“Tell me, Patrick, how did you manage to get so very drunk last night?” asked the parish priest.
“Well you see, Father, it was like this. I got into very bad company after winning a bottle of whiskey at a raffle.”
“But you were with Mick Mulligan, Sean O’Toole, and Peter Ryan and they don’t drink.”
“Dat’s what I mean, Father…”
Kelly died, and Murphy went to the house to pay his respects at the wake. Now, Kelly was by all accounts a very well liked man, so when Murphy walked in the door, he wasn’t half surprised to see the place was packed with people drinking and sharing stories. He caught sight of Kelly’s widow, and managed to catch her attention. “Moira,” Murphy said, “can you tell me where Kelly is? I’d like to pay my respects.”
“We’ve laid himself out upstairs, Murphy,” Moira said, “on account of the crowd,” and she led him up the staircase to the bedroom. Imagine Murphy’s surprise when he saw the body of his old friend not on the bed, but on the floor!
“Moira!” Murphy shouted. “What’s he doin’ down there?!”
“It’s the coats,” Moira said. “We didn’t have anywhere to put them all but on the bed!”
“Ach, Moira, it just breaks me heart to see him on the floor like that. … I tell you what, I’ve an idea. We’ll put a chair under his head, one under his feet, and another in the middle. It’s not half of what he deserves, but at least it will get him up off the floor.”
Moira readily agreed, so Murphy stepped back into the hall to the top of the stairs. “Hallo down there!” he shouted. “Can we get three chairs for the corpse?”
Came roaring back up from the crowd below: “Hip-hip, hooray! Hip-hip, hooray! Hip-hip, hooray!”
Patrick O’Reilly stumbles into the confessional the morning after St. Patrick’s Day. Father Murphy inquires, “And what is your sin, lad?”
Patrick replies: “Last night I got so drunk that I went home with a lass, and we ended up fornicating. Ay, the shame of it all! I was so drunk I can’t even remember her name, but I want to check up on her and see if she’s okay.”
“Well, most of the colleens around here come to me for penance. Not that I’d ever violate the sanctity of the confessional by givin’ out specifics, but maybe I can help. Was it Bridget Flannery? About 5’10”, raven hair, teaches school in this parish?"
“No, she was shorter. About 5’4”."
“Ah, perhaps Siobhan O’Connell? Clerk at the corner shop, feisty little redhead?”
“No, this lass was blonde, and it didn’t look like a dye job. Told me she had a Swedish mum, as a matter of fact.”
"Swedish mum – ah, could that be Mary Claire Olsson-Flynn? Always talking about her dogs and cats, she is — "
“No, she told me she’s allergic to pets and hasn’t had one since she was a wee ‘un and started gettin’ sick from all the dander.”
“Ah well, sorry I wasn’t of any help. Anyway, twenty “Our Father” prayers and thirty “Hail Marys” oughta be enough for ye. Good day.”
When Patrick left the church, his friend Seamus was waiting outside.
“So did he give ye absolution?”
“Even better, he gave me three very good leads!”
Where there are four Irishmen, you’ll always find a fifth.
An Irishman was sitting at the bar lamenting his lot in life. “See that church?” he says “I painted that church. Do they call me 'Paddy, the church painter? Oh, no. See those horses? I trained those horses, but do they call me 'Paddy, the horse tamer? No. See that fence? I repaired two miles of that fence. Do they call me 'Paddy, the fence mender”? Nooo. But you fuck one goat…
Old Tim shows up at Mass one Sunday. Father Donnelly can’t believe his eyes, for Tim hasn’t been in a church since anyone can remember. “Tim!” Father says. “Blessed be, it’s old Tim come to Mass.”
“It is meself,” Tim nods.
“And what might have brought ye after all this time?” Father Donnelly inquires.
“Wayll, Father, I’m bound to tell ye the truth,” Tim begins. "Not long ago, I misplaced me hat. A fine Donegal she was, no better tweed to be had. And I happen to know Seamus Boyle had one just like ‘er, and ye know Seamus, ‘tisn’t Sunday but he’s up and at the marnin’ Mass, and leavin’ his hat on a peg at the back o’ church.
“So ye see Father, I planned on comin’ to Mass, and then when all got up for the Communion, it’d be me snakin’ quiet like to the back o’church and stealin’ Seamus’s hat. But befarr me plan could go farward – I happened to hear yer praychin’ on the Ten Commandments, and I was strook with the railization – I don’t need to be stealin’ Seamus’s hat!”
Father Donnelly beamed. “So! You heard the words, Thou shalt not steal – and decided you’d best go without yer hat than face etarnal damnation.”
“No, Father,” Tim shook his head. “I heard the words, Thou shalt not commit adultery – and it’s then I remambered where I left me hat.”
What’s an Irish seven-course dinner?
A boiled potato and a six-pack.
Name seven Irish holidays celebrated by drinking.
Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday…
Where does an Irishman go on vacation?
To a different bar.
Hoof hearted? Ice melted.
Whale oil beef hooked!
It’s a little-remembered fact that during the Second World War, the Germans attempted to provoke anti-British feeling in Ireland, in hopes of starting a war between the Irish and the British.
To this end, they parachuted Oberleutnant Hans Wegener into County Clare, outside Lisdoonvarna, with instructions to meet up with a man named Murphy. He would greet Murphy with the code phrase “Spring is coming soon”; Murphy would respond with “The flowers will bloom.”
The brave German duly landed outside Lisdoonvarna, packed up and hid his parachute, and began walking into town. Eventually he came to a pub, went inside, and asked after a man named Murphy.
“Jaysus, Mary and Joseph,” said the barman, “which one? There’s Murphy the Butcher, and Murphy the Post, and Murphy the Greengrocer. Why, Murphy is me own name, for all love!”
So Wegener tries him out with the code phrase: “Spring is coming!”
“Ah” says Murphy the Barman, “You want Murphy the Spy…”
Patrick and Michael are adrift in a lifeboat, the only survivors of a disaster at sea… In the bottom of the boat, they find an old brass lamp. When Patrick rubs the lamp, out pops a Djinn - who offers but a single wish (The Irish are thrifty…)
Patrick quickly says, “I’ve a powerful thirst - I wish the sea were made of Guinness!”. “So be it.” says the Djinn and disappears - leaving them adrift in waves of Guinness.
Michael says - “Patrick, now you’ve gone and done it - we’ll have to piss in the boat!”
Two Irishmen hire a dinghy and go out to sea to fish. After a little fortification they get to it, and to their amazement they pull in fish after fish after fish.
“Begorrah, I’ve never seen such a haul!” says Paddy, “we’ll have to remember this spot! Shawn, mark the side of the boat wid chalk, so we can find it again”.
“ah ye daft old bugger” says Shawn, “That’ll never work!”
“and why would that be?” asks Paddy.
“ye fool, we might not get the same boat next time!”
You’re welcome, and I’ll thank my mother, too - she’s the one who told it to me. 
No, no. The question is, “What’s Irish and stays out all night?”
What do you call two gay Irishmen?
Michael Fitzpatrick and Patrick Fitzmichael.
Since the Irish-Americans have whole-heartedly appropriated certain symbols of Scottish culture, such as the kilt, tartan, and bagpipes, it seems meet here to relate the experience of the piper Hamish MacCrimmon.
Who was one St. Patrick’s Day recuperating from his labors at the parade with a wee tint, when a fine young woman came up to him and said, “I know it’s a cliche, and a personal question, but I’ve got to know: what do Scotsmen have beneath their kilts?”
“Lass,” replied Hamish, “I’m a mon of verra few words. Just gie me your hond.”