A man goes to the confessional. “Forgive me father, for I have sinned.” “What is your sin, my son?” the priest asks back.
“Well,” the man starts, “I used some horrible language this week and feel absolutely terrible.”
“When did you use this awful language?” asks the priest.
“Well, I was golfing and hit an incredible drive that looked like it was going to go over 280 yards, but it struck a phone line that was hanging over the fairway and fell straight down to the ground after going only about 100 yards.”
“Is that when you swore?”
“No, Father,” says the man. “After that, a squirrel ran out of the bushes and grabbed my ball in his mouth and began to run away.”
“Is THAT when you swore?” asks the Father again.
“Well, no.” says the man. “You see, as the squirrel was running, an eagle came down out of the sky, grabbed the squirrel in his talons and began to fly away!”
“Is THAT when you swore?” asks the amazed Priest.
“No, not yet,” the man replies. “As the eagle carried the squirrel away in his claws, it flew over a bit of forest near the green and the squirrel dropped my ball.”
“Did you swear THEN?” asked the impatient Priest.
“No, because as the ball fell, it struck a tree, bounced through some bushes, careened off a big rock, and rolled through a sand trap onto the green and stopped within six inches of the hole.”
Silence filled the confessional until the Priest sighed and said, “You missed the f**king putt, didn’t you?”
OK, I’ll try my hand at an old “shaggy dog” story:
A preacher came to the elders of his church and tendered his resignation. When pressed for an explanation, he would only say “Mother Green”.
“Mother Green? Who’s that? What do you mean?” the elders asked, but the preacher adamently refused to elaborate. The elders asked the preacher to stay until a replacement could be found, and he did so.
The new preacher arrived, and asked the departing pastor why he was giving up his flock. “Mother Green” he said, and once again refused to elaborate.
The new preacher took over, and on one particular Sunday morning, things were going swimmingly. The collection plate was full, the choir was singing on key, and he was in fine voice, raining fire and brimstone on his mesmerized audience. Suddenly, the back doors of the church were flung open, and in strutted, no, flounced a woman, built like the proverbial brick outhouse. She sported a short-short miniskirt, and displayed cleavage nearly to her naval. She sinuously slithered to the front of the church, sat in the front pew, and threw her leg over the armrest. She wore no underwear.
The preacher looked, looked again, and then whispered to the choir director “Is that Mother Green?”
“I don’t think so, pastor,” came the reply “I think it’s just the way the sun is hitting it through the stained-glass window.”