Patrick had been drinking heavily at his local Dublin pub all day and most of the night.
Mick, the barman, says, “You’ll not be drinking any more tonight, Patrick”.
Patrick replies “OK Mick, I’ll be on my way then”. He spins around on his stool and steps off. He falls flat on his face “Shoite” he says and pulls himself up by the stool and dusts himself off.

He takes a step towards the door and falls flat on his face. “Shoite, Shoite!” He looks to the doorway and thinks to himself that if he can just get to the door and some fresh air he’ll be fine. He belly crawls to the door and shimmies up to the doorframe. He sticks his head outside and takes a deep breath of fresh air, feels much better and takes a step out onto the pavement. He falls flat on his face. “Be ‘Jesus… I’m fockin, focked,” he says. He can see his house just a few doors down, and crawls to the door and shimmies up the doorframe, opens the door falls flat on his face and crawls inside.
He takes a look up the stairs and says “No fockin’ way”. But he eventually decide to drag himself up the stairs to his bedroom , he shimmies up the doorframe and says “I can make it to the bed”.

He takes a step into the room and falls flat on his face. He says “Fock this, I got to stop drinking so much,” and falls into bed. The next morning, his wife, Jesse, comes into the room carrying a cup of coffee and says, “Get up Paddy. Did you have a bit to drink last night?”
Patrick says, “I did Jesse. I was fockin’ pissed. But how’d you know?” “Mick the barman called, You left your wheelchair at the pub.”