A drunk man who smelled like whiskey sat down on a bench in a subway station,
next to a priest. The man’s tie was stained, his face was plastered with red
lipstick, and a half empty bottle of Jim Beam was sticking out of his torn coat
pocket. He opened his newspaper and began reading. After a few minutes the man
turned to the priest and asked, “Say Father, what causes arthritis?”

The priest replies, “My Son, it’s caused by loose living, being with cheap
wicked women, too much alcohol, contempt for your fellow man, sleeping around
with prostitutes, and total lack of a cleanliness.” 
The drunk muttered in response, “Well, I’ll be damned,” then returned to his
The priest, thinking about what he had said, nudged the man and apologized. I’m
very sorry. I didn’t mean to come on so strong. How long have you had
The drunk answered, “I don’t have it, Father. I was just reading here that the
Pope does.”

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