For all of my Papist readers:

An Irishman came into a bar one day and ordered three beers. He slowly drank them one after another. He ordered another three beers, same thing.

After a few evenings of this, somebody finally had the nerve to ask why he ordered three beers at a time, since the last one must have been quite flat when he got around to it.

“It’s for my two brothers who left for America. We agreed to always drink a beer for each other as long as we were alive.”

But, the night came when he ordered only two beers, and the entire bar fell silent. He ordered another two beers. Silence. He ordered another two beers, and the bartender finally expressed his sympathy for the dead brother.

“What? Dead brother? No, no, my two brothers are alive and well, I assure you. It’s just that I’ve given up beer for Lent.”

Father O’Flaherty tried to enjoy himself at a baseball game, but the man sitting next to him kept bothering him with a lot of questions. The priest bought a hot dog, and the vendor handed it first to the talkative man who passed it along to Father O’Flaherty, who downed it in one gulp.

This was the first time a hot dog had ever gone from the prying fan into the friar.

A new young monk arrived at the monastery.

He was assigned to help the other monks in copying the old canons and laws of the church by hand. He noticed, however, that all of the monks are copying from copies, not from the original manuscript. Concerned, he went to the head abbot to question this, pointing out that if someone made even a small error in the first copy, it would never be picked up. In fact, that error would be continued in all of the subsequent copies.

The head monk replied, “We have been copying from the copies for centuries, but you make a good point, my son.”

So, the abbot went down into the dark caves underneath the monastery where the original manuscripts were held in a locked vault that hadn’t been opened for hundreds of years. Hours went by.

The young monk got worried and went downstairs to look for him, and found him banging his head against the wall, crying uncontrollably.

The young monk asked the old abbot, “What’s wrong, father?”

With a choking voice, the old abbot replies, “The word is ‘celebrate’.”