—Well, it may be Friday, but it’s also St. Patrick’s Day. So the only chance any of us have at seeing the little fella dance is to sleuth out which Irish pub he’s currently holed up in, then start checking under the skirts of scads of young professional women whose Jameson-soaked Happy Hour loss of inhibitions make them prime targets for what our scheming little armor-plated Lothario assures them is an authentic Celtic “silk-hatted river dance of love”—a charade that ends (unfortunately, for these unsuspecting ladies) with a pinch on the ass and an armadillo snout buried flush and heavy in their lucky clover…
Which, it ain’t bad work if you can get it, I admit.
Well, wherever he is, there’s sure to be lots of Van Morrison playing on the jukebox tonight. I’m guessing House of Pain’s “Jump Around” will probably get played a few times, too.
I’m just saying, somebody is bound to see the little fella dance tonight.
I want to hear more about this lucky clover, myself…
I’m kinda wishing that I lived in Denver right about now! Oh shut up, don’t judge me!
Time for the annual telling of the “Paddy on his deathbed” joke. You’ll have to imagine the killer Irish accent I use when I tell this.
Paddy was on his deathbed. He calls his best friend Seamus in, and says, “Seamus me boy, I’m not long for this world, and I’ve got one favor I’ve got to be askin’ of ya. At the funeral, could you be takin’ a bottle of the best Irish Whiskey and pourin’ it over me grave.”
Seamus thinks for a second and says, “Sure, Paddy, I do dat for ye. But, uh, would you be mindin’ if I passed it through me bladder first.”
How about a “shitty” Irish joke?
A drunk staggers into a Catholic church. enters a confessional booth, 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.”
The little fella should be up on the pool table soon, showing Michael Flatley who really is Lord Of The Dance!
RLS will have fun trying to clean this one up.
Does the little armor-plated leprechaun ever dance during the rest of the week? Doing the Tuesday Tango perhaps?
Q: What’s the difference between an Irish wedding and an Irish wake?
A: One less drunk
I hope the little fella finds a pot of gold.
Jim, the telephone thing is a bit further up the anatomy…
Coupla glasses of that dark Irish beer does it for me.
“Van Morrison” – gibbering drunk
“Lord of the Dance” – please…Chicago?
when you want your paddy on St. Paddy;s Day:
you gotta go black 47, baby!
I just learned that ‘dillos spend more time in R.E.M. sleep than other species. What does this mean? How did we discover this? Who cares?
Oh yes, I saw the little fucker, dyed green for the occasion, doing a mighty jig on a pool table in a bar on Amsterdam Ave. Round about 2 AM. Every fucking Colleen was gathered round and givin’ us more comatose examples of Irish spirit the cold shoulder
Ohhhh my fucking head. Pass us the jug, willya?
“Work” Maybe by Monday. Then again, maybe not.
Another Irish Joke:
Remember Sinead O’Connor?
Me either.
Toe camera broken?
…I get knocked down, but I get up again…
[repeat ‘til deaf]