Into a Belfast 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 Sean, the bartender.
"Jamie O'Connor and me had a fight," says Paddy.
"That little sh*t, O'Connor," 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. O'Connor's left breast, and a thing of beauty it was, but totally useless in a fight."
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A drunk staggers into Church, enters a confessional, sits down, but says nothing.
The Priest coughs a few times to get his attention but the drunk continues to sit there.
Finally, the Priest pounds three times on the wall.
The drunk mumbles, "ain't no use knockin, there's no paper on this side either!"
"What happened to you?" asks Sean, the bartender.
"Jamie O'Connor and me had a fight," says Paddy.
"That little sh*t, O'Connor," 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. O'Connor's left breast, and a thing of beauty it was, but totally useless in a fight."
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A drunk staggers into Church, enters a confessional, sits down, but says nothing.
The Priest coughs a few times to get his attention but the drunk continues to sit there.
Finally, the Priest pounds three times on the wall.
The drunk mumbles, "ain't no use knockin, there's no paper on this side either!"
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