A man, who smelled like a distillery, flopped down on a subway seat next to a priest. The man’s tie was stained, his face was plastered with red lipstick, and a half-empty bottle of gin was sticking out of his torn coat pocket. He opened his newspaper and began reading.
After a few minutes the disheveled man turned to the priest and said, “Say, Father, what causes arthritis?”
“Mister, it’s caused by loose living, being with cheap wicked women, too much alcohol, and a contempt for your fellow man.”
“Well, I’ll be,” the drunk muttered, returning to his paper.
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 arthritis?”
“I don’t have it, Father. I was just reading that the Pope does.”