Rael
Supper's Ready
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'Conner and me had a fight,' says Paddy.
'That little poop, O'Conner,' 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'Conner's breast - and a thing of beauty it was - but useless in a fight.
Happy St. Patty's Day!
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'Conner and me had a fight,' says Paddy.
'That little poop, O'Conner,' 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'Conner's breast - and a thing of beauty it was - but useless in a fight.
Happy St. Patty's Day!