IRISH HUMOR

Wrong Weapon

Into a Dublin pub comes Paddy Murphy, looking like he'd just been run over by a train. His arm is in a sling, his nose is broken, his face is cut and bruised and he's walking with a limp.


"What happened to you?" asks Robert, the bartender.   


"Jamie McConnough and me had a fight," says Paddy.


"That little shit, McConnough," says Sean, "he couldn't do that to you,   he must have had something in his hand."


"That he did," says Paddy, "a shovel is what he had, and a terrible lickin' he gave me with it."


"Well," says Sean, "you should have defended yourself, didn't you have something in your hand?"


"That I did," said Paddy, "Mrs. McConnough's breast, and a thing of beauty it was, but useless in a fight."
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 Half Baby

'Wake up,' said Murphy. 'The baby's crying. It wants feeding.'

'Well, you feed it,' said his wife. 

'It's your son.' 

'Yes,' spluttered Murphy. 'But he's half yours.' '

I know,' smiled the missus. 'But it's your half that's crying!'

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