To my favorite Irishman at Camp Liberty, Baghdad. Happy St. Pat's Day, son:
Into a Belfast pub comes Paddy Murphy, looking like he'd just been run over by a train. His arm is in a sling, his nose is broken, his face is cut and bruised, and he's walking with a limp."What happened to you?" asks Sean, the bartender.
" Jamie O'Connor and me had a fight," Paddy replies.
" That little shit, O'Connor?" says Sean. "He couldn't do that to you. He must have had something in his hand."
" That he did," answers Paddy. "A shovel is what he had, and a terrible lickin' he gave me with it."
" Well," says Sean, "you should have defended yourself. Didn't you have something in your hand?"
" That I did," says Paddy. "Mrs. O'Connor's breast, and a lovely thing it was, too, but useless in a fight."
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