dammit
May 26th, 2004, 03:26 PM
Three Irishmen, Paddy, Mike, and Sean, were stumbling home from the pub late one night and found themselves on the road which led past an old graveyard.
“Come have a look over here,” says Paddy,tripping over his walking stick, “It’s Michael O’Grady’s grave, God bless his soul, he lived to the ripe old age of 87.”
“That’s nothing,” says Mike, “here’s one named Patrick O’Toole. It says here that he was 95 when he died.”
Just then, Sean yells out, “But here’s a fellow who died when he was 145 years old!”
“What was his name?” asks Paddy.
Sean lights a match to see what else is written on the stone marker, and exclaims,
“Miles, from Dublin.”
“Come have a look over here,” says Paddy,tripping over his walking stick, “It’s Michael O’Grady’s grave, God bless his soul, he lived to the ripe old age of 87.”
“That’s nothing,” says Mike, “here’s one named Patrick O’Toole. It says here that he was 95 when he died.”
Just then, Sean yells out, “But here’s a fellow who died when he was 145 years old!”
“What was his name?” asks Paddy.
Sean lights a match to see what else is written on the stone marker, and exclaims,
“Miles, from Dublin.”