In a world where religious suicide bombers are smoking the Kronic and Buddhist terrorists are put down by the Department of Om Land Security, it's always good to get a few laughs--even if it isn't Good Fry Day.
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If God is watching us, the least we can do is be entertaining.
After watching sales falling off for three straight months at Kentucky Fried Chicken, the Colonel calls up the Pope and asks for a favor.
The Pope says, "What can I do?"
The Colonel says, "I need you to change the daily prayer from, 'Give us this day our daily bread' to 'Give us this day our daily chicken'. If you do it, I'll donate 10 Million Dollars to the Vatican."
The Pope replies, "I am sorry. That is the Lord's prayer and I can not change the words."
So the Colonel hangs up. After another month of dismal sales, the Colonel panics, and calls again.
"Listen your Excellency. I really need your help. I'll give you $50 million dollars if you change the words of the daily prayer from 'Give us this day our daily bread' to 'Give us this day our daily chicken.'"
And the Pope responds, "It is very tempting, Colonel Sanders. The church could do a lot of good with that much money. It would help us support many charities. But, again, I must decline. It is the Lord's prayer, and I can't change the words."
So the Colonel gives up again. After two more months of terrible sales the Colonel gets desperate. "This is my final offer, your Excellency. If you change the words of the daily prayer from, 'Give us this day our daily bread' to 'Give us this day our daily chicken' I will donate $100 million to the Vatican."
The Pope replies, "Let me get back to you."
So the next day, the Pope calls together all of his bishops and he says, "I have some good news and I have some bad news. The good news is that KFC is going to donate $100 million to the Vatican."
The bishops rejoice at the news. Then one asks about the bad news.
The Pope replies, "The bad news is that we lost the Wonder Bread account."
A drunk man who smelled like beer sat 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 man turned to the priest and asked, "Say, Father, what causes arthritis?"
"My Son, 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 damned," 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 here that the Pope does".
A man is driving down the road and breaks down near a monastery. He goes to the monastery, knocks on the door, and says, "My car broke down. Do you think I could stay the night?"
The monks graciously accept him, feed him dinner, even fix his car. As the man tries to fall asleep, he hears a strange sound. The next morning, he asks the monks what the sound was, but they say, "We can't tell you. You're not a monk."
The man is disappointed but thanks them anyway and goes about his merry way.
Some years later, the same man breaks down in front of the same monastery. The monks gain accept him, feed him, even fix his car. That night, he hears the same strange noise that he had heard years earlier.
The next morning, he asks what it is, but the monks reply, "We can't tell you. You're not a monk."
The man says, "All right, all right. I'm dying to know. If the only way I can find out what that sound was is to become a monk, how do I become a monk?"
The monks reply, "You must travel the earth and tell us how many blades of grass there are and the exact number of sand pebbles. When you find these numbers, you will become a monk."
The man sets about his task. Some forty-five years later, he returns and knocks on the door of the monastery. He says, "I have traveled the earth and have found what you have asked for. There are 145,236,284,232 blades of grass and 231,281,219,999,129,382 sand pebbles on the earth."
The monks reply, "Congratulations. You are now a monk. We shall now show you the way to the sound."
The monks lead the man to a wooden door, where the head monk says, "The sound is right behind that door."
The man reaches for the knob, but the door is locked. He says, "Real funny. May I have the key?"
The monks give him the key, and he opens the door. Behind the wooden door is another door made of stone. The man demands the key to the stone door. The monks give him the key, and he opens it, only to find a door made of ruby. He demands another key from the monks, who provide it. Behind that door is another door, this one made of sapphire. So it went until the man had gone through doors of emerald, silver, topaz, amethyst.
Finally, the monks say, "This is the last key to the last door." The man is relieved to no end. He unlocks the door, turns the knob, and behind that door he is amazed to find the source of that strange sound.
But I can't tell you what it is because you're not a monk.
"Bless me Father, for I have sinned. I have not been to confession for six months. On top of that, I've been with a loose woman.
"The priest sighs. "Is that you, little Tommy O'Shaughnessy?"
"Yes, Father, 'tis I."
"And who might be the woman you were with?"
"I shan't be tellin' you, Father. It would ruin her reputation."
"Well, Tommy, I'm bound to find out sooner or later, so you may as well tell me now. Was it Brenda O'Malley?"
"I cannot say."
"Was it Patricia Fitzgerald?"
"I'll never tell."
"Was it Lisa O'Shanter?"
"I'm sorry, but I'll not name her."
"Was it Cathy O'Dell?"
"My lips are sealed."
"Was it Fiona Mallory, then?"
"Please, Father, I cannot tell you."
The priest sighs in frustration. "You're a steadfast lad, Tommy O'Shaughnessy, and I admire that. But, you've sinned, and you must atone. Be off with you now."
Tommy walks back to his pew. His friend Sean slides over and whispers, "What'd you get?"
"Five more good leads!" says Tommy
Old Mrs. Watkins awoke one spring morning to find that the river had flooded the entire first floor of her house. Looking out of her window, she saw that the water was still rising. Two men passing by on a rowboat shouted up an invitation to row to safety with them.
"No, thank you," Mrs. Watkins replied. "The Lord will provide."
The men shrugged and rowed on. By evening, the water level forced Mrs. Watkins to climb on top of the roof for safety. She was spotted by a man in a motorboat, who offered to pick her up.
"Don't trouble yourself," she told him. "The Lord will provide."
Pretty soon, Mrs. Watkins had to seek refuge atop the chimney. When a Red Cross cutter came by on patrol, she waved it on, shouting, "The Lord will provide."
So the boat left, the water rose, and the old woman drowned. Dripping wet and thoroughly annoyed, she came through the pearly gates and demanded to speak to God. "What happened?" she cried.
"For cryin' out loud, lady," God said. "I sent three boats."
