I got a call yesterday afternoon to fill in for a fallout at a St. Patrick’s Day gig. The requirement was they wanted an Irish guy. I’m sort of Irish…and German…and English…and possibly Native American. I took it and the contact called me. He kept calling me the “speaker” instead the comedian, so I was getting a little unsettled. Five hours isn’t enough time to make up a fake motivational speech about kicking my smack addiction and working with poor kids.
I got to the venue and it was an all-male Irish club having their 80th annual St. Patty’s event. I liked it right off the bat because I saw this.
I was told to prepare a couple Irish jokes. My wife asked me if I had many Irish jokes. I told her if all I did was Irish jokes, I would starve by the end of March every year, but I would think of a few more. I recited a few stock Irish jokes to fill the quota, but was happier with the lines I came up with.
“I feel pretty Irish today. I’m out drinking with other guys while my pregnant wife is at home.” (Went over well) “I’ve never done an Irish organization before, but I lost a ton of money playing poker at a Sons of Italy, so I’ll stick with my own tonight.” (Lukewarm, more for the rivalry with Italians than the funny) “I can tell this is an Irish organization because you guys put a beerholder on the podium.” (Good laughs) I had a really bad one about my Grandma being in the Christian Women, but no one recorded it, so I’ll act like I didn’t bomb. (It was deafening quiet, like a desert of shame)