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Paddy had been drinking at his local pub all day and most of the night, 
celebrating St Patrick's Day.

Bartender Sean says, "You'll not be drinking anymore tonight, Paddy."

Paddy replies, "OK Sean, I'll be on my way then."

Paddy spins around on his stool and steps off. 

He falls flat on his face. "Shoite," he says and pulls himself up by 
the stool and dusts himself off.

He takes a step towards the door and falls flat on his face. 

"Shoite, shoite!"

He looks to the doorway and thinks to himself that if he can just get 
to the door and some fresh air he'll be fine.

He belly crawls to the door and shimmies up to the door frame. 

He sticks his head outside and takes a deep breath of fresh air, feels 
much better and takes a step out onto the sidewalk and falls flat on his
face. "Bi'Jesus... I'm fockin' focked," he says.

He can see his house just a few doors down and crawls all the way to the
door, hauls himself up the door frame, opens the door and shimmies in.

Paddy then takes a look up the stairs and says, "No fockin' way!"

He crawls up the stairs to his bedroom door and says "I can make it to 
the bed." He takes a step into the room and falls flat on his face. 

He says "Fock it" and falls into bed.

The next morning, his wife Jess, comes into the room carrying a cup of 
coffee and says, "Get up Paddy. Did you have a bit to drink last night?"

Paddy says, "That I did Jess. I was fockin' pissed. But how'd you know?"

"Sean phoned... you left your wheelchair at the pub."


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[Contributed by Peter Woods]

You can't teach a new mouse old clicks.