Two Irishmen, long enemies, met one day, and one of them said: “What’s the sinse of two intilligent min goin’ along, year after year, like a couple of wild cats spittin’ at each other? Here we live in the same tiniment, and ’tis a burnin’ shame that we do be actin’ like a couple of boobies. Come along wid yer and shake hands, and we’ll make up and be friends.” Which they did, and then they went to an adjacent saloon to cement the friendship with a glass of grog. Both stood at the bar in silence. One looked at the other and said: “What are you thinkin’ about?” “O’m thinkin’ the same thing that you are.” “Oh, so ye’re startin’ again, are you?”
“Mr. Mulligan,” said Dennis, “you must have binifitted by the death of your mother-in-law, for whom you had shmall affection while she lived.”
“I did.”
“What did she leave you?”
“She left me alone—isn’t that enough?”
“But I understand you’ve been spinding a hundred dollars, if you’ve spint a cent, to get her out of purgatory.”
“Whisht now, and isn’t it worth it to get her out before I get in.”