An Irish Dying Wish
An Irish gentleman lying on his deathbed was questioned by his prospective widow. "Poor Mike," she said broken-heartedly, "is there anything that would make you comfortable? Anything you ask for I'll give you."
"Please Bridget," the dying man whispered, "I think I'd like a wee taste of ham I smell aboiling in the kitchen."
"Arrah, go on," said Bridget, shaking her head.
"Not a bit of ham you'll get! 'Tis for the funeral, man."

License to Kill
A policeman watched a woman trying to maneuver her automobile out of a parking space. She banged into the car ahead, then into the car behind and finally, when pulling out into the street, crashed into a passing auto. This was too much for the officer. He walked over to her and said, "Lady, let me see your driving licence."
She gave him a friendly smile and replied, "Don't be silly officer, who would give me a licence?"

Sacred Self Infliction
Gilbert Chesterton used to relate a conversation overheard in a tram in Dublin during the Eucharistic Congress of 1932. The week had been one of lovely weather, but as it drew toward the end of the celebration the sky darkened, and a storm seemed imminent.
"If it rains now," an Irish woman said somewhat tartly to her companion, "He'll have brought it on Himself."
Twin Tongues
In Leipzig where about one-third of all street names have been changed since the Russian occupation, trolley conductors are required to call out the old as well as the new names to make it easier for visitors to find their way. The other day the conductor of a car passing through the centre of the city made the required announcement: "Karl Marx Square, formerly Augustus Square."
A passenger about to alight shouted back, "Auf wiedersehen" (goodbye), formerly "Heil Hitler."

How you cut it
A kindly priest was accustomed to drop in on his good friend Pat, for a chat. One Friday he called on his Irish crony and found him eating sausage. He gave him a terrific dressing down, but Pat countered with the defense that sausage wasn't meat.
"Oh, yes, it is," said Father, "and for penance you can draw me a load of wood."
Dutifully Pat went about fulfilling his penance. He hitched up his old box wagon, drove it to the saw mill, loaded up with sawdust and was dumping it on the priest's wood pile when the priest saw him.
"Pat! Whatever are you doing dumping that stuff in my yard?" he scolded.
"That's your wood, Father," said Pat.
"But that isn't wood at all," said the priest.
"Well, if that isn't wood," returned Pat, "them sausages ain't meat."q