An Irishman heads to work Monday morning, and finds that he’s been laid off. He stumbles down to the bar, and begins to drink. Now, mind you, it’s 11 in the morning, so by the time five ‘o clock rolls around, he’s been plastered for most of the day. As the regulars roll in, he shambles off his seat, and out the door onto the street. The setting sun is shining bright in his eyes as an ambulance comes wailing past, siren blaring, pushing sixty miles an hour.
The Irishman takes off after the ambulance, chasing it down city block after block. Finally, his alcohol-ridden body has had enough. He falls to the gutter, and in his dying breath, shouts:
“Well fine! Yeh’ can keep your damned ice-cream!”
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