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 way then'.
Paddy spins around on his stool and steps off. He
falls flat on his face.
'Damn' 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,
'Damn, 'Damn!' 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.
'By Jeebers.... I'm a little crocked,' 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 shimmies inside.
He takes a look up the stairs and says, 'No damn
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 ' Damn 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 really crocked.
But how'd you know?'
'Mick phoned . . . you left your wheelchair at the
pub.
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