Irish Jokes

Murphy goes into the confessional box after years of being away from the Church. He pulls aside the curtain, enters and sits himself down. There’s a fully equipped bar with crystal glasses, the best vestry wine, Guinness on tap, cigars and liqueur chocolates nearby.

And on the wall a fine photographic display of various women who appear to have misplaced their garments. He hears a priest come in. “Father, forgive I think its been a while since I’ve been to confession and to be sure I must say that the confessional box is much better than it used to be.

The priest replies, “Get out, you idiot. You’re on my side!”

Murphy told me this story once.

" I was a very happy Irishman, Paddy.

My wonderful girlfriend and I had been dating for over a year, and so we decided to get married.

There was only one little thing bothering me—it was her beautiful younger sister.

My prospective sister-in-law was twenty-two, wore very tight miniskirts, and generally was bra-less.

She would regularly bend down when she was near me, and I always got more than a nice view. It had to be deliberate. Because she never did it when she was near anyone else.

One day her “little” sister called and asked me to come over to check the wedding invitations. She was alone when I arrived, and she whispered to me that she had feelings and desires for me that she couldn’t overcome.

She told me that she wanted me just once before I got married and committed my life to her sister.

Well, I was in total shock and couldn’t say a word.

She said, “I’m going upstairs to my bedroom, and if you want one last wild fling, just come up and get me.”I was stunned and frozen in shock as I watched her go up the stairs. I stood there for a moment, then turned and made a beeline straight to the front door.

I opened the door and headed straight towards my car. Lo and behold, my entire future family was standing outside, all clapping! With tears in his eyes, my father-in-law hugged me and said, “We are very happy that you have passed our little test.

We couldn’t ask for a better man for our daughter. Welcome to the family.”

And the moral of this story is: Always keep your condoms in your car."

An Irishman went for an interview with one of the major blue chip computer companies.

When the interview was over, the interviewer told him that all applicants had to complete a test. The interviewer took a piece of paper and drew six vertical lines in pairs of two on the paper and placed it in front of the Irishman.

“Could you please show me a clever way to make this into nine?”

After thinking for a while, the Irishman took the pencil, drew a canopy of leaves on top of the three pairs of lines, and handed the paper back to the interviewer.

The interviewer looked at the drawings and said: “But that is not nine!”
“Oh yes, it is”, said the Irishman with a broad Irish accent, “Tree + Tree + Tree make nine!”
The interviewer returned the paper to the Irishman and asked him to make it 99.

After thinking for a long while, the Irishman scribbled up and down the trunks and handed the paper back to the interviewer.

The interviewer looked at the drawings and said: “But that is not ninety-nine!” “Oh yes, it is”, said the Irishman, “Dirty tree + dirty tree + dirty tree make ninety-nine.”

The interviewer was now a bit cheesed off, so he decided to do the Irishman once and for all; therefore, he handed the paper back to the Irishman and asked him to make it 100.
After thinking for a considerably longer time, the Irishman suddenly grabbed the pencil, drew a little blop on the bottom right-hand side of each three, and handed the paper back to the interviewer. The interviewer looked at the drawings and said: “But that is not 100!”

“Oh yes, it most certainly is”, said the Irishman with a much broader Irish accent,

“Dirty tree and a turd + dirty tree and turd + dirty tree and a turd, make a 100.

Paddy McCoy, an elderly Irish farmer, received a letter from the Department for Work & Pensions stating that they suspected he was not paying his employees the statutory minimum wage and they would send an inspector to interview them.

On the appointed day, the inspector turned up.
“Tell me about your staff,” he asked Paddy.

“Well,” said Paddy, “there’s the farmhand, I pay him €240 a week, and he has a free cottage.
Then there’s the housekeeper. She gets €190 a week, along with free board and lodging.

There’s also the half-wit. He works a 16 hour day, does 90% of the work, earns about €25 a week along with a bottle of whiskey and, as a special treat, occasionally gets to sleep with my wife.”

“That’s disgraceful,” said the inspector, “I need to interview the half-wit.”
“That’ll be me then,” said Paddy!

The French President is sitting in his office when his telephone rings.
“Hallo, Mr Macron!” a heavily accented voice said. “This is Paddy down at the Harp Pub in County Clare, Ireland.
I am ringing to inform you that we are officially declaring war on you!”

“Well, Paddy,” Macron replied, “This is indeed important news! How big is your army?”

“Right now,” says Paddy, after a moment’s calculation, “there is myself, me cousin Sean, me next door neighbour Seamus, and the entire darts team from the pub. That makes eight!”

Macron paused. “I must tell you, Paddy, that I have 100,000 men in my army waiting to move on my command.”
“Jaysus!!” says Paddy. “I’ll have to ring you back.”

Sure enough, the next day, Paddy calls again. “Mr Macron, the war is still on. We have managed to get us some infantry equipment!”
“And what equipment would that be, Paddy?” Macron asks.
“Well, we have two combines, a bulldozer and Murphy’s farm tractor.”
Macron sighs, amused. “I must tell you, Paddy, that I have 6,000 tanks and 5,000 armoured personnel carriers. Also, I have increased my army to 150,000 since we last spoke.”
“Saints preserve us!” says Paddy. “I’ll have to get back to you.”
Sure enough, Paddy rings the next day again. “Mr Macron, the war is still on!
We have managed to get ourselves airborne! We have modified Jackie McLaughlin’s ultra-light with a couple of shotguns in the cockpit, and four boys from the Shamrock Bar have joined us as well!”

Macron was silent for a minute and then cleared his throat. “I must tell you, Paddy, that I have 100 bombers and 200 fighter planes.
My military bases are surrounded by laser-guided, surface-to-air missile sites. And since we last spoke, I have increased my army to 200,000!”

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!” says Paddy, “I will have to ring you back.”

Sure enough, Paddy calls the next day again. “Well, good mornin’, Mr Macron, I am sorry to inform you that we have had to call off the war.”

“Really? I am sorry to hear that,” says Macron. “Why the sudden change of heart?”

“Well,” says Paddy, “we had a long chat over a few pints of Guinness, and we decided there is no fookin’ way we can feed 200,000 prisoners.