Two Irishmen, long enemies, met one day. Said one: What’s the sinse of two intilligint min goin’ along year after year like a couple of wildcats spittin’ at each other? Here we live in the same tinimint, 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 went to an adjacent public house to cement their 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?
Oi’m thinkin’ the same thing that you are.
Oh, so ye’re startin’ agin, are ye?
The frequent and unsuccessful candidacy of certain men in this town for public office reminded George (Scotty) Dore of a story of his friend Hogan.
Hogan was raffling a clock, said Mr. Dore. He was fairly successful in disposing of tickets in the shop where he worked, but he ran up against trouble when he canvassed his neighbors.
Dropping in at a neighbor’s house, he tried to sell a ticket on the clock.
It’s a fine timepiece, and it’ll luk foine on yer what-not er mantel, says Hogan, cajolingly.