Flynn staggered home very late after another evening with his drinking buddy, Paddy. He took off his shoes to avoid waking his wife, Mary.
He tiptoed as quietly as he could toward the stairs leading to their upstairs bedroom, but misjudged the bottom step. As he caught himself by grabbing the banister, his body swung around and he landed heavily on his rump. A whiskey bottle in each back pocket broke and made the landing especially painful.
Managing not to yell, Flynn sprung up, pulled down his pants, and looked in the hall mirror to see that his butt cheeks were cut and bleeding. He managed to quietly find a full box of Band-Aids and began putting a Band-Aid as best he could on each place he saw blood.
He then hid the now almost empty Band-Aid box and shuffled and stumbled his way to bed.
In the morning, Flynn woke up with searing pain in both his head and butt and Mary staring at him from across the room.
She said, “You were drunk again last night weren’t you?”
Flynn said, “Why you say such a mean thing?”
“Well,” Mary said, “It could be the open front door, it could be the broken glass at the bottom of the stairs, it could be the drops of blood trailing through the house, it could be your bloodshot eyes, but mostly…..it’s all those Band-Aids stuck on the hall mirror.
Walking into the bar, Mike said to Charlie the bartender, “Pour me a stiff one - just had another fight with the little woman.”
“Oh yeah?” said Charlie, “And how did this one end?”
“When it was over,” Mike replied, “She came to me on her hands and knees.
“Really,” said Charles, “Now that’s a switch! What did she say?”
She said, “Come out from under the bed, you little chicken.”
An Irish priest is driving down to New York and gets stopped for speeding in Connecticut . The state trooper smells alcohol on the priest’s breath and then sees an empty wine bottle on the floor of the car.
He says, “Sir, have you been drinking?”
“Just water,” says the priest.
The trooper says, “Then why do I smell wine?”
The priest looks at the bottle and says, “Good Lord! He’s done it again!”
One day a guy dies and finds himself in Hell. As he is wallowing in
despair, he has his first meeting with the devil…
Satan: “Why so glum?”
Guy: “What do you think? I’m in hell!”
Satan: “Hell’s not so bad. We actually have a lot of fun down here.
You a drinking man?”
Guy: “Sure, I love to drink.”
Satan: “Well, you’re gonna love Mondays then. On Mondays, that’s all we
do is drink. Whiskey, tequila, Guinness, wine coolers, Tab, and Fresca.
We drink ’til we throw up, and then we drink some more! And you don’t
have to worry about getting a hangover, because you’re dead anyway.”
Guy: “Gee that sounds great!”
Satan: “You a smoker?”
Guy: “You be tter believe it”
Satan: “All right! You’re gonna love Tuesdays We get the finest cigars
from all over the world, and smoke our lungs out. If you get cancer - no
bi ggie, you’ re already dead, remember?”
Guy: “Wow…that’s awesome!”
Satan: “I bet you like to gamble.”
Guy: “Why, yes, as a matter of fact I do.”
Satan: “Good, ’cause Wednesdays you can gamble all you want. Craps,
blackjack, roulette, poker, slots, whatever. If you go bankrupt, it
doesn’t matter, you’re dead anyhow.”
Guy: “Cool!”
Satan: “What about drugs?”
Guy: “Are you kidding? Love drugs! You don’t mean…?”
Satan: “That’s right! Thursday is drug day. Help yourself to a great big
bowl of crack or smack. Smoke a doobie the size of a submarine. You can
do all the drugs you want. You’re dead so who cares.”
Guy: “Wow! I never realized Hell wa s such a cool place!”
Satan: “You gay?”
Guy: “No…”
Satan: “Oooo, Fridays are gonna be tough
Last night my wife and I were sitting in the in the living room and I said to her, “I never want to live in a vegetative state, dependent on some machine and fluids from a bottle to keep me alive. That would be no quality of life at all, If that ever happens, just pull the plug.”
So she got up, unplugged the computer, and threw out my wine.
Sometimes she can be such a bitch
The big game hunter walked into the bar, and bragged to everyone about his hunting skills.
The man was undoubtedly a good shot, and no one would dispute that.
Then he said that they could blindfold him, and he could recognize an animal’s skin from its feel and, if he could locate the bullet hole, he would even tell them what caliber the bullet was that killed the animal.
The hunter said that he was willing to prove it if they would put up the drinks.
So the bet was on. They blindfolded him carefully, and took him to his first animal skin.
After feeling it for a few moments, he announced “Bear.”
Then he felt the bullet hole, and declared, “Shot with a 308 rifle.”
He was right. They brought him another skin from someone’s cat trunk. He took a bit longer this time, and then said,” Elk,Shot with a 7mm Mag rifle.
He was right again. Through the night, he proved his skills again and again, every time getting another round of drinks that he kept consuming.
Finally he staggered home, drunk out of his mind, stumbled into bed and went to sleep.
The next morning, he got up and saw in the mirror that he had one huge black eye.
He said to his wife, “I know I was drunk last night, but not drunk enough to get in a fight and not remember it. Where did I get this black eye?” His wife angrily replied, “I gave it to you.You got into bed, put your hand down my panties, fiddled around a bit, and then loudly yelled, “Skunk.Killed with an axe.”
