Paddy had been drinking at his local Dublin pub all day and most of the night celebrating St Patrick’s Day.
Mick, the bartender says, “You’ll not be drinking anymore tonight Paddy”.
Paddy replies “Right Mick, I’ll be on my way then.” Paddy spins around on his stool and steps off and falls flat on his face. “Shoyte” he says and pulls himself up by the stool and dusts himself off. He takes a step towards the door and falls flat on his face again. “Shoite, Shoite!” He knows if he can just get to the door and some fresh air he’ll be fine. He belly crawls to the door and sticks his head outside and takes a deep breath of fresh air, feels much better and takes a step out onto the pavement and falls flat on his face. “Be’Jayses… I’m fockin’ focked”. He can see his house just a few doors down, and crawls to the door, hauls himself up and shimmies inside. He crawls up the stairs to his bedroom door, then to the bed and says “Fock it” and manages to crawl into bed.
The next morning his wife comes into the room carrying a cup of coffee and says, “Paddy. Did you have a bit to drink last night?”.
Paddy says, “That I did. I was fockin’ p*ssed. But how’d you know?”
“Mick the barman just phoned me . . . you left your wheelchair at the pub.”
Mick, the bartender says, “You’ll not be drinking anymore tonight Paddy”.
Paddy replies “Right Mick, I’ll be on my way then.” Paddy spins around on his stool and steps off and falls flat on his face. “Shoyte” he says and pulls himself up by the stool and dusts himself off. He takes a step towards the door and falls flat on his face again. “Shoite, Shoite!” He knows if he can just get to the door and some fresh air he’ll be fine. He belly crawls to the door and sticks his head outside and takes a deep breath of fresh air, feels much better and takes a step out onto the pavement and falls flat on his face. “Be’Jayses… I’m fockin’ focked”. He can see his house just a few doors down, and crawls to the door, hauls himself up and shimmies inside. He crawls up the stairs to his bedroom door, then to the bed and says “Fock it” and manages to crawl into bed.
The next morning his wife comes into the room carrying a cup of coffee and says, “Paddy. Did you have a bit to drink last night?”.
Paddy says, “That I did. I was fockin’ p*ssed. But how’d you know?”
“Mick the barman just phoned me . . . you left your wheelchair at the pub.”
Good one! Sounds like my fellow brew bro one day after brewing.......hahaha!!!
ReplyDeleteOr better yet... sounds like someone we know after one too many Car Bombs!
ReplyDelete