Humour - Thurles Information

Thurles Man Confesses Theft From Employer

Thurles, The Cathedral Town

Thurles born, Mikey Ryan, following a recent health scare, decided it would be best to confide a previously undisclosed, yet nagging secret, to his local parish priest.

“After all God sees everything”, as Mikey pointed out to me, “so it would be only logical to get things sorted out down here on earth, instead of slowing down others on their processional route, through Heaven’s Pearly Gates”.

I must say personally that I felt Mikey should have kept his secret, especially what with the cost of Mortgages now-a-days and the inability of Banks to loan out money; but Mikey remained adamant. True to his word, down in the Confessional of the Cathedral of The Assumption here in Cathedral Street, Thurles, last Friday; Mikey finally admitted that he had been stealing materials from the building supplier, who had kept him gainfully employed for the past 45 years.

“Have you no shame and are you not aware of the moral imperative laid down by God in His commandments”, asked a chastising old priest.

“Surely you remember your catechism and the words, ‘Thou shalt not steal’. Remember the words also, my son, ‘Thou shalt not covet thy neighbour’s house, thou shalt not covet thy neighbour’s wife, nor his manservant, nor his maidservant, nor his ox, nor his ass, nor anything that is thy neighbour’s’,” rhymed off the old priest, “Indeed my son you have grievously broken not one, but two of God’s Commandments, through endeavouring to scheme, covet and acquire another man’s possessions”.

The old priest paused briefly before asking, “So what did you actually steal from your employer and neighbour, my son”.

“Well Father, to be totally honest, I stole, over the past 40 years, enough to build my own four bedroomed house; then there was my son’s house, and two other houses for both of me daughters”, confessed Mikey.

“Oh and Father in the last year I built a small week-end fishing lodge over on the shores of Lough Derg, to accommodate myself and a couple of me mates to hangout in”, continued Mikey, making a conscious decision to rid himself of his entire guilty secret, once and for all.

“This is truly a serious matter my son”, stated the priest, “Pray now to God, seeking forgiveness, while I think of an appropriate penance for your most grievous of sin.”

Some minutes later the old priest asked, “Tell me Mikey have you ever done a retreat in the past”.

Mikey thought for a moment, before replying, “Begob no Father I haven’t, but sure look if you can produce the plans, I can get you most of the necessary building supplies”.

Never Underestimate The Power Of A Chamber Pot

Enamel Chamber Pot

It was a beautiful sunny Sunday morning, just like today, as Thurles District Nurse, Sister María Theresa; an employee of the Health Service Executive (HSE), started out on the road to visit some of her rural housebound patients.

About an hour into her journey she ran out of petrol, but remembering she had just passed a Topaz petrol station about a half a kilometre (0.31 of a mile) back, she decided to return to that same location in the hope of borrowing a petrol can and purchasing some petrol.

The helpful Topaz station attendant, alas, informed her that the only petrol container currently in his possession had just been loaned out some 15 minutes earlier, but she was welcome to sit and wait, since he expected the can to be returned within the hour.

Since Sister María Theresa was anxious to see her next patient, latter just released from hospital; she decided not to wait and walked back to her car, having remembered that in her car boot was an old enamel hospital chamber pot she kept in reserve for ageing patients suffering from the problem of frequent urination.

Sister María Theresa now carried the chamber pot back to the petrol station, and having filled it with petrol, she carefully carried it back to her car.

As she was pouring the petrol into the vehicle’s tank, two passing non-religious believers spotted her activity from across the road. Having carefully watched the Nun’s actions, one of them turned to the other stating “If that feckin car starts, I’m turning Catholic!”

Mikey Ryan Is Home From Lanzarote

First off, Mikey Ryan may be many things, but he is not a liar. Himself and myself were in The Arch Bar, Liberty Square, here in Thurles, today enjoying our second Pina Colada, when he quietly shared this tale with me, on the strict condition I wouldn’t repeat it.

Mikey had returned from his 10 day stint in Lanzarote just yesterday, and was sharing newly acquired wisdom, having experienced for the first time the delectable flavour achieved by the mixing of Bacardi Carta Blanco with fresh pineapple juice, not to mention a tablespoonful of coconut cream.

Anyway, Mikey was extolling the virtues of Lanzarote Cocktail bars, which eventually brought him round to talking about the activities of a certain pub here in Friar Street, Thurles, which had changed hands back in the late 1950’s, “No names, no court-martials”, as Mikey stated .

The new proprietor, it seems, had thought of everything to attract prospective clientèle; a new dart board, centred in a half tyre to protect his newly painted wall from near misses; two decks of shiny waxed playing cards for games of ‘Old Maid’; a bar billiards table which accepted only an Irish Sixpence in order to acquire the 8 balls with which to play; a small stage area for Accordion or Fiddle players of Irish music; a new carpet for women who might enter for a sherry, to frequent the small ‘Snug’, and three shiny brass Spittoons, latter strategically positioned in the public bar, so as those who became ‘legless’, wouldn’t fall over them.

On the eve of the night of the ‘Grand Official Opening’, the proud new proprietor copped Mikey Ryan heading down the street and summoned him to cast his experienced eye over his new establishment. Mikey having discovered that all first drinks would be free, if patrons showed up before 8.30 p.m., suddenly showed interest. Having surveyed the premises favourably, Mikey decided there was just one small change required to this new exciting 20th century licensed hostelry.

“Yes, free Snuff must be positioned on the counter for all customers”, said Mikey. As he correctly stated, this premises in the past had always provided free Snuff, and to halt this practise now could be detrimental to any future business, not to mention the Good Will; same built up since as far back as the Great Famine, when it first opened its doors. Trouble now facing the anxious proprietor was that the licensed tobacco shops in Thurles were now closed and where would he get Snuff for the opening taking place in less than 2 hours?

Running a last minute broom around the pavement in front of the pub, suddenly there appeared a possible answer; yes, a dog shit on the pavement. Picking it up on his shovel he quickly transported same to a saucepan inside, before placing it over the open fire. Having dried it sufficiently, he then ground it into a fine brown powder with the fire poker, before placing same in two metal egg cups, on his polished counter top.

According to Mikey, the first visitor through the door that night was the Chairperson of Thurles UDC. “One pint of Guinness and a whiskey chaser to start, if you please”, said the Councillor, reaching for a pinch of Snuff, before inhaling what he believed was pulverised, smokeless, tobacco powder, deep into both his nasal cavities.

Within seconds he was checking his shoes; had he accidentally walked in dog do-do, dragging it into the newly refurbished premises? A thorough and careful examination of both shoes, trouser legs and hands revealed nothing untoward. The Councillor made a mental note to bring the matter of ‘dog shit’ up at the next local monthly Council meeting; now believing that perhaps it was the new proprietor himself who had accidentally walked in the offending excrement.

The next visitor to enter the pubs portal was the local Teachta Dála (TD). The TD and Councillor shook hands, as is customary on such occasions, before the Councillor, in low tones remarked, “Tell me, do you get an awful smell of dog shit in here, or is it my imagination”.

The TD sniffed the air a couple of times, before stating he could smell absolutely nothing, before he, himself reached out for a pinch of the Snuff provided, and again inhaled it deep into both his nasal cavities.

“Powerfull Snuff that,” said the TD sneezing, “Jasus that stuff has really cleared my head, proof is I can now smell that dog shit you referred too earlier.”

100 Jobs Lost At ‘French Frillies’ In Thurles

I fool you not readers, when I state that figures in relation to those under the age of 25 years, in receipt of Social Welfare in Thurles, have actually increased. If you don’t believe me, check CSO figures HERE yourself; yes, and also check that when the categories ‘Both Sexes’ and ‘All Ages’ are represented, note currently 2,169 persons are in receipt of Social Assistance. Yes indeed, Tipperary The Place, The Time.

The last two to be laid off this week and who found themselves drawn to the Thurles unemployment office, were Paddy McGann and Peter Hackett, both who had worked in the town for the last 10 years.

When asked his occupation by the Social Welfare officer, Paddy said he was, “A Panty Stitcher. Up until yesterday I used to sew the elastic onto ladie’s cotton panties and thongs, in the recently closed branch of ‘French Frillies’, latter a knickers factory, situated in the Archerstown Industrial Estate here in Thurles.”

The diligent Social Welfare officer looked up ‘Panty Stitcher’ on his computer to find it classified as ‘Unskilled Labour’, before awarding Paddy the miserable sum of €80 per week in unemployment benefit.

Peter Hackett was next in the line, and when asked his occupation, he stated he was occupied as a ‘Diesel Fitter’. The diligent Social Welfare officer again checked his computer to confirm that a ‘Diesel Fitter’ was indeed a skilled job, and Peter was therefore awarded unemployment benefit of €160 a week.

When Paddy heard about Peter’s awarded benefit he was absolutely furious. He stormed back into the Thurles Social Welfare office the following morning, to ascertain why his friend and co-worker was collecting a double benefit.

The Social Welfare officer explained, “Panty Stitchers are regarded as unskilled labour, while Diesel Fitters are considered highly skilled labour.”

“What feckin skill?” yelled Paddy. “I sewed the damn elastic on the panties and the thongs. Peter was employed to simply eye-up prospective customers, before holding the required garment up to the shop assistants, yelling: “These’ll fit her!”

Warning Chocolate Can Cause Unwanted Pregnancy

“Sure I suppose half of what you hear is enough to believe”, said I to Mikey Ryan, here in the Arch Bar, Liberty Square, Thurles, last Wednesday night.

Mikey had been quietly ‘clearing his chest’ to me in relation to certain domestic difficulties he was experiencing with his eldest daughter Peggy Sue and her new lazy, good-for-nothing, boyfriend Bartley Fallon. (Not my words I assure you.)

Mikey was truly enraged by the reported activities of young Bartley; “The chances of that reprobate ever taking out my daughter again are about the same as me extracting butter from a skunks hole with a red hot darning needle”, said an adamant and perhaps over protective Mikey.

As far as I could gather, it was just a matter of Mikey simply not liking the look of this young lad, and for no real, apparent reason. So it seems that when Peggy Sue stated that Bartley Fallon was taking her to see Scarlett Johansson in “Rough Night” at the IMC Thurles Shopping Centre, Mikey kind of, well, ‘lost the cool’.

“You stay away from that weir-do and all belonging to him, or you will end up with a name for yourself, my girl”, had warned Mikey.
“Dad, you are so wrong, Bartley is so nice; he’s kind and considerate, generous and always treats me like a real lady”, retorted an even more adamant Peggy Sue.

Using the strongest vocal tones that he could muster and waving his thumb and index finger, latter holding a promised five pound note, Mikey demanded “You be back here in this house at 7.30 p.m. and not a minute later.”

From what I could gather, the Movie didn’t end until 3.00 a.m.; well that was the precise time being chimed out on the Thurles Cathedral clock, as Peggy Sue attempted a silent entry to her home. Mikey was in waiting; lightly dozing on the sofa in the parlour when he heard the sharp click from the Yale lock, as she entered.

“Where were you until now”, demanded Mikey, “Surely the film wasn’t on till this hour of the morning”.

“As you already know, I was with my boy friend Bartley”, said Peggy Sue in her best defensive tone, “and you are so wrong about him, Dad; Bartley is a kind and considerate boy, generous to a fault; sure he even bought me a large bag of chocolate ‘Maltesers’ to chew during the film. We sat in the duel seats on the back row, and Bartley put his arm around me. When the lights went down, he kissed me and began to feel my leg just above my knee and I began to laugh”. Peggy Sue closed her eyes as if trying to relive the memory.

“Then I felt his hand move to under my blouse and I laughed again. He then began to feel around under my bra, and I laughed again, much to the annoyance of the cinema usher, who shone his powerful torch directly on us”, continued Peggy Sue.

“What the feck was there to laugh about”, demanded Mikey, his anger rising.
“Couldn’t help it”, said Peggy Sue, “Sure poor Bartley didn’t realise that my Maltesers were safely tucked away in me handbag”.

Kids these days, no respect whatsoever.