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 w ay 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 !'
>
> 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
> shim mies 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.'

OOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!