One fine summer day, old Paddy was found dead in his back yard by a couple of his drinking buddies.
As the weather was a bit on the warm side, the wake was held only two days after his death, so his mortal remains wouldn’t take a bad turn, if you know what I mean.
At last his friends laid him in the coffin, nailed it shut, lifted it onto their shoulders and started off down the hill towards the churchyard.
As it was a long, sloping path and the mourners were appropriately tipsy, this being Ireland, one fellow lurched into the gatepost as they entered the graveyard.
Suddenly, to everyone’s surprise, a loud knocking came from in the coffin. Paddy was alive!
They lowered the coffin to the ground, opened the coffin up and Paddy sat up, wide eyed. His friends all agreed that, “Sure, it’s a miracle of God!”
Everyone rejoiced and they went back up the hill to the local pub where they had a few more drinks to celebrate the good news.
Sadly though, later that day, the poor lad died again.
This time Paddy really died though.
I mean stone cold dead.
So, they bundled him back into his coffin and as they huffed and puffed down the hill the next morning, the priest said, “Careful now, boys; mind ye don’t bump the gatepost again”.
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