A man flops down on a tube 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 apologises.’ 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. But it says here that the Pope does.’