Here's an Irish story......
> Paddy had been drinking at his local Dublin pub all day and
most of
>the night.
>Mick, the bartender, said to him, "You'll not be drinking any more
tonight,
>Paddy".
> Paddy replied "OK, Mick, I'll be on my way then".
>
>Paddy spun around on his stool and stepped off. He fell flat on his
face.
>"Shoite" he said, and pulled himself up by the bar stool and dusted
himself
>off. He took a step towards the door and fell flat on his face again.
>Shoite, Shoite!" He looked toward the doorway and thought to himself,
"If
>I can just get to the door and get some fresh air, I'll be fine." He
belly
>crawled to the door and shimmied up to the door frame. He stuck his
head
>outside and took a deep breath of fresh air. Immediately, he felt much
>better and took a step out onto the pavement. Plop. He fell flat on
his
>face again. "Bi'Jesus... I'm fockin' focked," Paddy said, wondering
what
>was wrong.
> He could see his house just a few doors down, so he crawled down
the
>street to the front door and shimmied up to the doorway. Then he
opened
>the door and wringled inside. He took a look up the stairs and said,
"No
>fockin' way". But finally, with great effort, he crawled up the
stairs to
>his bedroom door, and using the door frame to stand up, he decided, "I
can
>make it to the bed". He took a step into the room and fell flat on
his
>face.
>
>"Fock this," he said, "I gotta stop drinking," and fell into bed.
> The next morning, his wife, Jess, came into the bedroom carrying a
cup
>of coffee. She said to him, "Time to get up, Paddy. Did you have a
bit to
>drink last night?"
> Paddy replied, "That I did, Jess. I was fockin' pissed. But how'd
you
>know?"
>
> "Mick called......You left your wheelchair at the pub."
>