The Irish Ballerina
A very large woman, wearing a sleeveless sun dress, walked into a Bar in Dublin.
She raised her right arm, revealing a huge, hairy armpit as she pointed to all the people sitting at the bar and asked, ‘What man here will buy a lady a drink?’ The bar went silent as the patrons tried to ignore her. But down at the end of the bar, an owl-eyed drunk slammed his hand down on the counter and bellowed ‘Give the ballerina a drink!’
The bartender poured the drink and the woman chugged it down. She turned to the patrons and again pointed around at all of them, revealing the same hairy armpit, and asked, ‘What man here will buy a lady a drink?’ Once again, the same little drunk slapped his money down on the bar and said, ‘Give the ballerina another drink!’
The bartender approached the little drunk and said ‘Tell me, Paddy, it’s your business if you want to buy the lady a drink, but why do you keep calling her a ballerina?’
The drunk replied, ‘Any woman who can lift her leg that high has got to be a ballerina!
Paddy had been drinking at his local Dublin pub all day and most of the night celebrating St Patrick’s Day.
Mick, the bartender says, You’ll not be drinking any more tonight Paddy.
Paddy replies, Ok Mick, I’ll be on my way then. Paddy spins around on his stool and steps off. He falls flat on his face. **** he says and pulls himself up by the stool and dusts himself off.He takes a step towards the door and falls flat on his face, ****!
He looks to the doorway and thinks to himself that if he can just get to the door and some fresh air he’ll be fine.He belly crawls to the door and shimmies up to the door frame. He sticks his head outside and takes a deep breath of fresh air, feels much better and takes a step out onto the sidewalk and falls flat on his face.
Bi’Jesus… I’m fockin’ focked, he says.
He can see his house just a few doors down, and crawls to the door, hauls himself up the door frame, opens the door and shimmies inside. He takes a look up the stairs and says
No fockin’ way, but he crawls up the stairs to his bedroom door and says I can make it to the bed.
He takes a step into the room and falls flat on his face. He says Fock it and falls into bed.
The next morning, his wife, Jess, comes into the room carrying a cup of coffee and says, Get up Paddy. Did you have a bit to drink last night?. Paddy says, I did Jess. I was fockin’ pissed. But how’d you know?
Mick phoned… You left your wheelchair at the pub!
Paddy had been drinking at his local Dublin pub all day and most of the
night celebrating St Patrick’s Day.
Mick, the bartender says, You’ll not be drinking anymore tonight Paddy.
Paddy replies OK Mick, I’ll be on my way then.
Paddy spins around on his stool and steps off. He falls flat on his face.
Shoite he says and pulls himself up by the stool and dusts himself off.
He takes a step towards the door and falls flat on his face. Shoite,
Shoite! He looks to the doorway and thinks to himself that if he can
just get to the door and some fresh air he’ll be fine.
He belly crawls to the door and shimmies up to the door frame. He sticks
his head outside and takes a deep breath of fresh air, feels much better
and takes a step out onto the pavement and falls flat on his face.
Bi’Jesus… I’m fockin’ focked, he says. He can see his house just a few doors down, and crawls to the door, hauls himself up the door
doors down, and crawls to the door, hauls himself up the door frame,
opens the door and shimmies inside.
He takes a look up the stairs and says No fockin’way. He crawls up the stairs to his bedroom door and says I can make it to the bed.
He takes a step into the room and falls flat on his face. He says Fock
it
and falls into bed.
The next morning, his wife,Jess, comes into the room carrying a cup of
coffee and says, Get up Paddy. Did you have a bit to drink last night?.
Paddy says, I did Jess. I was fockin’ pissed. But how’d you know?
Mick phoned, . . . You left your wheelchair at the pub.