Irish Jokes Collection 3

A sharp-looking man with a thick Irish accent walked into a prestigious bank in the heart of Manhattan, New York. He asked to speak with the loan officer and stated that he needed to borrow five thousand dollars immediately because he was traveling back to Ireland for two weeks on urgent family business. The loan officer looked at the man's modest attire and said, 'Well, sir, our bank requires some form of collateral before we can approve an international personal loan of that size.' The Irishman pulled a set of keys out of his coat pocket and gestured out the front window. 'You see that brand-new, metallic black Rolls-Royce parked right outside on the street? It's worth over three hundred thousand dollars. You can hold onto the car and the keys until I return and pay back the money.' The loan officer and the bank manager inspected the luxury vehicle, confirmed the title was in the Irishman's name, and agreed to the arrangement. They laughed behind the man's back as he walked out, amused that an Irishman would leave a three-hundred-thousand-dollar automobile as security for a tiny five-thousand-dollar loan. The bank's valet parked the expensive Rolls-Royce in the bank's secure underground garage, where it remained protected for the next fourteen days. Two weeks later, the Irishman returned from his trip to Dublin, walked into the bank, and repaid the five thousand dollars plus the accumulated interest, which came out to exactly fifteen dollars and forty cents. As the loan officer processed the final paperwork and handed back the keys, he couldn't contain his curiosity any longer. 'Sir,' the officer said, 'we were delighted to do business with you, but my manager and I have been utterly baffled for the last two weeks. After you left, we conducted a routine check and discovered that you are actually a multi-millionaire real estate tycoon! Why on earth would you bother taking out a five-thousand-dollar loan when you have millions in cash?' The Irishman smiled broadly, winked, and leaned over the desk. 'Where else in New York City can I park a brand-new Rolls-Royce for two whole weeks for just fifteen bucks and forty cents, and expect it to still be there when I get back?'

An American tourist was driving a small rental car along the narrow, winding dirt roads of County Donegal. Heavy fog had rolled in off the Atlantic coast, and night was falling fast. After turning left at an unmarked junction and right past a cluster of rocks, he realized he was completely and hopelessly lost. Eventually, he spotted an old farmer leaned against a wooden gate, puffing on a pipe while watching a few sheep graze in a hilly pasture. The relieved tourist pulled over, rolled down his window, and called out to the local. 'Excuse me, sir!' the tourist said anxiously. 'Can you please tell me the best way to get to Londonderry from here?' The old farmer walked over to the car, removed his tweed cap, scratched his head, and pondered the question in deep silence for nearly two full minutes. Finally, the farmer looked at the tourist, pointed down the dirt track, and said, 'Well, sir... if I were you, I certainly wouldn't start from here!'

Seamus was devastated when he walked out of his cottage in County Armagh one morning and discovered that his beloved bicycle—his only mode of transportation to work—had been stolen. Suspecting that someone in his small village was the culprit, he went straight to the parish priest, Father O'Malley, for advice. Father O'Malley rubbed his chin and thought for a moment. 'I have a brilliant plan, Seamus. This Sunday at Mass, I will recite the Ten Commandments at the altar in a loud, booming voice. When I reach 'Thou Shalt Not Steal', I want you to sit in the very back row and scan the congregation closely. Whoever turns red, looks down at the floor, or twitches with guilt is the man who took your bicycle!' Seamus agreed that this was a fantastic plan. On Sunday morning, Seamus sat in the back of the packed church, attentively watching every parishioner as the priest began his sermon. However, after the service ended, Father O'Malley noticed Seamus walking home with a gigantic smile on his face, pushing his stolen bicycle down the road. The priest ran over to him, delighted. 'Praise God, Seamus!' cried Father O'Malley. 'Did my plan work? Did the guilty man confess when I shouted 'Thou Shalt Not Steal'?' 'Well, not exactly, Father,' Seamus replied with a grin. 'When you got to 'Thou Shalt Not Commit Adultery', I instantly remembered where I had left my bike!'

Two local tradesmen, Barney and Murty, had spent the entire evening knocking back heavy pints of stout at the local tavern in Waterford. By closing time at two in the morning, they were stumbling arms-in-arms down a pitch-black country lane on their way home. As they wobbled around a bend in the road, Barney suddenly stopped dead in his tracks, pointed at a large puddle of rainwater in the middle of the dirt path, and stared downward with wide, terrified eyes. Reflected clearly in the calm water of the puddle was the bright, glowing full moon. Barney grabbed Murty by the coat collar, panicking. 'Murty! Murty! Look down there! What in the Lord's name is that down in that deep hole?!' Murty leaned over, squinted his eyes at the glowing reflection in the dark water, rubbed his forehead, and gasped, 'Holy Saints above, Barney! That's the moon!' Barney looked up at the sky, then looked back down into the puddle, grabbed his friend by both shoulders, and yelled, 'Well don't just stand there staring, man! Tell me how on earth we managed to get way up here!'