Happy St. Patrick's Day

or Drink Responsibly (Do As I Say, Not As I Do)

Since I am, after all, of Irish extraction — and, as a result, quite unlikely to sue, cancel, ban, or otherwise vilify myself — I thought I might use the occasion of St. Patrick’s Day to share some of my favorite Irish stories. If you happen to take exception to any of them, I invite you, as is the Irish wont, to tell your story walking. 🤪

Story One

Murphy walks into a bar for the first time and sits down. When the bartender approaches, Murphy orders three pints of Guinness. He does exactly the same thing on three consecutive days.

When he orders on the third day, the bartender says, “I don’t mean to offend, stranger. But might I ask why you always order three pints?”

“Ay, Mate,” says Murphy. “When I left me two brothers in the old country, I promised ‘em every time I stopped for a pint, I’d have one for each of them, too.”

The bartender nods in satisfaction and says, “To your brothers.”

This goes on every day for three weeks. At the beginning of the fourth week, Murphy comes in and orders two pints of Guinness. He does the same thing three days in succession.

On the fourth day, as he’s setting up the two pints, the bartender says, “My condolences, Murphy. I’m sorry for your loss.”

“What might ye be talkin’ about?” asks Murphy.

The bartender replies, “Since you always ordered a pint for each of your brothers, I imagined one of them must have passed on.”

“No, Mate,” Murphy says. “I appreciate your thoughtfulness, but me brothers are fine. I’m only ordering two pints because it’s Lent, and I’ve given up the drink.”

Story Two

Murphy walks into another bar, orders a pint of Guinness and sees a large snifter full of $100 bills standing on the bar. When the bartender comes over with the pint, Murphy asks him what the snifter’s all about.

“Oh, that’s the payoff for a bet we’ve had running here for a while,” the bartender says.

“What would that bet be about"?” Murphy asks.

“Well,” the bartender says, “you have to chug a fifth of Jameson and chase it with an Irish Car Bomb. And you have to do it without puking. If you can do that, you win everything in the snifter.”

Murphy just nods. After a little while, he’s finished his pint. So, he gets up and walks out of the bar. About 15 minutes later, he comes back in, orders another pint of Guinness, and puts a $100 bill on the bar.

When the bartender brings the pint, Murphy downs it promptly and says to him, “I’ll be takin’ ye up on that bet now, Mate.”

With a slightly hesitant glance at Murphy, the bartender puts Murphy’s money in the snifter, pulls a fifth of Jameson off the shelf, pours another pint of Guinness and a shot of Jameson, stands ready to add the Bailey’s Irish Cream to the shot glass, and puts them in front of Murphy. With that, Murphy chugs the fifth of Jameson, chugs the Irish Car Bomb, and orders another pint of Guinness.

The bartender brings Murphy the pint — and the snifter full of cash — with a look of astonishment on his face.

“May I ask you a question?” the bartender says to Murphy.

“Sure ‘n’ ye can, Mate,” Murphy replies.

“When you walked out of here about 10 minutes ago, where did you go?”

“Oh,” Murphy says, “I just went to the bar down the block to make sure I could do it.”

Story Three

After getting home from the pub, Murphy’s out for a drive. After a while, he notices the lights of a motorcycle cop flashing behind him. He pulls over and rolls down the window.

As the cop approaches, he says, “Good God, Murphy! What the hell’s the matter with ye?”

“What would ye be on about, Clancy?” Murphy asks the cop. “I’m driving straight as an arrow.”

“That may be,” Clancy replies. “But your wife fell out of the car about five miles back, ye damn fool!”

“Oh, praise the Lord!” Murphy says. “I thought I’d gone deaf!”

Story Four

Murphy walks into yet another bar to find a fifth of tequila and a fifth of Jameson sitting on a shelf behind the bar with an empty Guinness glass between them. Behind them is a large, vintage glass jar from the Ballymacarrett Glassworks, full of cash. A light shines down on all of them as if they’re part of some kind of shrine.

“And what might those be?” Murphy asks the bartender. “If ye’ll forgive the pun, I’ll wager they’re part of some kind of bet or other, yeah?”

“Right you are,” the bartender says.

“And what might be required of a fella to win that bet?” Murphy asks.

“Well,” the bartender says, “first you have to chug the tequila and the Jameson. Then you have to chase it with the pint of Guinness I’ll give you in that glass. Providing you keep all that down, there’s a Pit Bull chained up in the alley behind the bar with a rotten tooth. You’ll have to go out and pull it. Finally, there’s a 95-year-old woman upstairs who’s never had sex. You’ll have to go up there and make things right by her.”

“And what might all that be worth?” Murphy asks.

“After you ante up a C-Note, if you win the bet, you’ll get the entire contents of that jar right there,” the bartender says, pointing to the Ballymacarrett jar.

“Ye’d be on then,” Murphy says, slapping a bill on the bar.

The bartender puts the bottles of tequila and whiskey on the bar and pours the pint. Murphy chugs them all, belches, blinks a few times, and weaves off toward the back door of the bar.

After 10 minutes of screaming from Murphy, howling from the Pit Bull, and the sounds of things crashing in the alley, Murphy staggers back into the bar. He’s soaked in perspiration. His clothes are shredded. He’s bleeding from lacerations and bite marks. And he asks for a beer.

The bartender hands it to him. As he takes a swig, swaying drunkenly back and forth, Murphy slurs, “All right. Now where’s the old lady with the bad tooth?”