"BTW - Irish people dont get offended by Irish Jokes - we are secure in ourselves!"
Aint that the truth. As the saying goes, if you want to hear the best tasteless Irish jokes, just ask an Irishman. My late grandmother, Lillian May
(nee Lavery), God bless her soul, told the naughtiest jokes, and as I recall, she loved to tell her best ones on a Sunday after mass. When one would question her tact, me dear practicing Roman Catholic Gran would really thicken her Irish brogue, and reply, "Oh for God sake, don't be such a bloody tight arse!" She was, as she said, "A saint in church and a sinning rascal in her home". Her idea of saying grace at a meal was "Good bread, good meat, dear God let's eat. Make the roast tender, and the whiskey not too sweet"! LOL.
My Nana was a real character, an Irish nutbar, but I loved her dearly and I miss her very much.
"The most pointless holiday ever... since when did Irish people need an excuse to get shitfaced!"
Why I oughta.............off with his bloody head!
And on THAT note, let's have another Guinness...Sean, Liam and Eamonn will have another Whiskey...and Siobahn shall have a wee gin and tonic, Ma will stick to her tea, for she must remain sober as she is preparing the big family meal, and we simply can't afford another ham or lamb at O'Leary's butcher shop, them prices....tch tch tch....and we shall toast one another, and we shall sing..........
Wearin' O' The Green
Oh paddy dear, and did you hear the news that's runnin' 'round?
The shamrock is forbid by law to grow on Irish ground.
St. Patrick's Day no more we'll keep; his color can't be seen,
For there's a cruel law agin' the wearin' o' the green.
I met with Napper Tandy, and he took me by the hand,
And he says, "How's poor auld Ireland, and how does she stand."
She's the most distressful country, that ever you have seen,
They're hangin' men and women there for wearin' o' the green.
Then if the color we must wear is England's cruel red,
Sure Ireland's sons shall ne'er forget the blood that they have shed.
You can take the shamrock from me hat, and cast it in the sod,
But 'twill take root and flourish there, though underfoot 'tis trod.
When the law can stop the blades of grass from growin' as they grow,
And when the leaves, in sumertime, their verdure dare not show,
Then I will change the color I wear in my cabin,
But 'til that day, plaise God, I'll stick to wearin' o' the green.