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 sidewalk and falls flat on his face.
"Bi'Jesus... I'm f*ckin' f*cked," 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 f*ckin' 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 "F*ck 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 f*ckin' p*ssed. But how'd you know?"

"Mick phoned, you left your wheelchair at the pub!"

The following are all replies that Dallas TX women have written on Child Support Agency forms in the section for listing "father's details" Or putting it another way... Who's yo Daddy? These are genuine excerpts from the forms (truth be told??). (Number 11 takes 1st prize and #3 is runner up Number 5 gives new meaning to people from Virginia)

1. Regarding. the identity of the father of my twins, child A was fathered by Jim Munson. I am unsure as to the identity of the father of child B, but I believe that he was conceived on the same night.

2. I am unsure, as to the identity of the father of my child as I was being sick out of a window when taken unexpectedly from behind. I can provide you with a list of names of men that I think were at the party if this helps.

3. I do not know the name of the father of my little girl. She was conceived at a party at 3600 Grand Avenue where I had unprotected sex with a man I met that night. I do remember that the sex was so good that I fainted. If you do manage to track down the father, can you send me his phone number? Thanks.

4. I don't know the identity of the father of my daughter. He drives a BMW that now has a hole made by my stiletto in one of the door panels. Perhaps you can contact BMW service stations in this area and see if he's had it replaced.

5. I have never had sex with a man. I am still a Virginian. I am awaiting a letter from the Pope confirming that my son's conception was ejaculate and that he is the Saver risen again.

6. I cannot tell you the name of child A's dad as he informs me that to do so would blow his cover and that would have cataclysmic implications for the economy. I am torn between doing right by you and right by the country. Please advise.

7. I do not know who the father of my child was as all blacks look the same to me.

8. Peter Smith is the father of child A . If you do catch up with him, can you ask him what he did with my AC/DC CDs? Child B who was also borned at the same time ... well, I don't have clue.

9. From the dates it seems that my daughter was conceived at Disney World; maybe it really is the Magic Kingdom.

10. So much about that night is a blur. The only thing that I remember for sure is Delia Smith did a program about eggs earlier in the evening. If I had stayed in and watched more TV rather than going to the party at 146 Miller Drive, mine might have remained unfertilized.

11. I am unsure as to the identity of the father of my baby, after all, like when you eat a can of beans you can't be sure which one made you fart.

Dats W-I-K-K-I-D!!! Re-spect!

While on his morning walk, Tony Blair fell over having had a heart attack. He died because the Accident and Emergency ward at his nearest hospital was too understaffed to treat him in time.

So his soul arrived in Heaven and he was met by Saint Peter at the Pearly Gates. "Welcome to Heaven," said Saint Peter, "Before you settle in, it seems there is a problem. We seldom see a politician around these parts, so we're not sure what to do with you." "No problem, just let me in; I'm a good Christian; I'm a believer," said Blair. "I'd like to just let you in, but I have orders from God Himself. He says that since the implementation of his new HEAVEN CHOICES policy, you have to spend one day in Hell and one day in Heaven. Then you must choose where you'll live for eternity."

"But I've already made up my mind. I want to be in Heaven," replied Blair. "I'm sorry ... but we have our rules and bureaucracy." Peter interjected, and, with that escorted him to a lift and he went down, down, down . . . all the way to Hell.

The doors opened and he found himself in the middle of a lush golf course. The sun was shining in a cloudless sky, the temperature a perfect 21 degrees. In the distance is a beautiful club-house. Standing in front of it were MPs from all the years of the Great British democracy. There were Peers who had "loaned" money over the years. The whole set of the Party leaders from the past were there ... everyone laughing, happy and casually, but expensively, dressed.
They ran to greet him, to hug him and to reminisce about the good times they had getting rich at the expense of 'suckers and peasants.' They played a friendly game of golf and then dined on lobster and caviar. The Devil himself came up to Blair with a chilled drink, "Have some tequila and relax, Tony!" "Uh, I can't drink anymore, I took a pledge," said Blair, dejectedly. "This is Hell, son. You can drink and eat all you want and not worry; it just gets better from there!"

So Tony took the drink and found himself quite liking the Devil, who he thinks is a really very friendly bloke who tells funny jokes like himself and pulls hilarious nasty pranks, like the ones he and Hewitt pulled with the NHS and with Kelly on Education. They were having such a great time that, before he realised it, it was time to go. Everyone gave him a big hug and waved as Blair stepped on the lift and headed upwards.

When the door reopened, he was in Heaven again and Saint Peter was waiting for him. "Now it's time to visit Heaven," the old man said, opening the gate.

So for 24 hours Blair was made to hang out with a bunch of honest, good-natured people who enjoy each other's company, talk about things other than money and treat each other decently. Not a nasty prank or egotistical remark among them. No fancy country clubs here and, while the food tasted great, it was not caviar or lobster. And these people were all poor. He didn't see anybody he knew and he wasn't even treated like someone special! "Hmm," he said uncomfortably to himself, "Mandleson never prepared me for this!"

The day done, Saint Peter returned and said, "Well, you've spent a day in Hell and a day in Heaven. Now choose where you want to live for eternity." With the 'Deal or No Deal' theme playing softly in the background, Blair reflected for a minute ... then answered: "Well, I would never have thought I'd say this - I mean, Heaven has been delightful and all, but I really think I belong in Hell with my friends."

So Saint Peter escorted him to the lift and he went down, down, down, all the way to Hell. The doors of the lift opened and he was in the middle of a concrete jungle covered with rubbish and toxic industrial wasteland, like the eroded, infested areas that Prescott created in the South East. He was horrified to see all of his friends, dressed in rags and chained together, picking up the roadside rubbish and putting it into black plastic bags. They were groaning and moaning in pain, faces and hands black with grime. The Devil came over to Blair and put an arm around his shoulder.

"I don't understand," stammered a shocked Tony, "Yesterday I was here and there was a golf course and a club-house and we ate lobster and caviar and drank tequila. We lazed around and had a great time. Now there's just a wasteland full of rubbish and everybody looks miserable!"

The Devil looked at him, smiled slyly and purred,

"Yesterday we were campaigning; now you have voted for us!"

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Very similar to this one of Pussy's Kaine

http://www.rrsport.co.uk/forum/post131754.html#131754

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Last edited by Kaine on Sun Sep 02 2007 12:53pm. Edited 2 times in total

Hang on Kaine, what have other threads got to do with doubling up on a joke???

Didn't think you read the other 'crap' anyway?

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Last edited by Kaine on Sun Sep 02 2007 12:54pm. Edited 1 time in total

Cliff H wrote:

Very similar to this one of Pussy's Kaine

http://www.rrsport.co.uk/forum/post131754.html#131754

Sorry but the original was also on the jokes thread

Not that it matters in the slightest but re posting a joke has nothing to do with 'other' threads so there was no need for the comment, lot's has been done and said re the 'crap threads'.

Laugh about it and smile Kaine, as I did

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