Paddy

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. ‘Shoite’ 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,
 
‘ Shoite’ 
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.

‘Bi’Jesus… I’m fockin’ focked,’
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 f… 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 ‘f… 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
f…in’ pissed. But how did you  know?’

‘Mick phoned .. . . You left
your wheelchair at the
pub.’

Thanks Ivan