A young monk arrives at the monastery. He is assigned to helping the other monks in copying the old canons and laws of the church by hand.
He notices, however, that all of the monks are copying from copies, not from the original manuscript. So, the new monk goes to the head abbot to question this, pointing out that if someone made even a small error in the first copy, it would never be picked up! In fact, that error would be continued in all of the subsequent copies!
The head monk, says, 'We have been copying from the copies for centuries, but you make a good point, my son..'
He goes down into the dark caves underneath the monastery where the original manuscripts are held as archives in a locked vault that hasn't been opened for hundreds of years. Hours go by and nobody sees the old abbot.
So, the young monk gets worried and goes down to look for him. He sees him banging his head against the wall and wailing: 'We missed the R ! We missed the R ! We missed the R !' His forehead is all bloody and bruised and he is crying uncontrollably. The young monk asks the old abbot, 'What's wrong, father?' With A choking voice, the old abbot replies, 'The word was...
CELEB R ATE !
Catholic Last Rites
A bus on a busy street struck a Catholic man.
He was lying near death on the sidewalk as a crowd gathered.
"A priest. Somebody get me a priest!" the man gasped
Long seconds dragged on but no one stepped out of the crowd.
A policeman checked the crowd and finally yelled, "A PRIEST, PLEASE!
Isn't there a priest in this crowd to give this man his last rites?"
Finally, out of the crowd stepped a little old Jewish man in his 80s
"Mr. Policeman," said the man, "I'm not a priest. I'm not even a Christian. But for 50 years now, I'm living behind the Catholic Church on Second Avenue, and every night I'm overhearing their services. I can recall a lot of it, and maybe I can be of some comfort to this poor man."
The policeman agreed, and cleared the crowd so the man could get through to where the injured man lay.
The old Jewish man knelt down, leaned over the man and said in a solemn voice:
B-4 .... I-19 ... N-38 ... G-54 ... O-72
One day a wolf was walking along, and came upon a rabbit sitting in front of a computer, typing away. The wolf inquired of the rabbit as to what he was doing; the rabbit replied "Typing my dissertation."
"Your what?" said the wolf.
"My dissertation on 'How rabbits eat wolves'," replied the rabbit, somewhat annoyed by the interruption at this point.
The wolf, not surprisingly, expressed some doubt concerning this topic. The rabbit, begrudgingly, offered to demonstrate the main point of his dissertation, suggesting that the wolf follow him into his hole. The wolf (with a wolfish grin, no doubt) agreed, and down the hole they went. Several minutes later the rabbit re-emerged, and returned to typing his dissertation. This series of events was repeated several more times that day, each time a wolf going down the hole with the rabbit, but only the rabbit coming back out again.
Finally, a man walked by, and struck by the unusual sight of a rabbit typing, stopped to ask what he was working on. The rabbit, truly exasperated now, again stated he was trying to finish his dissertation, entitled "How rabbits eat wolves." The man replied, almost as astonished as the wolves earlier in the day, "I assume this is not just a piece of theoretical work?" "Oh no, this is an experimental study. Would you like to see?"
And so down the hole they went. Once inside the rabbit's hole, the man discovered, to his horror, a large pile of wolf bones, and a rather larger lion calmly chewing on the remains of another wolf....
The moral, of course, is that it is not your dissertation topic that matters; rather, it is who your advisor is.
Sven and Ole worked together and both were laid off, so they went
to the unemployment office.
When asked his occupation, Ole answered, "Dress Maker". "I make
the dresses for the nice ladies."
The clerk looked up Dress Maker. Finding it classified as unskilled
labor, she gave him $300 a week unemployment pay.
Sven was asked his occupation.
"Diesel fitter" he replied.
Since diesel fitter was a skilled job, the clerk gave Sven $600 a week.
When Ole found out he was furious.
He stormed back into the office to find out why his friend and co-worker
was collecting double his pay.
The Clerk explained: "Dress Makers are unskilled and diesel fitters
are skilled labor."
"What skill?" yelled Ole. "I make the dresses for the nice ladies, Sven
holds them up, looks at 'em up and says: "Yah, diesel fitter."
Ole's neighbor Sven had a boy, Sven Junior, who came home one day and asked, "Papa, I have da biggest feet in da third grade. Is dat becoss I'm Norvegian?" "No," said Sven, "It's because you're NINETEEN."
The pastor asked if anyone in the congregation would like to express praise for answered prayers. Suzie Smith stood and walked to the podium. She said, "I have a praise. Two months ago, my husband, Tom, had a terrible bicycle wreck and his scrotum was completely crushed. The pain was excruciating and the doctors didn't know if they could help him." You could hear a muffled gasp from the men in the congregation as they imagine the pain that poor Tom must have experienced. "Tom was unable to hold me or the children," she went on, "and every move caused him terrible pain." We prayed as the doctors performed a delicate operation, and it turned out they were able to piece together the crushed remnants of Tom's scrotum, and wrap wire around it to hold it in place." Again, the men in the congregation cringed and squirmed uncomfortably as they imagined the horrible surgery performed on Tom. "Now," she announced in a quivering voice, "thank the Lord, Tom is out of the hospital and the doctors say that with time, his scrotum should recover completely." All the men sighed with unified relief. The pastor rose and tentatively asked if anyone else had something to say.
A man stood up and walked slowly to the podium.
He said, "I'm Tom Smith." The entire congregation held its breath. "I just want to tell my wife the word is sternum."
A fellow was getting ready to tee off on the first hole when a second golfer approached and asked if he could join him. The first said that he usually played alone, but agreed to the twosome. They were even after the first few holes. The second guy said, "We're about evenly matched, how about playing for five bucks a hole?" The first fellow said that he wasn't much for betting, but agreed to the terms.The second guy won the remaining sixteen holes with ease.
As they were walking off number eighteen, and while counting his $80.00, the second guy confessed that he was the pro at a neighboring course and liked to pick on suckers. The first fellow revealed that he was the Parish Priest.
The pro got all flustered and apologetic, offering to return the money. The Priest said, "You won fair and square and I was foolish to bet with you. You keep your winnings."The pro said, "Is there anything I can do to make it up to you?" The Priest said, "Well, you could come to Mass on Sunday and make a donation. And, if you want to bring your mother and father along, I'll marry them...."