A man flops down on a subway seat next to a priest. The man’s tie is stained,
his face is smeared with red lipstick, and a half-empty bottle of gin is
sticking out of his torn coat pocket. He opens a newspaper and begins reading.
After a few minutes the guy turns to the priest and asks, “say, father, what
causes arthritis?”
“Loose living; cheap, wicked woman; too much alcohol; and contempt for your
fellow man,” answers the priest.
“I�ll be damned,” the drunk mutters, returning to his paper.
The priest, thinking about what he said, nudges the man and apologizes. “I�m
very sorry. I didn’t mean to be so harsh. How long have you had arthritis?”
“Oh, I don’t have it, father. It says here that the pope does.”