It would take more than one Guinness to make me dance in my boxers. Of course, ‘more than one Guinness’ is what’s wrong with my physique in the first place…..
happy christmas
merry christmas – those both seem to go
happy easter
happy new year
happy tlap day
merry tlap day – neither of those go
happy winter-een-mas
merry winter-een-mas – again neither seem to fit right…
I have a friend who makes a point of going out to Mexican food on St. Paddys. And hits the Irish Pub on Cinco. All of the drinking with none of the crowd!
No, that would be Tepoz – who should be very popular on any alcohol related holiday, come to think of it. Monica is definitely looking at something else in Kevin’s shorts, and I think she’s going to ‘discover’ it pretty soon.
Begorrah! ‘Tis a foine thing t’have such jocularity,now!
Sure’n ye’re the spittin’ image o’ yerself, t’be sure..
Remember, me darlin’ children:
An Irishman isn’t drunk if he can still hold on to a blade of grass without fallin’ off the earth….
Just was e-mailed this from a friend :
———————————————————————-
Shamus staggered home very late after another evening with his drinking buddy, Paddy. He took off his shoes to avoid waking his wife, Kathleen.
He tiptoed as quietly as he could toward the stairs leading to their upstairs bedroom, but misjudged the bottom step. As he caught himself by grabbing the banister, his body swung around and he landed heavily on his rump. A whiskey bottle in each back pocket broke and made the landing especially painful.
Managing not to yell, Patton sprung up, pulled down his pants, and looked in the hall mirror to see that his butt cheeks were cut and bleeding. He managed to quietly find a full box of Band-Aids and began putting a Band-Aid as best he could on each place he saw blood.
He then hid the now almost empty Band-Aid box and shuffled and stumbled his way to bed.
In the morning, Shamus woke up with an ache in his head to beat the band, a pain in his butt not to be laughed at and Kathleen glaring at him from across the room.
She said, ‘You were drunk again last night weren’t you?’
Shamus said mournfully, ‘Now, why would you be sayin’ such a mean t’ing?’
‘Well,’ Kathleen said, ‘sure an’ it could be the open front door or it could be the broken glass at the bottom of the stairs. Or it might be because of the drops of blood
trailin’ through the house or it could be your frightenin’ bloodshot eyes. But mostly……………………………………..
……. it’s because of all those Band-Aids stuck on the hall mirror.’
I’m surprised he would’ve been coordinated enough to put the band-aids on the reflection of his butt while still at an angle where he would be able to see his butt in the mirror…
Ah, an it ’tis a right shame about thost 2 bottles on account of what will become of that poor Irish bastard on the day he meets his maker. Sure, an’ oI read it in “Callahan’s Cross-time Saloon”, so it MUST be true:
Upon finding his own self face to face with Saint Peter, every Irishman will be hung upside-down in a bucket full of all the whiskey he’s ever spilt.
And if he drowns, he goes to Hell.
T’is why I’m makin best, full use of a double-fist of some truly lovely Bushmills Black at this very moment. God’s Blessing to you all!
Her shamrock shake brings the boys to the yard
And they’re like, it’s better than yours
Damn right, it’s better than yours
And no amount of teaching’s gonna get you those
Begosh and begora!
Ha ha! Kevin has the ‘working man’s tan’.
We always called it a farmer tan, but yeah, definitely.
NOW I know what shirt I wanna buy!
It would take more than one Guinness to make me dance in my boxers. Of course, ‘more than one Guinness’ is what’s wrong with my physique in the first place…..
What about one Guiness and a ‘hot’ girlfriend?
What she said. *points up* That should be motivation enough for most men…besides…what’s the harm of a boxer dance if you’re not in public?
With a Guiness and a hot girlfriend, I wouldn’t need the Guiness to do the boxer dance…
(But it’d help)
All true, all true…
Happy St. Patrick’s Day to you, Paul.
And One and All.
Okay, I have determined it is ‘Happy’, not “Merry’.
Happy St. Pat’s … Merry Celebration.
hmm
happy christmas
merry christmas – those both seem to go
happy easter
happy new year
happy tlap day
merry tlap day – neither of those go
happy winter-een-mas
merry winter-een-mas – again neither seem to fit right…
Erin go bragh.
Eirinn go Brach to you too!
Remember to wear orange.
….and this is why I always wear BLACK on this day.
I’m quoting the Bards on Monica’s shorts:
“The physics alone just boggle the mind.”
I have a friend who makes a point of going out to Mexican food on St. Paddys. And hits the Irish Pub on Cinco. All of the drinking with none of the crowd!
Brilliant!
Happy St Patricks Day all
Monica is behind there – she has more left in her glass
How do you know it’s her first glass?
Besides, she’s smaller–she needs less to affect her equally.
her storage vessels probably make up for that…
Who’s Irish and sits outside on the deck?
Paddy ‘Ofurniture
Why do people wear shamrocks on St. Patrick’s Day?
Regular rocks are too heavy.
And who’s Irish, green and sits in office cubicles?
Phil O’Dendron!
Who’s Irish and complains about social inequality? Ben O’pressed
Bono?
Erin go braless?
Not if she’s built like Monica.
What is she looking for, a leprechaun?
No, that would be Tepoz – who should be very popular on any alcohol related holiday, come to think of it. Monica is definitely looking at something else in Kevin’s shorts, and I think she’s going to ‘discover’ it pretty soon.
Begorrah! ‘Tis a foine thing t’have such jocularity,now!
Sure’n ye’re the spittin’ image o’ yerself, t’be sure..
Remember, me darlin’ children:
An Irishman isn’t drunk if he can still hold on to a blade of grass without fallin’ off the earth….
(Erin go bragh, but Monica can wear whatever..)
Lá Fhéile Pádraig Sona Duit
And that’s the extent of my Gaelic.
Éire go Brách!
She’s even kinda crazy bout my farmers tan……..
Is Kevin doing the Monkey?
He’s doing the ‘Shamrock Shake’. But Monica has a monkey face…
yea, I see that too…just something about the shape.
I think it’s the expression…
Just was e-mailed this from a friend :
———————————————————————-
Shamus staggered home very late after another evening with his drinking buddy, Paddy. He took off his shoes to avoid waking his wife, Kathleen.
He tiptoed as quietly as he could toward the stairs leading to their upstairs bedroom, but misjudged the bottom step. As he caught himself by grabbing the banister, his body swung around and he landed heavily on his rump. A whiskey bottle in each back pocket broke and made the landing especially painful.
Managing not to yell, Patton sprung up, pulled down his pants, and looked in the hall mirror to see that his butt cheeks were cut and bleeding. He managed to quietly find a full box of Band-Aids and began putting a Band-Aid as best he could on each place he saw blood.
He then hid the now almost empty Band-Aid box and shuffled and stumbled his way to bed.
In the morning, Shamus woke up with an ache in his head to beat the band, a pain in his butt not to be laughed at and Kathleen glaring at him from across the room.
She said, ‘You were drunk again last night weren’t you?’
Shamus said mournfully, ‘Now, why would you be sayin’ such a mean t’ing?’
‘Well,’ Kathleen said, ‘sure an’ it could be the open front door or it could be the broken glass at the bottom of the stairs. Or it might be because of the drops of blood
trailin’ through the house or it could be your frightenin’ bloodshot eyes. But mostly……………………………………..
……. it’s because of all those Band-Aids stuck on the hall mirror.’
I’m surprised he would’ve been coordinated enough to put the band-aids on the reflection of his butt while still at an angle where he would be able to see his butt in the mirror…
Ah, an it ’tis a right shame about thost 2 bottles on account of what will become of that poor Irish bastard on the day he meets his maker. Sure, an’ oI read it in “Callahan’s Cross-time Saloon”, so it MUST be true:
Upon finding his own self face to face with Saint Peter, every Irishman will be hung upside-down in a bucket full of all the whiskey he’s ever spilt.
And if he drowns, he goes to Hell.
T’is why I’m makin best, full use of a double-fist of some truly lovely Bushmills Black at this very moment. God’s Blessing to you all!
Happy St. Patrick’s Day!! I wish it wasn’t a Thursday…I’d love to be able to enjoy this holiday without worrying about how I’ll feel tomorrow at work.
Bwwaahahahahahahaah!!! That picture is going to keep me smiling through a long, trying day at work
Thanks Paul!
lá fhéile Pádraig shona daoibh go léir!
agus chun tú chomh go maith mo chara!
Her shamrock shake brings the boys to the yard
And they’re like, it’s better than yours
Damn right, it’s better than yours
And no amount of teaching’s gonna get you those
…*cough*
*wince*
Slainte!
And a happy Shaquille O’Neill to everyone!
Or is it Wendy O. Williams?
Wait … Monica is that dark skinned and a red head?
She’s Irish-Mexican.
It’s dark auburn.
Yay! STOUT! it’s what’s for dinner!
Shamrock shake?
Nah. Chocolate malted for me, thanks.
As to stout – Guinness, as was said a few St Patrick’s Days ago in “Sequential Art” is toxic sludge.
Samuel Smith’s Oatmeal Stout and Taddy Porter … ah, now there’s something to drink!
Which reminds me – i need to get some; i need a bottle and a bit to go in the beef carbonnade a la flamade i’m making this weekend.
And since the smallest amount i can buy is a four pack, i fear me all that lovely stout will go to waste…
What can i do with the extra…?
I found something irrelevant to St. Pat’s, but I’m not going to wait for Phix to show up to share the link: Even if it’s a Monster…