Chapter 606

Enjoy ... I just love the Irish approach...

A painter by the name of Paddy Murphy, while not a brilliant scholar, was a gifted portrait artist. Over a short number of years, his fame grew and soon people from all over Ireland were coming to him in the town of Doolin, County Clare, to get him to paint their likenesses.

One day, a beautiful young English woman arrived at his house in a stretch limo and asked Paddy if he would paint her in the nude.

This being the first time anyone had made such a request, Paddy was a bit perturbed, particularly when the woman told him that money was no object; in fact, she was willing to pay up to $10,000.

Not wanting to get into any marital strife, Paddy asked her to wait while he went into the house to confer with Mary, his wife.

In a few minutes he returned. “T’would be me pleasure to paint yer portrait, missus,” he said “The wife says it’s okay.

“I’ll paint ya in da nude alright. but I has to at least leave me socks on so I has a place to wipe me brushes.”...

A fire-fighter was working on the engine outside the Station when he noticed a little girl nearby in a little red wagon with little ladders hung off the sides and a garden hose tightly coiled in the middle. The girl was wearing a fire-fighter’s helmet. The wagon was being pulled by her dog and her cat.

The fire-fighter walked over to take a closer look. ‘That sure is a nice fire truck, ‘ the fire-fighter said with admiration.

‘Thanks, ‘ the girl replied. The fire fighter looked a little closer. The girl had tied the wagon to her dog’s collar and to the cat’s testicles.

‘Little partner, ‘ the fire-fighter said, ‘I don’t want to tell you how to run your rig, but if you were to tie that rope around the cat’s collar, I think you could go faster.’

The little girl replied thoughtfully, ‘You’re probably right, but then I wouldn’t have a siren.’

In a transatlantic flight, a plane passes through a severe storm. The turbulence is awful, and things go from bad to worse when one wing is struck by lightning.

One woman in particular loses it. Screaming, she stands up in the front of the plane. “I’m too young to die!” she wails. Then she yells, “Well, if I’m going to die, I want my last minutes on Earth to be memorable! I’ve had plenty of sex in my life, but no one has ever made me really feel like a woman! Well, I’ve had it! Is there ANYONE on this plane who can make me feel like a WOMAN?!?”

For a moment there is silence. Everyone has forgotten their own peril, and they all stare, riveted, at the desperate woman in the front of the plane.

Then, a man stands up in the rear of the plane. “I can make you feel like a woman,” he says. He’s gorgeous. Tall, built, with black hair and jet black eyes, he starts to walk slowly up the aisle, unbuttoning his shirt one button at a time.

No one moves.

The woman is breathing heavily in anticipation as the stranger approaches.

He removes his shirt. Muscles ripple across his chest as he reaches her, and extends the arm holding his shirt to the trembling woman, and whispers, “Here. Iron this.”

I pointed to two ‘old farts’ across the bar from us and told my friend Bob, “That’ll be us in ten years.” He turned to me and said, “That’s a mirror, you dumb shit.”