Divorce
An elderly woman goes into a lawyer’s office. “I need your help in arranging a divorce.”
“A divorce? Tell me, how old are you?”
“I’m eighty-four.”
“Eighty-four! And how old is your husband?”
“My husband is eighty-seven.”
“My, my, and how long have you been married?”
“Next September will be sixty-two years.”
“Married sixty-two years?! Why would you want a divorce now?”
“Because enough is enough!”
Words of Comfort
A man is struck by a bus on a busy street in New York City. He lies dying on the sidewalk as a crowd of spectators gathers around.
“A priest! Somebody get me a priest!” the man gasps. A policeman checks the crowd—no priest, no minister, no man of God of any kind.
“A PRIEST, PLEASE!” the dying man says again.
Then out of the crowd steps a little old man of at least eighty years of age. “Mr. Policeman,” says the man, “I’m not a priest. I’m not even a Catholic. But for fifty years I’ve been living behind St. Elizabeth’s Catholic Church on First Avenue, and every night I’ve listened to the Catholic litany. Maybe I can be of some comfort to this man.”
The policeman agreed and brought the octogenarian over to where the dying man lay.
The old man knelt down, leaned over the injured man, and intoned in a solemn voice: “B-4. I-19. N-38. G-54. O-72. . .”
The Hanging
A cowboy walked into a bar and ordered a whiskey. When the bartender delivered the drink, the cowboy asked, “Where is everybody?”
The bartender replied, “They’ve gone to the hanging.”
“Hanging? Who are they hanging?”
“Brown Paper Pete,” the bartender replied.
“What kind of name is that?” the cowboy asked.
“Well,” said the bartender, “he wears a brown paper hat, brown paper shirt, brown paper trousers, and brown paper shoes.”
“Weird guy,” said the cowboy. “What are they hanging him for?”
“Rustling.”
