Pastor Helping Out

The Reverend John Fuzz was pastor of a small congregation in a little Pennsylvania town. One day, he was walking down Main Street and he happened to notice a female member of his congregation sitting in the town bar, drinking beer. The reverend thought this was sinful and not something a member of his congregation should do. He walked through the open door of the bar and sat down next to the woman. "Mrs. Fitzgerald," the reverend said sternly. "This is no place for a member of my congregation. Why don't you let me take you home?" "Sure," she said with a slur, obviously very drunk. When Mrs. Fitzgerald stood up from the bar, she began to weave back and forth. The reverend realized that she had had too much to drink and he grabbed hold of her arms to steady her. When he did, they both lost their balance and tumbled to the floor. After rolling around for a few seconds, the reverend wound up lying on top of Mrs. Fitzgerald, her skirt hiked up to her waist. The bartender looked over the bar and said, "Here, here, buddy, we won't have any of that carrying on in this bar." The reverend looked up at the bartender and said, "But you don't understand, I'm Pastor Fuzz." The bartender nodded, "Well if you're that far into the game, you may as well finish!"

What Have You Done

The local priest came across Paddy who had stumbled out of the town tavern. "Paddy," he said, "I'm afraid I'll not be seeing you in Heaven one day." "Really, Father?" slurred Paddy. "What have you done?"

Drunk Husband

Marge was cheating on her husband with another man when they heard a noise on the stairs. "Oh, my God, your husband is home! What am I going to do?" "Just stay in bed with me. He's probably so drunk, he's not going to notice you." Sure enough, Marge's husband crawled into bed, but as he pulled up the covers, he exposed six feet. "Honey!" he yelled. "What the hell is going on? I see six feet at the end of the bed!" "Dear, you're so drunk, you can't count. If you don't believe me, count them again." The husband got out of bed and counted. "One, two, three, four. By damn, you're right, dear."