John Tierney has an article on different theories as to why women laugh more in the company of men than men do in the company of women. Commenter TallDave says it has to do with sex, and I’m inclined to agree, because if I can get a woman to throw her head back and show her tonsils . . .
Anyway, that’s a subject that seems to me appropriate for Paddy’s Day. And if you don’t want to comment on that (look to the right bar if you’re interested in Tierney’s previous posts on the topic), feel free to share any particularly disastrous or hilarious (or both) St. Paddy’s stories. I’ll be posting one of mine, later.
Slainte!!!
What about adenoids?
They’re laughing at us , we’re trying to get a piece .
Men are less likely to laugh in the company of women because we are often wondering whether something was really funny or not (i.e. if the women thought it was funny, even when we know it was). As in, after laughing, a woman might ask, “Did you think that was funny?” thereby starting a conversation we would rather not have.
However, this is something you only worry about if you are trying to get some from at least one of the women present. If not, you can go ahead and laugh whenever you damn well please. And scratch yourself too.
And grunt.
Wanna make a woman laugh?
Next time she says, Honey, does this dress make my ass look fat?”
Tell her, “No, dear it’s the fat that makes your ass look fat.”
Laughing at a man’s jokes is an easy way to get him eating out of the palm of your hand.
Messy.
Purel.
Getting a woman to laugh at your jokes is an easy way to get her out of her pants.
….which, in turn, is an easy way to find yourself eating out of the palm of her hand.
tw: own69
I’ve got nothing.
Just as long as she doesn’t start laughing when you get out of yours.
Or so I’ve heard.
Here’s a true St Paddy’s related story.
My older brother purchased an old sedan when I was in college. He paid $50 for it – going way back here to when a $50 car was roadworthy – off the side of the road where he was living up in what they call the Northeast Kingdom of VT. Went all over in it. He was visiting me the next spring and we decided to go from Amherst down to Holyoke MA where there was a traditionally raucous St Paddy’s parade. We had 4 micks in the car, me, brother, a friend of his who hailed from Holyoke, and a friend of mine from school, Sully (really). Sully was the kind of guy you had to keep an eye in situations like that. No sense of proportion and a chancy drunk to boot.
Had a marvelous time at the parade and 3 of us left Holyoke the next afternoon in fine spirits and well wrapped again. Especially Sully. Well, not Sully concerning the fine spirits part. My brother and I had gotten lucky with the fairer sex. Or lucky enough considering Well lucky enough to feel pretty good about myself in my case anyway, my brother doing significantly better but he knew the crowd already and so had an unfair advantage. But Sully being Sully and all, he felt the best strategy would be to impress them by puking in the bar, having to be carried to the party, being left on the porch for awhile, and other ploys that hadn’t worked out as planned.
The story approaches denouement. While my brother and I were debriefing each other about our evenings, Sully felt obligated to point out how poorly we’d addressed his interests the previous evening. We told him where to properly register his complaints, and he took the advice poorly. My brother was driving and it fell to me to reason with Sully over the back of the seat. In the course of the debate, he noticed a tear in the headliner and proceeded to rip down the whole thing to illustrate his position. My brother, placid by nature but even then a largish sort, pulled over and knocked the crap out of him. That settled, on we went.
After dropping off Sully, and while stripping away the headliner tatters before my brother headed off, we noticed some items tucked up over the brace near the original tear. A small quantity of moldy pot but also a respectable quantity of hash well wrapped in tinfoil and worth the price of the car several times over. Good ol’ Sully.
The details remain fresh though increasingly whimsical as my brother and I still revisit them every couple of years or so but a true story nonetheless.
I don’t mind making women laugh.
Long as I don’t have to you know…talk to them or anything.
JPT, thanks for the great story. It brought back memories, since I dated a woman from Holyoke when I was in college, and was a fraternity brother to a Sully whose sister I also knew.
My story comes from my senior year in high school, Milwaukee, 1978. I had a friend from my science classes, Mike Lambo, who, like me, had a streak of wiseass. He came from a large Irish-Italian family, and his brother Pat had wrestled on the team I was on. We’d been meaning to do something together for quite some time, but our schedules never did quite work together, though we were dating two girls who were best friends. So, when I heard that the Irish band Horslips, who had a minor hit called “Speed the Plough,” were going to play in town on Patty’s, I invited him.
My brother, Tim, a grade below, came along, as did my friend Kenny Carlson and his friend Keith Hussinger. We got there well early in the Electra 225, for the free green beer offered at the venue for a couple of hours prior to the concert. One of the servers was a girl named Shelley, who’d been in my Catholic school after-school driving program. She’d bring us a large tray entirely filled with green taps, and we’d toss a fiver on top to make sure she’d come back again soon, so we were good and drunk by the time the show started. We packed in and took a table right in front. Sometime during the warm-up act my brother leaned under the stage and vommed.
I remember that during the break I walked upstairs to where the bathrooms were, past the boxes in the old theater, and picked my way through the hallway where folks were passed out. Women kept on barging into the men’s in groups and booting the guys out, because of the line to the ladies’. I accidentally stepped on someone on the way back, before my eyes became reaccustomed to the darkness of the hall. He groaned.
After the show, we went to Cousin’s subs on Wisconsin. I collected the money and the orders and went in. When I came out, I passed the subs around. My brother was outraged to find that his had mayo on it. He hated mayo. He accused me of not having asked for it without mayo. I told him that I had asked for it without mayo. He said I was lying. I told him he was an asshole. As I was driving, he punched me in the head.
I squealed to the side of the road and we both leapt out, but the guys intervened. Mike figured it’d probably be better if he drove, so Tim rode in front and I in back on opposite sides to reduce the chances of our getting into it again.
Somehow, Mike ended up friends with me, despite the auspicious beginning.
I never shared more than a passing nod with Sully after that and lost track of him after graduation. Had he whacked Kevin (my brother) while he was driving, I doubt I would have been able to effectively intervene, nor would I have been inclined to. I’ve always been big – haven’t seen 200lbs since HS – but Kevin’s always been bigger.
Being Boston born and bred, my various brothers and I (6) were always more likely to raise hell there on St Paddy’s until we scattered. I did attend the Holyoke St Paddy’s day parade with Kevin and Dan (another brother) the next year in a relatively more sedate manner and in a better car than Kevin’s $50 Malibu.
Slainte!!!
Aye Slainte!!
I love you guys.
Happy Paddy’s Day, Dan. And my commiserations to all our readers from Pakistan.
From The Sunday TimesMarch 18, 2007
Ireland shatter Pakistan
Ireland (133-7) beat Pakistan (132) by three wicketsDileep Premachandran at Sabina Park, Jamaica
Having tied their first-ever World Cup game against Zimbabwe, Ireland went one better in front of a delirious crowd at Sabina Park, pulling off a nail-biting three-wicket victory that sent Pakistan tumbling out of the competition. Andre Botha was the wrecker-in-chief with the ball as a team comprising largely of part-timers pulled off one of the biggest upsets in the game’s history.
<b>
Holy crap! Well, that is something. I suppose this might lead to Musharrif’s downfall, as mixed a blessing as that might be.
OK, here’s an Irish joke for you:
Two Irishmen walk out of a bar.
Apparently it isn’t closing time yet, Pablo.
Otherwise, there wouldn’t be a joke.
Right?
That was the considered view at this morning’s tennis gathering of spooks, dips, journalists & hard drinking internationalist businessman.
How many beans are in Irish Bean Soup?
239…
One more, and t’would be too-farty.
An Irishman from some far away village moves into a small town in County Cork and begins to frequent the local pub, where he always orders three pints at a time. The locals wonder why he always order the three pints, but nobody wants to pry.
Finally, the owner of the pub asks him about it, and the man tells him that he has two brothers.
“One of my brothers moved to America and the other moved to Australia, so whenever any one of the three of us goes to a pub, we order pints for the brothers who can’t be here.”
The man who orders pints for his absent brothers became a fixture in the town, and tourists who were interested in Irish traditions began to seek him out. After all, he was something like an Irish folktale.
But then, one spring day, he went to the pub and ordered only two pints. Everyone feared for the worst.
The barman asked him, “Did one of your brothers pass away?
“No, he said, “I’ve given up drinking for Lent.”
And ah love you, ya bastahd!!
[/patrick stewart]
I suppose I should have titled it Micks Bash Pakis. Ah, well.
Cranky, look again.
TW: verb14—that’s a hint.
Yep, I’m kinda dense sometimes. Or most of the time.
Layers
Eeee. It sure led to the Pakistan coach’s downfall. He just died.