Funny Notices on a Dublin Bus
Will and Guy's Funny Notices on a Dublin Bus
I count myself fortunate that my native tongue, English, is the main language of the internet. As an internet writer, I have become fascinated by spelling, vocabulary and the meaning of the same word in different countries.
The Irish always have a whimsical way with words as these pictures demonstrate. Ladies, the poles are fitted for your safety. No dancing.
Two drunks are waiting at bus stop on O'Connell
The bus driver shakes his head and says, 'No, I'm sorry.'
At this the other drunk lurches inside, smiles, and slurs:
Seen outside a Dublin pub - 'Ticket on sale upstairs', just the one apparently.
Mike and Jimmy Take a Bus Ride
Mike and Jimmy were walking home from town after a night of bar-hopping. They had no money to get a taxi and were staggering all over the place when they found themselves outside the bus depot on Danube Road.
Mike had an idea. He said to Jimmy, "Go in there and steal a bus so we can drive home and I'll stay out here and keep a watch for the police."
So Jimmy went into the garage and was gone for about twenty minutes. Mike was starting to wonder what was taking him so long.
Eventually Mike stuck his head around the door and saw Jimmy running from bus to bus and looking very worried.
"Terry! What are you doing?" Mike asked.
"I can't find a number 47 anywhere Mike," Jimmy replied. "The 47 is the only bus that stops at our house."
Mike rolled his eyes. "Ohhhh," he groaned, "How stupid can you get? It doesn't need to be a 47 for us to get home!" He walked over to a bus. "Here, we'll take this one," he said. "It's a number 25. It stops at the roundabout. We can just get off there and walk the rest of the way!"
A man flops down on a subway seat next to a priest. The man's tie is stained, his face is smeared with red lipstick, and a half-empty bottle of gin is sticking out of his torn coat pocket. He opens a newspaper and begins reading.
After a few minutes the guy turns to the priest and asks, 'Say, Father, what causes arthritis?' Loose living; cheap, wicked woman; too much alcohol; and contempt for your fellow man, 'answers the priest.' I'll be damned, 'the drunk mutters, returning to his paper.
The priest, thinking about what he said, nudges the man and apologises.' I'm very sorry. I didn't mean to be so harsh. How long have you had arthritis?'
'Oh, I don't have it, Father. But it says here that the Pope does.'
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