These few jokes have been attributed to the wise cracking of Brendan Behan, who could doubt that.
1.
This is a true story of the late Irish author Brendan Behan who one night collapsed in a diabetic coma in a Dublin street. It was at a time when he was at the height of his drunken notoriety and passes-by naturally thought he was dead drunk. They took him to the nearby surgery of one of Dublin's most fashionable and respected doctors. The doctor decided to take a cardiograph and, somewhat nervous of his patient, thought to humor him. He explained the workings of the cardiograph needle as it registered the faint heartbeats of the very sick and semiconscious Brendan. "That needle there is writing down your pulses, Mr. Behan, and I suppose, in its own way, it is probably the most important thing you have ever written." To which Behan replied: "Aye, and it's straight from me heart, too."
2.
Brendan Behan, late Irish author, was the soul of courtesy, but there were times when he could give back as good as he got. Brendan and a friend were emerging from the Long Hall in Dublin during the Christmas season, and Brendan had the misfortune to bump into a lady laden with parcels, the result being to scatter her parcels all over the pavement. Brendan promptly stooped to recover them from among the feet of the passers-by and restore them to her arms, but her ladyship's temper was not satisfied.
"I'd have you know," she declared angrily, "that my husband's a detective, and, if he was here, he'd take ye!"
This was too much for Brendan, who after all had done his best. "Ma'am," said he, "I don't doubt it for a second. If he took you, he'd take anything."
3.
Brendan Behan told the story of how he got a job in London with a street repair gang. The first job he went to they were down in a hole singing Happy Birthday around the foreman. "Is it the foreman's birthday?" asked Brendan.
"No, Brendan. It's the third anniversary of the hole."
Some Quotes attributed to the late B.B
New York is my Lourdes, where I go for spiritual refreshment . . . . a place where you're least likely to be bitten by a wild goat
It's not that the Irish are cynical. It's rather that they have a wonderful lack of respect for everything and everybody
I have a total irreverence for anything connected with society except that which makes the roads safer, the beer stronger, the food cheaper, and the old men and old women warmer in the winter and happier in the summer.
I have never seen a situation so dismal that a policeman couldn't make it worse.
Critics are like eunuchs in a harem; they know how it's done, they've seen it done every day, but they're unable to do it themselves.
I was court-martialed in my absence, and sentenced to death in my absence, so I said they could shoot me in my absence.
An aunt of mine lived down the road from Brendan Behan's
mother. She
approached Behan's mother about getting a copy of his latest play. "It's
filth" she said. My Aunt looked disappointed. "I'll ask Father and if he
says its ok I'll give you a copy."
I'm afraid I can't recall the Priest's name.
Slainte
Alister Cryan