It's Wednesday. Yawn. This is when the week starts to drag. I though I would share a joke to get you over the hump. This is actually my brother's joke. If you tend to get your panties in a twist over swearing then don't read it. Otherwise, have a laugh and share a joke of your own.
The church was throwing a special dinner in honor of an upcoming visit by the bishop. The pastor was out fishing and he returned to the rectory with the biggest, meatiest trout that you have ever seen. As he was standing in the rectory kitchen cleaning the trout one of the nuns who did much of the cooking wandered in.
"My, Father, that sure is a great fish!"
"Yes," replied the pastor proudly, "I caught this son of a bitch."
As you can imagine, Sister's eyes widened in shock and she put a hand over her mouth to stifle a gasp.
"With all do respect, Father, I don't appreciate that type of language."
"No, no, no," the pastor hastily explained. "This type of fish is called 'son of a bitch'."
"Oh!" Sister was relieved. "Well, in that case, I'll cook that son of a bitch!"
Later as she was taking the fish out of the oven the deacon wandered in dressed in his Sunday best, nervous for the bishop's visit.
"Why, Sister that fish looks and smells delicious," he exclaimed.
"Thank you," Sister replied proudly. "I cooked this son of a bitch."
"Sister," gasped the shocked deacon, "I am appalled that you would use that word!"
"Oh, my you misunderstand! This type of fish is called 'son of a bitch'."
"Oh! Well, in that case, I will make my special casseroles and side dishes to serve with that son of a bitch."
Finally, it was evening and the bishop arrived. They all sat down to dinner hoping to make a good impression. Everything was cooked perfectly, and the bishop complimented the delicious trout.
The pastor beamed with pride at his accolades. "I caught that son of a bitch," he boasted.
"And I cooked that son of a bitch," Sister chimed in.
Not to be left out, the deacon piped up, "I cooked my best casserole and side dishes to serve with that son of a bitch."
Silence fell upon the table. The bishop leaned back in his chair and looked around the table at the pastor, the sister, and the deacon. Finally he said:
"You fuckers are my kind of people!"
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