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 jerk, 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.'
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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!'
[Reply]
The Montana Department of Employment, Division of Labor Standards claimed a small rancher was not paying proper wages to his help and sent an agent out to investigate him.
AGENT: I need a list of your employees and how much you pay them.
RANCHER: Well, there's my hired hand who's been with me for 3 years. I pay him $200 a week plus free room and board. Then there's the mentally challenged guy. He works about 18 hours every day and does about 90% of all the work around here. He makes about $10 per week, pays his own room and board, and I buy him a bottle of bourbon every Saturday night so he can cope with life. He also sleeps with my wife occasionally.
AGENT: That's the guy I want to talk to - the mentally challenged one.
RANCHER: That would be me.
[Reply]
