Irish jokes are the fabric from which Irish identity is woven. And, in times of despair, the stitching that keeps it intact. It is our elixir, the best of Ireland, whittled down into bite-sized nuggets. And one of the strings to the Irish Buzz bow, for any honest engagement with Irish culture couldn’t fail to be informed by Irish humor.
As part of our dedicated Irish Jokes Section, what we’ve served up below is something of a shuttle-stop primer of Irish jokes. Featuring some of the classics the ANTIblog team have heard down the years, some of the latest Irish jokes on the street, and some we’ve made up just for the craic.
To get us off to a flying start, there are some rapid-fire Short Irish Jokes you can unleash over your St. Patrick’s Day dinner. All clean, all in good fun, and – depending on their exact age – also pretty much Irish jokes for kids.
Being the walking stereotypes we often find ourselves to be, there follows a Drunken Jokes section. The section Irish Jokes – One Liners comes next and features some of the classic Kerryman jokes the average Irish person grows up with. None of these gags are particularly blue either and the Kerryman ones make for especially great Irish jokes for kids.
The final section we’ve called The Irish Come Out On Top. It’s a collection of Irish jokes in the smarter-than-they-look (anti)hero mold – and features the classic Lawyer Joke that epitomizes this type of jest. We’ve labeled each section to help you decide whether the jokes are suitable for your audience.
Short Irish Jokes
— Short Irish Jokes / Irish Jokes for Kids –
Why did the obsessive-compulsive leprechaun always check the lock twice?
Ta be sure ta be sure.
“Mammy, there’s a strange man at the door.”
“Has he got a bill?”
“No, just an ordinary nose.”
The inaugural Irish women’s Steeplechase had to be abandoned.
Not one horse could get a decent footing on the cathedral roof.
Have you heard about the Irish boomerang?
It doesn’t come back, it just sings songs about how much it longs to.
Hyped up on pints and patriotism after celebrating St. Patrick’s Day, I took a bus home. Amazing what a touch of the green magic can do – I’d never driven a bus in my life!
“Well, Michael”, said the doctor, “I can’t quite diagnose your case. I think it must be the drink.”
“Grand, doctor, I know the feeling. I’ll come back when you’re sober.”
A distraught Irishwoman arrived in the airport terminal, tears streaming down her cheeks. An airline employee asked whether she was already homesick.
“No, I’ve lost all my luggage!”
“How’d that happen?”
“The cork fell out.”
A ’Merican tourist boasts to an Irishwoman about how advanced her country is.
“The Land of Oppo, my friend. We’ve even put a man on the Moon.”
“That’s nothing,” replied the Irishwoman, “we’re planning to put a man on the Sun.”
“Don’t be stupid,” said the ’Merican, “he’ll fry before he gets even close.”
“He will not. We’re sending him up at night.”
And in the St. Patrick’s Day Inter-island Challenge Cup, for the seventeenth successive year, the Irish team have triumphed. It finished:
Lucky Leprechauns United 7
Henryton Hanseatic Harriers 0
…sometimes you just get the rub of the green
What was Molly the Miser’s major complaint during the pandemic?
“I’ve scrubbed and I’ve scrubbed. But I just can’t get dese damn virus stains out of my face mask. I’m telling ya, dey’ll be de death of me!”
In her quest for a few extra bucks, Patricia drags a shiny metal receptacle across Dublin, headed for the Antiques Roadshow.
“Wow, this is quite the item you have here. Where did you come across it?”, asks the expert.
“Up in de attic. Been gathering dust up dere for decades,” explains Patricia. “My grandfather was in de navy. Maybe it’s one of doze real rare war memorabilia people go mad over?”
“Yaas, I seee,’ hums the expert as she peruses the item. ‘Now, tell me, Patricia. Do you have insurance?’‘
“No”, says Patricia, licking her lips, “Do you feel it might be necessary?”
“I doo, I doo”, replies the expert. “This, my dear woman, is your water tank.”
— Mostly super clean, but, due to their content matter, not really your typical ‘Irish Jokes for Kids’ –
Irish drinks for life
A couple of Irish drinking buddies were leaving a funeral.
“‘Twas a touching ceremony, ’twasn’t it?”
“Listen, if I go first, will you pour a bottle of single malt over my grave? In commemoration, like.”
“That I will, old friend. You have my word…Now, would you mind terribly if I ran it through my kidneys first?”
“…and while we’re on the subject of getting old and (even more) decrepit. Which would you rather have: Parkison’s or Alzheimer’s?”
“Parkinson’s, of course. Has to be.”
“Sure isn’t it better to spill the odd drop off whiskey than to forget where you put the bottle?”
Ejected from the early house, Phil staggered into the street, raging for a fight. Bellowing at those passing by, he challenged anyone who looked hard.
Fearing for her safety, burly Mother Superior sidestepped into an adjacent alley.
Catching sight of the nun, Phil scurried after her. Beating her mercilessly.
While Mother Superior lay bleeding, he stood above her, gloating. Taunting her fragility.
“Not so tough now Batman, are ya?!”
Eager to impress her dinner guests and pressed for time, the lady of the house sent her husband down to the fancy new delicatessen for some escargots. Knowing there was an equally fancy and new craft brewery next door, she specified her instructions.
“But just the snails, Martin. Please, you know how much this evening means to be.”
“I do love, I do. You have my word.”
“Straight there and straight back?”
“Just me and the snails, not a pint in sight,” he assured her.
Escargots procured, Martin felt reliable and goodhearted as he left the delicatessen. But as chance would have it, through an open window he caught a glimpse of something gleaming. A glowing that seemed to part the clouds and upset his center of gravity.
Before he knew it, he had entered the microbrewery and stood admiring the shiny copper kettle that had picked him out of the crowd. A waiter approached.
He had never tasted anything like it. IPAs, Chocolate Stouts, Imperial Rocket Fuels. He knew he was going to be murdered by his wife, but genuinely felt he couldn’t die happier. The bar eventually closed for the night, forcing him to face the music.
Mournfully stumbling up his driveway, a beery idea struck him. One that just might save his skin. Heading back down the drive, he began to gently place the snails on the ground, one on front of the next.
When the top of the line reached his front door, he rang the bell and prepared for impact.
“Howrya, love. Did we miss the party?”
“Martin!! Where the F have you been?! The F-in’ party finished four F-in’ hours ago!”
Calmly turning to the line of snails stretched out behind him, Martin said in a kind, patient voice “Come on lads, we’re almost there…Just a little farther.”
Halloween in Ireland
Precious Irish alcohol
Mary was staggering home with a bottle of 18-year-old malt in her pocket when she slipped and fell heavily.
Struggling to her feet, she felt something wet trickling down her leg.
“Good God,” she beseeched the heavens, “let it be blood!”
Lifting Irish Spirits
Off the booze and dying for adventure, Briana decided to go to Switzerland, fulfilling a lifelong dream of climbing Mont Blanc. She hired an experienced guide, but just as they neared the top, they were caught in an avalanche.
Several hours later, a Saint Bernard managed to tunnel through to them, a keg of brandy tied under his chin.
“Behold!” shouted the guide. “Here comes man’s best friend!”
Rejoicing in the miracle, overjoyed to be alive, Briana added: “And would ya look at the size of the dog that’s bringing it!”
Porter beer misunderstood
Joining her husband in his dodgy local, Mary asks “How can you spend your time here?,” as she takes sip of his porter beer. “In this dump, drinking that horrible stuff?”
“Now!! See!?” her husband cried. “And you always saying I’m out enjoying meself.”
Irish liquor vanishing act
Liam was a hardened drunkard, already too far gone. The local priest met him out walking one day, and gave an impromptu sermon about what the demon drink can do to a man.
“If you continue drinking like this, you’ll gradually get smaller and smaller. And, eventually, you’ll turn into a mouse.”
Used to such beseeching though he was, this particular plea frightened the life out of Liam. He had a lot of contemplating to do and continued his walk.
On coming home that night, he took his long-suffering wife aside and in a serious tone told her: “Love, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking. It strikes me now that this life, my life – our life, together, is a precious gift we’ve been given from above.”
After all these years,” he went on, “I don’t know quite how to put this but…erm…if you should notice me getting smaller and smaller, will you kill that old cat of yours?”
Breaking his promise to his wife of an alcohol free Friday night, Des left his partner sleeping and gently eased his way out to the city center. After hitting a string of his favorite pubs, he crawled back to the house in the wee hours.
Careful not to make any noise, he slinked into bed beside his still sleeping wife. None the wiser, he thought, as he drifted off. The perfect crime.
He awoke to what he had assumed only happened in typical Irish jokes like this one, his wife standing above him. Fuming. Rolling pin in hand. Face like an Aztec mask.
“Did you go to the pub last night?!”
“No, honey! I promised you! Would I ever?”
“Are you sure you didn’t head there, while I was sleeping?”
“On my life, baby. As God as my witness, I. Did. Not. Go. To. The. Pub.”
“Kelly’s just called. They need you to pick up your wheelchair.”
Working on your olive complexion/collection
Dáithí sat at the bar, drinking martini after martini, each time removing the olive and placing it in a jar. When the jar was filled with olives, the Irishman made to leave.
“Pardon my asking,” said a customer who had been observing him, “but what was that all about?”
“Ah, sure you know yourself,” said Dáithí, “the wife sent me out for a jar of olives.”
Irish Jokes – One Liners
– All clean, apart from the odd underlying hint at physical force resistance or agrizoophilia. But, hey, that’s Irish humor, it uses grit to sharpen its edges. The Kerryman one liners make ideal Irish Jokes for Kids –
This Irish jokes – One Liners section brings you what have to be the (joint) most common kind of Irish humor. For the best Irish jokes are typically either story jokes, slowly unfolded with storyteller relish, or razor-sharp witticisms that are over before you know it. Perhaps its something to do with what we play in on How To Be Irish #20 – “Come equipped with a mouth that has 2 settings: Long-Winded or Tight-Lipped.”
The Irish are fully open, or closed up tight, it seems. And the product of the latter state is known for its sting. Especially in Dublin, where quips simply too quick to respond to roam wild and free. Funny then that many of the best Irish one liners involve an entirely different part of the country..
Every national humor has a fall guy and in Ireland, the Kerryman is he. Geographically far removed from the refinement of urban settlement, he is dull-witted and gullible. Inhabiting sodden land on the cusp of the Atlantic, embodying all the sights and smells of the farmyard that decent, modern Irish are urged to revile.
What do you call an Irishman with 1,000 girlfriends?
Ya hear about the Irish fella who tried to blow up a car?
He burned his lips on the exhaust.
Legend has it that the last High King of Ireland Ruaidrí Ua Conchobair once told an unfunny Irish joke.
No one has heard one since. Perhaps there were no survivors.
Farmer Finnegan traipsed across the front field, a sheep under each arm.
“Are ya shearing them?”, asked his neighbor.
“I am not. Both of them are mine”.
Irish Jokes for Kids – Kerryman Jokes
All are silly, some are the ultimate Irish joke one liners. The last one on the list has been known to burst spleens.
What is the best decade of a Kerryman’s life?
Did you hear what happened to the Kerryman raking the leaves in his garden?
He fell out of the tree.
How do you keep a Kerryman busy all day?
Write ‘Please Turn Over’ on both sides of a piece of paper.
What do you call a Kerryman under a wheelbarrow?
Have you heard about the Kerryman who damaged his health by drinking milk?
The cow fell on him!
How do you recognize a Kerry pirate?
He has a patch over each eye.
Did you read about the Kerryman who cheated Irish Rail?
He bought a return ticket to Dublin and didn’t go back!
Have you heard about the Kerryman whose library burnt down?
Both books were destroyed, and worse still, one of them hadn’t even been colored in yet!
The Irish Come Out On Top
– Again, not your typical Irish jokes for kids repertoire, but all the gags here are playful rather than offensive. After all, (good) humor is human gel, not repellent. –
The victors write the history books and until the lion learns to write, the hunter will always be the hero. So it is with the reigning champion Irish. Whats more, their reign can continue indefinitely, for the person who writes a decent gag can service their reputation long after they’ve passed.
Plus with a heritage of penning and pondering to draw on, Irish jokes do certainly toe the line. Me way be able to mock our foibles, and sidicule our rhortcomings, but we know how to make sure the national narrative sticks to the script.
A sharp-suited Italian lawyer and an Irishman are sitting next to each other on a long-haul flight.
Game for a bit of betterism, the lawyer is sure the Irish are so dumb they can be easily fooled. So he asks if the Irishman would like to play a game.
The Irishman is tired and just wants to get some rest, so he declines. But the Italian lawyer insists, spicing up the proposition with some very favorable odds.
“Eye ask-a yoo a quwestion, and if-a yoo don-na know the answer, you pay-a me €2. Then-a yoo ask-a me a quwestion, and if-a I don-na know the answer, I pay-a yoo €200.” This sparks his neighbor’s interest and with getting some sleep in mind, he agrees to play the game.
The lawyer asks “In-a miles per hour, What is the maximum cruising speed of-a the plane we are a-on?”
The Irishman doesn’t utter a word, but instead reaches into his pocket and hands the lawyer a €2 coin.
Now, it’s the Irishman’s turn.
He asks the lawyer: “What soars above the gates of justice, but has no wings?”
Excited, the lawyer flies into a frenzy of fact-checking and research. But neither Google nor his even his smartest friends in Milan can help him out.
After several hours of searching for the answer, he finally gives up.
He wakes up the Irishman and hands him €200.
The Irishman pockets the cash and goes back to sleep.
Dying to know the answer, the lawyer wakes up the Irishman again and asks, “Well-a, tell-a me. What is eet that-a soars above the gates of justice, but has-a no wings?”
The Irishman hands the Italian €2 and goes back to sleep.
Padraig came home drunk every evening toward midnight, staggering across the countryside.
Much to the chagrin of his wife.
At her wits’ end, one night she hides in the cemetery, intent on scaring some sense into him. As her husband stumbles by, up from behind a tombstone his beloved does spring. All done up in a red devil costume, wailing “Pa-draig Séa-mus Flan-a-gan, Give up your drinking or it is to Hell I shall take ye!”
Undaunted, he sways defiantly and demands “Who the bloody blazes are YOU?”
“I’m the divil, ya old fool!”
To which Padraig S. Flanagan replies, “Damned pleased to meet you, Sir. I’m married to yer daughter.”
His only son in prison on terrorist charges, elderly Michael fretted over who would dig the potato patch this season. Writing his son of his worries.
His son wrote back, telling him it was best to leave the patch alone this season, for there was a substantial amount of submachine guns and ammunition buried beneath.
Writing his response, Michael gleamed with pride and mischief. Telling his son how a Special Branch team had spent the whole morning digging up the potato patch.
“In the afternoon, I simply threw in the seed”
At Dublin Airport, a jet-setting jumbo ‘Merican left a ‘Merican jumbo jet, setting herself to finding a taxi. Proud of the fancy new buildings popping up in her hometown – and keen to play the tour guide – the taxi woman pointed out the capital’s latest shopping mall. A gleaming structure of glass and steel.
“You call that a shopping mall?”, the ‘Merican guffawed.
“Why back where I come from, the shopping malls are at least twice that size!”. They drove on.
As they approached Dublin’s biggest steakhouse, the taxi driver pointed it out. To which the ‘Merican replied “Why, that’s your biggest?! We got steakhouses five times that size!”
Disheartened, the driver fell silent for the rest of the journey. As they neared the ‘Merican’s hotel, she decided to give it one last try, pointing to a large white building enclosed by a tall fence.
“One of Dublin’s main hospitals, that one.”
“You gotta be kidding me! Back where I come from, we got hospitals ten times that size!”
“Bloody sure you do: That’s our mental hospital!”