Pub jokes

Listing jokes as ‘the best’ could only invite trouble but jokes and pubs are a good combination. One of the best known type of pub jokes is the ‘…walks into a bar’ genre.

So here’s a few off the top of my head.

A man walks into a bar. He says ‘ouch.’

A horse walks into a bar, sits down. barman looks at him and asks, ‘why the long face?’

A dog walks into a bar, bandaged foreleg in a sling. Barman asks, ‘can I help you?’

Dog says, ‘I’m looking for the man who shot my paw.’

A sandwich walks into a bar, orders a glass of beer. barman says, sorry, we don’t serve food.

A ghost walks into a bar, asks for a whiskey. Barman says, ‘sorry, we don’t serve spirits.’

A friend of mine opened a bar on Mars, the drinks were great but the atmosphere was shite.

A duck walks into a bar wearing one shoe. The barman says, ‘how’re ye, Duck, di ye lose a shoe?’
And the duck answers, ‘no, I found one.’

Paddy the Irishman, Paddy the Scotsman and Paddy the Englishman are on the tear in Rome when they wander into the Vatican and get separated. Paddy the Irishman finds himself in a private chamber where he’s told to shut the door, the pope is gravely ill. He could die in 24 hours. Paddy returns to his hotel and tells the other Paddys his news. They reckon it’s a good chance to make a few bob so they pool their money and set out to lay odds on the Pope dying in 24 hours, in bookies all over Rome. Sure enough, when the pope dies, Paddy Irishman and Scotsman, while sad, are also rejoicing because they’ve won a fortune. Then in walks Paddy the Englishman, whom they haven’t seen all day and he’s all gloomy and sad. ‘What’s wrong with you?’ Says the boys, ‘we’ve made a fortune.’ ‘You might’ve’, says Paddy, ‘ but I lost my shirt on the Archbishop of Canterbury in a double.’

A tall, well built and distinctly morose man walked into a bar.
What’ll ye have? Asks the barman.
A pint of stout and a whiskey, came the gruff reply.
The barman served the drinks and the man raised his glass and drained the pint in one swallow. Then he raised the whiskey glass and drained the contents into his breast pocket. This ritual was repeated six times until the barman could not contain his curiosity and asked, ‘do you mind me asking you, but why do you pour the whiskey into your pocket?’
The tall, morose man glared at him and said, ‘mind your own fucking business’
At which point, a distinctly drunk mouse popped his head out of the tall man’s breast pocket and said, ‘and ye can tell that to your fucking cat, too.’

And on the subject of dogs and, in case anyone should interrupt, pedantically, let me say these are not just pub jokes per se but also jokes that are best told in pubs, but anyway, I digress; a man was taking a morning walk when he chanced upon another man with a small dog on a lead, approach. As they got near, the dog decided he needed to respond to the call of nature and, approaching a small wall, he raised himself so his front paws were leaning on the wall while he relieved himself, standing up, as it were. Now, our man was taken aback by this and stood there, marvelling a this dog.
‘That’s remarkable,’ he said to the dog’s owner, asking, ‘did you train him to do that?’
‘No,’ he replied, nonchalantly, ‘a wall fell on him when he was a pup.’


Published by

Dermott Hayes

writer, poet, film maker Publications: Tito's Dead, crime novel...(2014); Postcard from a Pigeon and Other Stories (2012); So Different, a biography of Sinead O'Connor (1991)

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