I’ll bet you’ve always wondered. Now, from MyConfinedSpace via Ectoplasmosis and a tipoff from dissfunktional comes photographic proof of what we at the ol’ raincoaster blog have always suspected. Paging David Icke, paging David Icke, we’re sorry about the misunderstanding…
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These are the best Irish jokes you’ll hear all day, unless you go over to Smoke&Mirrors where I stole them from and read the whole whack all at once.
It should be noted (or is that “noted it should be”?) that:
I’m Irish Catholic on one side and Irish Protestant on the other, my favorite pub is the impeccably authentic Irish Heather, I host a literary gathering that meets at the Shebeen, the women of my immediate family are somewhat, and quite inconveniently from time to time, renowned for the Second Sight, my uncle goes over to Ireland on vacations to teach them how to play the fiddle, my grandfather was an infamous warlock, and there’s a Bend Sinister in the gene pool somewhere for bonus points.
So I have total Celt cred.
1586 words of the most amusing Irish jokes around over the jump. But not the leprechaun nun one. Gross!
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You know how it ends.
Wuhan, China: People burn incense to worship the god of wealth at a Buddhist temple.
But if you stand too close to a red-hot star, this is what happens:
[ Elliot Mintz, Paris Hilton‘s PR ]... finally succeeded in doing what publicist-watchers had long feared he would, managing to squeeze not just his nose, but his entire head and neck up his demanding client’s hindquarters.
For the love of money is the root of all evil:
which while some coveted after, they have erred from the faith,
and pierced themselves through with many sorrows.
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First of all, when people tag me to do memes, even cool ones, I ignore them. Sometimes I apologize, but mostly I just say “you think I’m doing a meme?” This is a continuation of my elementary school habit of refusing to write stories on any of the four subjects suggested and coming up with my own idea.
I think it’s fairly safe to say that “How to Capture a Unicorn” is a more compelling essay topic, particularly for a teacher who’s spent several hours wading through identical papers.
In any case, I don’t do memes when tagged. I do, on occasion, steal memes, though, and it is the result of one such theft which has made inevitable my eventual, and eternal, damnation.
It was a simple book meme; Grab the nearest book, turn to page 123, look up the fifth sentence, and type out the next three sentences. Innocuous enough, right? Like the pebble which starts the avalanche, it displayed no hint of the terrible chain of events it was about to set in motion. First, max posted it. Then I read it. And then, I’m ashamed to say, the urge to pocket it became irresistible and I gave in and grabbed that fucker like it was a chocolate-coated, bacon-wrapped, Viggo-topped ingot of solid gold.
And I ran with it.
Oh, man. This is so sad. The nearest book is The Last Battle, by CS Lewis. Great, I get the book that has the end of the world in it. Swell.
Tirian had no need to ask which was the High King, for he remembered his face (though here it was far nobler) from his dream. He stepped forward, sank on one knee and kissed Peter’s hand.
“High King,” he said. “You are welcome to me.”
Oh, great. And now I’ve put gay innuendo into a meeting of the High King and the Last King of Narnia.
I’m going to hell.
Well, I am!
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raincoaster 