Candles in the Wind

I thought everyone might enjoy this story; being an Irishman myself, I sure did :slight_smile:

Mrs. McGervey was a-walking down O’Connell Street in Dublin when she met up with Father Flaherty. The Father said, “Top o’ the mornin’ to ye! . . . Aren’t ye Mrs. McGervey, and didn’t I marry ye and yer hoosband 2 years ago?” She replied, “Aye, that ye did, Father.”

The Father asked, “And be there any little wee-uns as yet?”

She replied, “No . . . no . . . not yet, Father.”

The Father said, “Well now, I’ll be a-goin’ to Rome next week and to be sure, I’ll be lightin a candle for ye and yer hoosband.” She replied, “Oh, thank ye, Father!” They then parted ways.

Some years later they met again. The Father asked, “Well now, Mrs. McGervey, how are ye these days?” She replied, “Oh, very well, Father!” The Father asked, “And tell me now, have ye any wee-uns as yet?”

She replied, “Aye indeed, Father! Three sets of twins and 4 singles, 10 in all!”

The Father said, "That’s wonderful! . . . And how is yer lovin’ hoosband doing?

She replied, "E’s gone to Rome to blaw out yer fookin’ candle”.

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That’s a good one. Thanks for the laugh @Jazzbass19

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So, a Scotsman was out his motorbike, having been on a cross-country jaunt across the entirety of the U.K. Eventually he came across a quaint little countryside British pub and decided to stop in for a pint.

All eyes went to him as he stepped up to the bar. “I’ll hae a pint o’ Guinness,” he told the bartender, “for Sco’land.”

The bartender poured his Guinness, the Scotsman drank it, paid, and made to leave. When he stepped outside, however, he noticed that his motorbike was gone.

He stepped back into the pub, which was suddenly silent, and glared at each of the patrons.

“Al’right,” he said in a loud, booming voice, “which one o’ ya lads took me bike?”

No answer.

“Al’right,” he continued. “I’m gonna sit down an hae another pint. When I’m doone, wi’ me pint, me bike had be’er be righ’ back where I pu’ it. Otherwise…” he narrowed his gaze and knowingly patted his pocket “…I’m gonna hafta do wha’ I did in Edinburgh, and I don’ wanna hafta do wha’ I did in Edinburgh ag’in!”

So he calmly sits down, has another pint, calmly pays, calmly walks out of the pub, and lo and behold his motorbike has been returned. Without even a moment’s hesitation, he hops on and starts it up.

“My good man,” the bartender says, having followed the Scotsman outside, “I truly must know… what did you have to do in Edinburgh?”

The Scotsman lowers his gaze, staring intently at the road ahead of him.

“In Edinburgh…? In Edinburgh… I walked home.”

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So I was at this bar in England some time ago, and I overheard these three rather large and obviously drunk women talking. Their accent sounded Scottish to me, so I went over and said, “Hi, are you three lassies from Scotland?”

One of them screamed in my face, “It’s Wales, you bloody idiot, Wales!”

So I said, “I’m sorry, are you three whales from Scotland?”

I woke up in hospital.

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Ha-ha! Thanks, @timsgeekery . . . :rofl:

Cheers
Joe

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Good one, @Mike_NL . . . :+1:

I’ll have to remember that one! . . . :wink:

Cheers
Joe

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