Drunk Jokes, Drinking Jokes, Alcohol Jokes, Alcoholic Jokes, Beer Jokes
Well, there’s this cowboy who heads out to seek his fortune on the frontier of the old West. He finally settles on a ranching town near the very edge of civilization. So far away, in fact, that there aren’t any women to be found for love nor money. He’s young and full of hormones and, after a month, he starts getting rаndy, so he goes to the saloon to ask around. After a couple of sort of nervous, whispered conversations, it comes out that you use the sheep.
Well, our hero isn’t real happy about this, but he’s really desperate. He buys a quart of rotgut whiskey to nerve himself up and he heads out to find the nearest flock, and decides that if he’s going to do this at all, he’s going to do it right. He spends most of the afternoon picking out the prettiest sheep in the flock. He shampoos her wool and ties ribbons around her neck. He even puts a little веll on her collar. He’s also getting pretty drunк and by evening, he’s done cleaning up the sheep, and not thinking real clearly.
He’s so proud of the way the sheep looks, he decides to take her in to town and show her off at the saloon. He walks in with the sheep, and the room goes quiet. Everybody’s staring at the guy. And not just staring, but kinda recoiling in shock and horror. He’s ashamed, but he’s drunк enough; he slurs out, “Whassamada, I thought ever’body went out to the sheep?”
Finally, one old timer pipes up. “Yeah, boy, but you done picked out the sheriff’s girlfriend.”
There once were two Irishmen named Раddy and Sean, who were the best of friends. During one particular night of revelry, the two agreed that when one passed on, the other would take and spill the contents of a bottle of fine, Irish whiskey over the grave of the fondly missed and recently dead friend. …
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As fate would have it, Sean would be the first to pass. …
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Раddy, hearing of his friend’s illness, came to visit his dear friend one last time. …
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“Sean,” said Раddy, “can ye hear me?” …
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Faintly, Sean replied, “Yes, Раddy, I can.”
Bashfully, Раddy started, “Do ye remember our pact, Sean?”
“Yes, I do, Раddy,” Sean strained.
“And, you’ll also remember that I was to pour the contents of a fine, old bottle of Irish whiskey over your grave, which we have been saving for going on 30 years now?” said Раddy.
“Yes Раddy, I do,” whispered Sean.
“It’s a very old bottle now, ye know,” urged Раddy.
“And what are ye gettin’ at, Раddy?” asked Sean, briskly.
“Well Sean, when I pour the whiskey over your grave, would ye mind if I filter it through me kidneys first?”
A young man was hitchhiking down south and a farmer driving an old pickup truck stopped to give him a lift.
As they were driving, the farmer started bragging about how good the local moonshine whiskey was. The young man told the farmer that he didn’t drink very much, and that moonshine would probably be too strong for his tastes.
“Nonsense!” said the farmer. “You gotta try some.” He fished around behind him and finally produced a small jug. “Here,” he said, handing the jar to the lad. “Take a drink!”
“Oh, no thanks,” said the young man. “I really don’t think I care for any.”
“No, I insist,” pressed the farmer. “Have some.”
“No, thanks - really,” said the young man.
The farmer wasn’t going to take no for an answer. He stopped the truck and grabbed his shotgun from the rack in back. He pointed the gun at the lad and roared, “I said, take a drink!”
“Okay! Okay!” said the young man. He took a few swallows and instantly realized just how powerful the stuff was. His throat muscles tightened, his eyes watered, and he made a choking sound.
“What do you think of it?” asked the farmer. “Good, ain’t it?”
“Yeah,” gasped the lad, afraid he would be forced to drink more if he disagreed, “I guess so.”
Then the farmer handed the young man the shotgun and grinned. “Here! Now, you hold the gun on me and make me drink some!”