An elderly couple were driving through County Kerry, Ireland. Irene
was driving when she got pulled over by the Gardai, who asks her, 'Ma'am did you know that you were speeding?'
Irene turns to her husband, Mick and enquires, 'What did he say?'
Mick yells out, 'He says
you were speeding!'
The Garda said, 'May I see your license, please ma'
am?'
Irene, once again, turns to Mick and says, 'What did he say?'
Once more, Mick, shouts out, 'He wants to see your license!'
Irene gives the policeman her driving license.
The Garda retorts, 'I see you are from Kerry. I spent some time there once and had the worst date I have ever had.'
For the final time, Irene turns to
Mick and asks, 'What did he say?'
Late on one Saturday night, the Garda spotted O'Callaghan driving very
erratically through the streets of Dungarvan, County Waterford. The policeman
pulled him over and asked O'Callaghan if he had been drinking that evening.
'Aye, so I have. 'Tis Saturday, you know, so me and the lads stopped by the
pub where I had six or seven pints,' chattered the inebriated O'Callaghan. 'Then
there was something called "Happy Hour" and they served these mar-gar-itos which
are quite good. I had four or five o' those. Then I had to drive me friend
O'Reilly home and o' course I had to go in for a couple of Guinness - couldn't
be rude, ye know. Then I stopped on the way home to get another bottle for later
...,' and O'Callaghan fumbled around in his coat until he located his bottle of
whiskey, which he held up for inspection.
The Garda officer sighed and said, 'Sir, I'm afraid I'll need you to step out
of the car and take a breathalyser test.'
Indignantly, O'Callaghan replied, 'Why? Don't ye believe me?'
O'Malley was driving down the street thoroughly worked up because he had an important meeting and he couldn't find a parking place. Looking up to heaven he said, 'Lord take pity on me. If you find me a
parking place I will go to Mass every Sunday for the rest of me life and give up me Irish Whiskey.'
Miraculously, a parking place appeared.
O'Malley looked up again and said, 'Never mind,
Lord, I found one.'
An American farmer was on holiday in Ireland. He could
not resist exploring the hill farms east of Galway. At lunch time he dropped into a pub and fell into easy conversation with a Irish farmer.
'How big is your spread?' , asked the American. 'Well look you,
it's about 20 acres he said' . Only 20 acres the American responded, back in Texas I can get up at sunrise, saddle my horse and ride all day, when I return at supper time, I'll be lucky to cover half my farm'.
'Begora', said the Irishman, 'I once had horse like that, but sent him to the knackers yard.'
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