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The three Irish brothers tradition

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I've been thinking about posting this one for a while.

An Irishman walked into a bar in California and took a seat at a table in the corner by himself. When approached by the bar tender he ordered three shots of whiskey.

The bartender exclaimed, "Three shots of whiskey and all at the same time!"

"Oh yes", said the Irishman. "You see, I have one brother in New York and another brother in Ireland and every night after work we each sit down at the same time and have a drink together for old time sake. So I have one drink for me, one drink for me brother in New York, and one drink for me brother in Ireland."

"I understand," said the bartender.

So then the bartender delivered the three shots of whiskey to the man. The Irishman then raised a toast, drank all three shots of whiskey and then went home.

Thereafter, the Irishman returned to the same bar at the same time each night and ordered three shots of whiskey each time, made a toast to his brothers, drank the three shots and went home.

After several weeks of the same routine the Irishman came in one night at the usual time but this time only ordered two shots of whiskey. The bartender became quite concerned and made his condolences to the Irishman because of the death of one of his brothers. But the Irishman spoke up and said,

"Oh sir, no need to be sad, I haven't lost one of me brothers. You see, I have one shot of whiskey for me brother in New York, one shot of whiskey for me brother in Ireland, and I being Catholic, well, I gave up drinking for Lent

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A very attractive lady goes up to a bar in a quiet rural pub. She gestures alluringly to the bartender who comes over immediately. When he arrives, she seductively signals that he should bring his face closer to hers. When he does, she begins to gently caress his full beard. "Are you the manager?" she asks, softly stroking his face with both hands. "Actually, no," the man replies."Can you get him for me? I need to speak to him," she says, running her hands beyond his beard and into his hair. "Can't," breathes the bartender. "He's not here. Is there anything I can do?"

"Yes, there is. I need you to give him a message," she continues, running her forefinger across the bartender's lips and slyly popping a couple of her fingers into his mouth and allowing him to suc! k them gently.

"What should I tell him?" the bartender manages to say.

"Tell him," she whispers, "there is no toilet paper, hand soap, or paper towels in the ladies room


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