Irish Jokes

Pat, his wife and their 9-year-old son went shopping in Dublin for the first time. Pat had never been to Dublin and always lived in the countryside.

Pat and his son were totally amazed by nearly everything they saw. But it was a shiny silver wall that opened and closed magically that really got their attention.

The boy asked his father Pat,

What is this dad?

Pat (who had never seen an elevator before) responded,

Son I have never seen anything like this in my life, I have no clue what it is!

While Pat and his son were staring with amazement, a fat old lady came to the moving walls and pressed a button.

The walls opened, and the lady got between them and got into a small room.

The walls magically closed, and the boy and his father watched in amazement as the small numbers above the wall lit up sequentially.

They continued to watch until it reached the last number, and the numbers began to light in reverse order.

The door opened, and a young blonde stepped out.

Pat, not taking his eyes off the young woman, said quietly to his son…

Go get your mother

Murphy counseled his granddaughter that if she wanted to live a long life, the secret was to sprinkle a pinch of gun powder on her oatmeal every morning.

The granddaughter did this religiously until the age of 103, when she died.

She left behind 14 children, 30 grandchildren, 45 great-grandchildren, 25 great-great-grandchildren, and a 40-foot hole where the crematorium used to be.

Murphy's nagging wife died suddenly on a trip to Jerusalem. The Funeral director said , "Sir, it would cost about $45,000 if we send her home back to Ireland or $500 if we bury her here in Jerusalem."

Murphy replied "Ship her home."

The Funeral director came back and said "But sir, why don't you bury her here in the Holy Land and you can save money."

Murphy, quick as a flash replied "A long time ago a man was buried here and 3 days later he rose from the dead, I can't take that chance."

Now, before I continue, I wish to apologize for this joke.

“What is your name?” inquired the teacher.

“Mohammad,” he said.

“You’re in Ireland now,” the teacher said, “therefore you’ll be known as Mike from now on.”

Mohammad came home from school. 

“How was your day, Mohammad?” questioned his mum. 

“Mohammad is not my name. I’m in Ireland and now my name is Mike”. 

“Are you embarrassed by your name? Are you attempting to defame your parents, your heritage, or your religion? You should be ashamed!”
And his mother thrashed him to oblivion.   

Then she called his father, who thrashed him once again. 

Mohammad went back to school the next day. The teacher saw all of his fresh bruises. 

“What happened, Mike?” she inquired. 

“Well shortly after becoming an Irishman, I was attacked by two fookin Arabs.”