[Catrancher99]

It's Saint Patrick's Day! They say "everyone's Irish on Saint Pat's Day," but my maternal grandmother was Irish (maiden name Baldwin). Accordingly, I like Irish jokes, such as:
Q: What's the difference between an Irish wedding and an Irish wake?
A: There's one less drunk at an Irish wake.
But that's not my favorite Irish joke, this one is (if you have strong religious beliefs that might be offended, please pass on this):
A young Irish lass, Meara, from a poor family decided to go to London to make her way in the world. She got work as a secretary, making just enough money to send home a bit now and then along with letters letting everyone know things were well with her. But eventually her family began receiving rather large amounts of money and few letters. This went on for a while, the money amounts becoming greater and the letters fewer. Finally, old Sean, the pater of the family, became worried and sent an urgent letter to his daughter asking her to come home for a visit to the family. Meara wrote back that she'd be home for Christmas and all was well. So, just before Christmas Meara arrived at the front of the cottage in a huge limousine, dressed in elegant clothes and decked in gold and diamonds; a driver in uniform leaped out to open her door for her and gathered her luggage. After hugs and kisses, and a few tears of joy, all 'round, while everyone was sitting before the hearth with mugs of coffee - liberally laced with good Irish whiskey, to be sure - Meara passed out gifts of fine jewelry to mother and her sister, an expensive pipe and tobacco and a gold watch for papa, glittering toys for her younger brothers. Everyone was astonished at the obvious wealth. After much urging from her parents, Meara admitted to the source of her fortune. "I've become a prostitute" she mumbled with some embarrasment. Old Sean lurched from his seat, grabbed at his chest and fell to the floor with great groans and wails. He was put to bed and the local priest and doctor were sent for. The situation was explained to the doctor and priest and everyone crowded into the old man's bedroom. The doctor examined the poor fellow and proclaimed him near death. As the priest prepared to administer the last rites he told Meara "You should never have told your dear papa you were a prostitute." Suddenly, the elderly gentleman sat up, face aglow and healthy, a huge smile on his lips. "Prostitute? Thank the Lord and saints presairve us, I thought she said she'd become a Protestant!"

[SuzyQII]

I also have a maternal grandmother who was Irish (my other 3 grandparents were Italian). That joke was tooooooo cute. Here is another one that goes to the practical side of the Irish:

An elderly Irish man lay dying in his bed. In death's agony, he suddenly smelled the aroma of his favorite sugar cookies wafting up the stairs.

He gathered enough strength to get out bed. Leaning against the wall, he slowly made his way out of the bedroom.

With even greater effort, he forced his boney fingers to grab the handrail and he went down the stairs, one stumbling step at a time.

With labored breath, he leaned against the door frame, gazing into the kitchen. Were it not for death's agony, he would have thought himself already in heaven.

There, on the kitchen table, spread out in rows upon wax paper, were literally hundreds of his favorite sugar cookies.

Was it heaven? Or, was it one final act of heroic love from his devoted wife of 60 years, seeing to it that he left this world a happy man?

Mustering one great final effort, he lunged toward the table, landing on his knees in a rumpled posture.

His parched lips were slightly parted. The wondrous taste of the cookie was already in his mouth; seemingly bringing him back to life.

The aged and withered hand, driven by one last gritty effort, shakingly made its way towards a cookie at the edge of the table, when it was suddenly smacked with a spatula by his wife.

"Stay out of those," she said, "They're for the funeral!"

[Catrancher99]

That's hilarious. It's going into my collection of Irish humor.