Shamus said:
I officially request your top three.
OK, Shamus, you asked for them! This is the third (ascending order); stop me at any time.
So. This is in Ireland (and
mods, please note that the word
'feck' is a commonly-used, non-perjorative word in Ireland and has nothing to do with a similarly-spelt word that is abusive).
So Mick and Paddy had been in the pub all night and it had turned into a lock-in. They were sat on their bar stools and were into their umpteenth Guiness and it was about 3 in the morning when the barman said that it was time for everyone to get back to their homes and into their beds. Mick realised that he was going to get killed by his wife if she found out he had been drinking so late and was drunk.
Paddy slid off his stool, said good-night to Mick and weaved his way unsteadily out of the door and into wherever he went. Mick took his time to finish his Guiness, said good-night to the barman and got off his bar-stool. And promptly fell flat on his face! Spread-eagled!
"Feck me! Oi've had a skin-full of the owld beer tonight" he said, looking at the carpet close-up.
So he pulled himself up on the stool, took one step towards the door and --- flat on his face again!
"Feck feck feck!! Dis is more trouble than Oi thought I'd ever see", he said "Maybe I need some fresh air. Maybe that will sort me owld self out"
So he crawled across the carpet towards the door, pulled himself up against the door jam, opened the door and breathed in and out deeply. And when he thought his head had cleared, he took a cautious tottery step onto the pavement and --- flat on his face again!
"Oh fecking Mary, Mother of Jeysus, dis is the worst oi've ever been" he said, his head hanging in the road. "How the feck am oi going to get home, up the hill there, and face that witch oi'm married to, lyin' in that warm bed?"
So he started crawling up the hill, dragging himself along by his finger-tips and, at each lamp-post, he pulled himself up, breathed deeply, tried a few tottery steps again and -- yup, flat on his face, his back, whatever, but basically horizontal.
Eventually, he reached the top of the hill, crawled up the drive to the front-door, took his key out and went through the whole drunk thing of getting the key into the lock, going "Shhh" all the time. When the door was open, he stepped across and --- flat on his face again!!!
"Oh that fecking Guiness - never ever again", said Mick, crawling up the stairs. he got the closed door to his bedroom and heard the loud snores of his very large wife, obviously asleep inside.
"Roit", said Mick "only a wee bit to go and oi think oi'll have got away with it".
So he opened the bedroom door, stepped inside and --- again measured his length on the floor!
He pulled himself up on the bed, rocking and managed to get his shirt off. Now came the trousers, which he undid, but while trying to step out of them, managed again to fall over again. So he ignored those, crawled into bed and, in a totally drunken stupor, fell asleep.
He woke the next morning to find his wife standing over him with a cup of tea and a bad look on her face.
"Wake op, ye drunken' ol ba$tard", she said "Oi cannot trust ye to stay out of that fecking pub can I?"
"Ye witch from hell", said Mick "How do ye know that oi was out drinkin' all night at the pub?"
"Because", she said, " because -------
<highlight>
they have just phoned up to tell me that ye left yer fecking wheelchair there!" 
