On St. Patrick’s Day, two Irish mothers, Kate and Lorna, were talking about their sons.
Kate says, ‘My Patrick is such a saint. He works hard, doesn’t smoke, and he hasn’t so much as looked at a woman in over two years.’
Lorna responds, ‘Well, my Francis is a saint himself. Not only hasn’t he not looked at a woman in over three years, he hasn’t touched a drop of liquor in all that time.’
‘My word,’ says Kate, ‘You must be so proud.’
‘I am,’ announces Lorna, ‘And when he’s paroled next month, I’m going to throw him a big party.’
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An Irishman who had a little too much to drink while celebrating St. Patrick’s Day is driving home and, of course, his car is weaving violently all over the road.
A policeman pulls him over. “So,” says the policeman 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 heaven,” sighs the drunk, “for a minute there, I thought I’d gone deaf.”
