A disheveled man who smelled like beer sat down on a subway car 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, do you know what causes arthritis?”
The priest replied, “My son, it’s caused by loose living; consorting with cheap, wicked women; too much alcohol; contempt for your fellow man; sleeping around with prostitutes; and lack of personal hygiene.”
The drunk muttered in response, “Well, I’ll be darned.” Then returned 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?”
The drunk answered, “I don’t have it, Father. I was just reading here that the Pope does.”