come rolling in around 2 a.m., throw up in the kitchen sink, and then go to bed, leaving his wife, Maggie, to clean up the mess when she got up in the morning.
One Saturday, Maggie decided she'd had enough. She went out into the back yard and caught a chicken for their Sunday dinner. She wrung its neck, dipped it, plucked it, and then gutted it in the sink. There. Let him have something to greet him when he blew chunks!
Sunday afternoon, after church, Pat found Mike shuffling along the road, his face white and drawn.
"Hey, Mike!" he called. "Yez really tied it on last night! Yez were in fine form!"
"Ay," said Mike. "And 'twas the last drinks'll ever pass me lips! I've sworn off. Forever."
"Sworn off? Sworn off, is it? And, faith! Why, man?"
"Ah, Pat," said Mike. "I'm not the man I once was. I came home last night and I puked me guts out. And but for the grace of God and a spoon, I'd never have gotten 'em back in!"
More Pat and Mike Stories
Groaners I have known and loved (R)
Groaners I have known and loved (PG)