An Irishman was drinking at the pub all night. The bartender came up to him and told him that the bar was closing. So the Irishman stood up to leave and fell flat on his face. He tried to stand up one more time with the same result. So he figured he'd just crawl outside, hang out for a while, get some fresh air and hopefully that would sober him up.
Once outside he stood up and fell again - right on his face. He decided to crawl the four blocks to his home and when he arrived at the door he tried one more time with the same results. Exhausted, he then gave up and started crawling to the bedroom.
When he reached his bed he tried one more time to stand up. This time he managed to pull himself upright but he quickly fell right into the bed and fell sound asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.
The next morning, he woke up with his wife standing over him shouting at him, "'So, you've been out drinking again!!"
'What makes you say that?' he asked as he put on an innocent look.
"The pub called, you left your flaming wheelchair there!"
Credit: Unknown.
Showing posts with label drinking. Show all posts
Showing posts with label drinking. Show all posts
Thursday, March 11, 2010
Monday, January 4, 2010
Monday, December 7, 2009
Girl's Night Out
Oldie, but a goodie!
The other night I was invited out for a night with the girls. I promised
my husband that I would be home by midnight. Well, the hours passed and
the margaritas went down way too easy. Around 3 a.m. (a bit loaded) I
headed for home. Just as I got in the door, the cuckoo clock in the hall
started up and cuckooed 3 times. Quickly realizing my husband would
probably wake up, I cuckooed another 9 times. I was really proud of
myself for coming up with such a quick-witted solution (even when
totally smashed), in order to escape a possible conflict with him. The
next morning my husband asked me what time I got in and I told him
"midnight." He didn't seem mad at all. Whew!! Got away with that one!
Then he said, "We need a new cuckoo clock." When I asked him why, he
said, "Well, last night our clock cuckooed three times, then said, "Oh
shit," cuckooed four more times, cleared its throat, cuckooed another
three times, giggled, cuckooed twice more, and then tripped over the
coffee table and farted."
Credit: Unknown.
The other night I was invited out for a night with the girls. I promised
my husband that I would be home by midnight. Well, the hours passed and
the margaritas went down way too easy. Around 3 a.m. (a bit loaded) I
headed for home. Just as I got in the door, the cuckoo clock in the hall
started up and cuckooed 3 times. Quickly realizing my husband would
probably wake up, I cuckooed another 9 times. I was really proud of
myself for coming up with such a quick-witted solution (even when
totally smashed), in order to escape a possible conflict with him. The
next morning my husband asked me what time I got in and I told him
"midnight." He didn't seem mad at all. Whew!! Got away with that one!
Then he said, "We need a new cuckoo clock." When I asked him why, he
said, "Well, last night our clock cuckooed three times, then said, "Oh
shit," cuckooed four more times, cleared its throat, cuckooed another
three times, giggled, cuckooed twice more, and then tripped over the
coffee table and farted."
Credit: Unknown.
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
JEST FOR FUN
I've often been asked, "What do you old folks do now that you're retired?" Well, I'm fortunate to have a few friends who have chemical engineering backgrounds, and one of the things we enjoy most is turning beer, wine, bourbon and martinis into urine.
Monday, April 20, 2009
GOOD SPIRITS
by Cynthia MacGregor
Some folks can hardly beer the thought of drinking, while others make rum in their schedules to stop and sip a couple every night. The average person has a strong preference for one or another brand of booze—if you ask most any person what brandy likes, he’s bound to have an answer. And if he has to drink some other kind, it makes his evening go all a-rye and his disposition turn sour.
What makes a person like a particular alcoholic drink over another? I’m martini bit suspicious that it’s an inherited characteristic—in other words, it’s in your gins. My mother was a scotch drinker, and so am I. I don't care for beer at all. It’s not just the gastric eruptions after drinking beer—quite apart from all the bourbon you do, I never even cared for the taste of the stuff. It’s ale I can do to take a tiny sip.
Many people hate it when they can’t get their favorite drink, or their favorite brand. They’ll grouse and wine about it. This may be okay behavior in a bar, but it’s hardly mannerly in someone’s home. It’s far cooler to be polite to your host, who after all is trying to be cordial to you.
Booze makes people behave in odd ways. I’ve even heard of women getting down on the living room floor and wrestling after losing their inhibitions to inebriation. “I can liquor with one hand tied behind my back.” “No, you’ll be the lickee. I’ll be the liqueur—just watch!”
I haven’t a moment’s stout that alcohol does strange things to people. I recently got bock from a trip up north, where I spent an evening in the company of a woman I’d never met before. Right before my eyes, I saw this woman change character completely as soon as her husband porter a drink. She was insufferable—oh, how I missed my far-off foam in Florida right then.
I should have stopped at my friend’s house nearby before the visit—he’s scotch just the thing to show someone how booze changes them—a videocamera, to re-cordial last few minutes sober and your subsequent behavior as you imbibe. By the time the evening was over, this woman had spilled peanuts all over the rug and broken a glass anisette of dishes.
The last I saw of her, she was out on the street, having a conversation with an orange traffic cone. She was talking to it a mile a minute and really believed it was not only answering her but outtalking her by a mile. When I walked over to her, she said to me, in absolute amazement, “Just listen to that cognac!”
If that woman had seen the way she carried on, the visible tape recorded proof, she would have really been hurting. I mean, it would have caused her real pain, not just champagne.
Some folks can hardly beer the thought of drinking, while others make rum in their schedules to stop and sip a couple every night. The average person has a strong preference for one or another brand of booze—if you ask most any person what brandy likes, he’s bound to have an answer. And if he has to drink some other kind, it makes his evening go all a-rye and his disposition turn sour.
What makes a person like a particular alcoholic drink over another? I’m martini bit suspicious that it’s an inherited characteristic—in other words, it’s in your gins. My mother was a scotch drinker, and so am I. I don't care for beer at all. It’s not just the gastric eruptions after drinking beer—quite apart from all the bourbon you do, I never even cared for the taste of the stuff. It’s ale I can do to take a tiny sip.
Many people hate it when they can’t get their favorite drink, or their favorite brand. They’ll grouse and wine about it. This may be okay behavior in a bar, but it’s hardly mannerly in someone’s home. It’s far cooler to be polite to your host, who after all is trying to be cordial to you.
Booze makes people behave in odd ways. I’ve even heard of women getting down on the living room floor and wrestling after losing their inhibitions to inebriation. “I can liquor with one hand tied behind my back.” “No, you’ll be the lickee. I’ll be the liqueur—just watch!”
I haven’t a moment’s stout that alcohol does strange things to people. I recently got bock from a trip up north, where I spent an evening in the company of a woman I’d never met before. Right before my eyes, I saw this woman change character completely as soon as her husband porter a drink. She was insufferable—oh, how I missed my far-off foam in Florida right then.
I should have stopped at my friend’s house nearby before the visit—he’s scotch just the thing to show someone how booze changes them—a videocamera, to re-cordial last few minutes sober and your subsequent behavior as you imbibe. By the time the evening was over, this woman had spilled peanuts all over the rug and broken a glass anisette of dishes.
The last I saw of her, she was out on the street, having a conversation with an orange traffic cone. She was talking to it a mile a minute and really believed it was not only answering her but outtalking her by a mile. When I walked over to her, she said to me, in absolute amazement, “Just listen to that cognac!”
If that woman had seen the way she carried on, the visible tape recorded proof, she would have really been hurting. I mean, it would have caused her real pain, not just champagne.
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