One night, a drunk comes stumbling into a bar and says to the bartender: “Drinks for all on me including you, bartender.” So the bartender follows the mans orders and says: “That will be $36.50 please.” The drunk says he has no money so the bartender slaps him around and throws him out.

The next night the same drunk comes in again and orders a drink for everyone in the bar including the bartender. Again the bartender follows instructions and again the drunk says he has no money. So the bartender slaps him around and throws him out.

On the third night he comes in, the drunk orders drinks for all except the bartender. “What, no drink for me?” replies the bartender. “Oh, no. You get violent when you drink.”

Irishman In Dublin

An Irishman walks into a bar in Dublin, orders three pints of Guinness and sits in the back of the room, drinking a sip out of each one in turn. When he finishes them, he comes back to the bar and orders three more. The bartender asks him, “You know, a pint goes flat after I draw it; it would taste better if you bought one at a time.” The Irishman replies, “Well, you see, I have two brothers. One is in America, the other in Australia, and I’m here in Dublin. When we all left home, we promised that we’d drink this way to remember the days when we drank together.” The bartender admits that this is a nice custom, and leaves it there.

The Irishman becomes a regular in the bar, and always drinks the same way: ordering three pints and drinking them in turn. One day, he comes in and orders two pints. All the other regulars notice and fall silent. When he comes back to the bar for the second round, the bartender says, “I don’t want to intrude on your grief, but I wanted to offer my condolences on your great loss.” The Irishman looks confused for a moment, then a light dawns in his eye and he laughs. “Oh, no,” he says, “Everyone’s fine. I’ve just quit drinking.”

How To Get Free Drinks In A Bar With Rat

A man walks into a bar and asks the bartender, “If I show you a really good trick, will you give me a free drink?” The bartender considers it, then agrees. The man reaches into his pocket and pulls out a tiny rat. He reaches into his other pocket and pulls out a tiny piano. The rat stretches, cracks his knuckles, and proceeds to play the blues.

After the man finished his drink, he asked the bartender, “If I show you an even better trick, will you give me free drinks for the rest of the evening?” The bartender agrees, thinking that no trick could possibly be better than the first. The man reaches into his pocket and pulls out a tiny rat. He reaches into his other pocket and pulls out a tiny piano. The rat stretches, cracks his knuckles, and proceeds to play the blues. The man reaches into another pocket and pulls out a small bullfrog, who begins to sing along with the rat’s music.

While the man is enjoying his beverages, a stranger confronts him and offers him $100,000.00 for the bullfrog. “Sorry,” the man replies, “he’s not for sale.” The stranger increases the offer to $250,000.00 cash up front. “No,” he insists, “he’s not for sale.” The stranger again increases the offer, this time to $500,000.00 cash. The man finally agrees, and turns the frog over to the stranger in exchange for the money.

“Are you insane?” the bartender demanded. “That frog could have been worth millions to you, and you let him go for a mere $500,000!” “Don’t worry about it.” the man answered. “The frog was really nothing special. You see, the rat’s a ventriloquist.”

In bed later that night, he told his wife: “Mary, I won the prize for the best toast of the night.” She said, “Aye, Paddy, what was your toast?”

So he told her: “Here’s to spending the rest of me life sitting in church beside me wife.”

“Oh,” she said, “that is very nice, dear.”

The next day, Mary ran into one of Paddy’s drinking partners in the street. Mischievously, the man said: “Did you hear about your husband winning a prize in the pub the other night for a toast about you, Mary?”

She replied: “Aye – and I was a bit surprised. Till now, he’s only been down there twice. Once he fell asleep, and the other time I had to pull him by the ears to make him come”.

She put them on and the waist was twice the size of her body.
“I can’t wear your trousers,” she said.

“That’s right,” said the husband, “and don’t you ever forget it. I’m the one who wears the trousers in this relationship.”
With that she flipped him her knickers and said: “Try these on.”

He tried them on and found he could only get them on as far as his kneecaps.
“Hell,” he said. ”I can’t get into your knickers!”
She replied: “That’s right… and that’s the way it is going to stay until your attitude changes.”

Straight away an Englishman got up and said that he could tell a good Irish joke.

Suddenly a bloke in the back of the bus said, “No, don’t do that. I’m Irish!

“The guide looked at him and said, “That’s okay. We’ll explain it to you afterwards.”

He is so proud of himself that he starts calling his wife ‘Mother of Six’ in spite of her objections. One night, they go to a party.

The man decides that it’s time to go home and wants to find out if his wife is ready to leave as well. He shouts at the top of his voice, “Shall we go home now Mother of Six?”

His wife, finally fed up with her husband, shouts back, “Paddy! Anytime you’re ready, Father of Four!”

Well would you believe it?

Each year after that a child arrived and the couple were-strangled trying to provide for them. When child number thirteen was about two weeks old the local clergyman visited the farmhouse and found the wife alone feeding the thirteenth arrival.

‘Where’s Paddy?’ asked the priest.

Without raising her head the wife grunted:

‘He’s gone to Lourdes to put out the flaming candle.’

The farmer continued to whittle and started to whistle too.

‘I said how long to get to the nearest town, Paddy?’

No reply. Just whistle and whittle.

‘Gee, Paddy, I’ve been a walkin’ all day. Couldn’t you just tell me how……. aw heck, what’s the use,’ he said, and walked away from the farmer in disgust. He had gone about a hundred yards when the farmer called him back. Exasperated, the American returned.

‘It will take you about an hour,’ said the farmer.

‘Gee, thanks Paddy. But why didn’t you tell me that in the first place?’

‘Had to see how fast you could walk first,’ said the farmer.

At five minutes to ten on the Sunday he approached his church and saw only one man waiting on the road outside. He hopped around the back and entered the church to see if there was any congregation and, as he expected, the place was empty.

He took up a strategic position where he could observe new arrivals for the service but at ten o’clock there was still only the lone farmer waiting outside.

The rector waited until five past ten and still nobody else arrived. At ten past ten he decided that he would approach the awaiting worshipper and he bid him the usual salutations as he introduced himself as the new rector.

He asked the farmer if there was any likelihood of further worshippers arriving and was told that such an eventuality was most unlikely. With temerity, he then asked the farmer if he should call off the service for that day.

‘Well,’ said the farmer, ‘the way I look at it is this. If I go to fodder my cattle and I find only one cow in the field, I still fodder her.’

‘A very good point,’ declared the rector and without further ado he went ahead into the church and held the service with the congregation of one.

In the customary manner the rector came around after the service to chat to his departing congregation, in this case the lone farmer, and asked for his comments on the sermon which had been somewhat long-winded, to say the least.

The farmer’s comment was: “Well, Reverend, if I go to fodder my cattle and find only one cow in the field I still fodder it-but I don’t give her the whole flamming load of fodder!’

‘Excuse me,’ said the only other drinker. ‘Is that an Irish accent I detect?’

‘It is, sir. Dublin to be exact.’

‘Bless my soul,’ said the first. ‘I’m a Dublin man meself. Ballymun to be precise.’

‘Bedad, aren’t I from Ballymun meself – Carberry Street in actual fact,’ remarked the second.

‘Carberry Street is where I was born and raised meself, and St Joseph’s was me parish church, Father Dunne the parish priest.’

‘Didn’t I go to nine o’clock mass every Sunday at St Joseph’s. What an amazingly small world. Did you go to St Joseph’s School?’

‘I did. I was in Miss Slattery’s class.’

‘God in heaven. So was I.’

Just then the phone rang and the Aussie barman said, “Not too busy at the moment. In fact there’s just the Murphy twins here.!”

The doctor, after a lengthy examination, sighed and looked Paddy in the eye, and said, “I’ve some bad news for you.

“You have cancer, and it can’t be cured. I’d give you two weeks to a month to live.”

Paddy was shocked and saddened by the news, but of solid character. He managed to compose himself and walk from the doctor’s office into the waiting room. There, he saw his son who had been waiting. Paddy said, “Well son, we Irish celebrate when things are good, and we celebrate when things don’t go so well. In this case, things aren’t so well. I have cancer, and I’ve been given a short time to live. Let’s head for the pub and have a few pints.”

After three or four pints, the two were feeling a little less somber. There were some laughs and more beers. They were eventually approached by some of Paddy’s old friends who asked what the two were celebrating.

Paddy told them that the Irish celebrate the good and the bad. He went on to tell them that they were drinking to his impending end. He told his friends, “I’ve only got a few weeks to live as I have been diagnosed with AIDS.”

The friends gave Paddy their condolences, and they had a couple more beers.

After his friends left, Paddy’s son leaned over and whispered his confusion. “Dad. I though you said that you were dying from cancer??? You just told your friends that you were dying from AIDS!”

Paddy said, “I am dying of cancer, son. I just don’t want any of them sleeping with your mother after I’m gone.”