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The Incorrect Diagnosis
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," the priest said.
"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,"
the man said.
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," the priest said.
"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,"
the man said.
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