A group of preachers are having a meeting in the rectory of a catholic priest. Just as they're silently tuning up for some heavy orations, the priest offers all of them a whisky to ease tensions and get the smell of religious napalm out of the air.

"Don't mind if I do, thanks," says the Methodist vicar, who slugs down three fingers of Wild Turkey.

"And you?" asks the priest of the born-again minister.

"What?" the born-again shouts indignantly. "Drink alcohol? Why, I'd rather debauch in a whorehouse!"

At this the Methodist spits his whisky back into the glass and hollers, "Whoa! You mean we get a choice?"


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