Additional Shorties – –

Standard

Q. What did the Zero say to the Eight?

A. “Nice belt!”

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 A preacher trained his horse to go when he said, “Praise the Lord,” and to stop when he said, “Amen.” The preacher mounted the horse, said, “Praise the Lord” and went for a ride. When he wanted to stop for lunch, he said, “Amen.” He took off again, saying, “Praise the Lord.” The horse started going toward the edge of a cliff. The preacher got excited and said, “Whoa!” Then he remembered and said, “Amen,” and the horse stopped at the edge of the cliff. The preacher was so relieved and grateful that he looked up to heaven and said, “Praise the Lord!”

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There is a folk belief that if you bury a statue of St. Joseph on a piece of property, it will be sold more quickly. When I was getting ready to move, I took the St. Joseph from my nativity scene and buried him near my front door. A few days later a woman made an offer. Since she had to sell her property, I suggested she enlist the help of the saint as well. After a month of burying the statue all over her lawn, she had no nibbles and in disgust put the statue out in her trash. A week later she opened her local paper and read: “Town Sells Landfill to Private Developer.”

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One Sunday, while serving as a guest minister to a local church, I noticed in the program an order of worship with which I was unfamiliar. Since the service had already begun, I was unable to ask anybody about it. So when we reached that particular moment, I swallowed my pride and asked from the pulpit, “What do I do now?”   Someone in the congregation shouted back, “You say something and we respond.”   Embarrassed, I admitted, “For the first time in my life, I’m speechless.”   And the congregation responded, “Thanks be to God.”

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A motorist was driving in the country when he came upon a priest and a rabbi standing on the shoulder of the road, fishing. Next to them was a sign that read “Turn Around. The End Is Near.”   The motorist didn’t like to be preached to, so he rolled down the window and yelled, “Mind your own business, you religious nuts!”   A few seconds later the two fishermen heard tires screech, then a splash.   The rabbi turned to the priest and said, “I told you we should’ve just written, ‘Bridge Out.’ ”

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The 104-year-old building that had served as the priory and primary student residence of the small Catholic university where I work was about to be demolished. As the wrecker’s ball began to strike, I sensed the anxiety and sadness experienced by one of the older monks whose order had founded the college. “This must be difficult to watch, Father,” I said. “The tradition associated with that building, the memories of all the students and monks who lived and worked there. I can’t imagine how hard this must be for you.”   “It’s worse than that,” the monk replied. “I think I left my PalmPilot in there.”

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My friend Agnes is an accomplished harpist who frequently plays for weddings, receptions, parties and other such events. She is also blond and has an appropriately cherubic face. She was on her way to an engagement at the Peabody Hotel in Memphis, and stepped into an elevator with her large golden harp. Just before the doors closed, a distinguished gray-haired man stepped on. As the elevator rose, he looked thoughtfully first at her and then her harp and asked, “And just how far up are you going?”

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The sound of laughter ringing through the church made it impossible for me to keep playing the organ.   “What was going on?” I asked the pastor afterward. He simply pointed to the hymn typed in the church bulletin. It read “Sin, choirs of angels, sin in exultation.”

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As a Dominican sister, I lived in a convent named for a deceased pope. One day while wearing contemporary clothes instead of my habit, I drove into a gas station to get the communal car filled up. After the young attendant topped off the tank, he walked toward my car window to return my credit card. It was clear from his furrowed brow that he had something on his mind. The young man looked at me shyly and pointed to the convent’s name, John XXIII Hall, imprinted on the card. “Pardon me,” he asked hesitantly, “but how do you pronounce your husband’s middle name?”

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Our pastor was winding down. In the back of the church the fellowship committee stood to go to the church hall and prepare snacks for the congregation. Seeing them get up, Pastor Michel singled them out for praise. “Before they all slip out,” he urged, “let’s give these ladies a big hand in the rear.”

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My co-worker and I were making a sales call to a rural Baptist church. We gave our presentation to the church committee, and then the group’s chairman walked to the altar and knelt down. After about a minute of silent prayer, he returned and announced in a solemn tone, “The Lord tells me we should wait.” My colleague responded by walking to the altar and kneeling down himself. Then he returned to the group, looked at the chairman and declared, “He wants to talk with you again.”

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The teacher in our Bible class asked a woman to read from the Book of Numbers about the Israelites wandering in the desert. “The Lord heard you when you wailed, ‘If only we had meat to eat!’ ” she began. “Now the Lord will give you meat. You will not eat it for just one day, or two days, or five, or ten or twenty days, but for a month — until you loathe it.” When the woman finished, she paused, looked up and said, “Hey, isn’t that the Atkins diet?”

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No doubt about it, my fellow monk, Father Martin, was a bit of an absent-minded professor. He often filled in for sick priests at other parishes, and one Saturday he found himself on a train to a new destination, frantically searching his pockets for his ticket. “Forget about it, Father,” said the conductor, recognizing him as a regular. “I’m sure you paid for a ticket.”   “I can’t forget about the ticket,” Father Martin replied nervously. “I need to know where I’m going.”

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I was in line to receive Communion one Sunday, when the cell phone of the woman ahead of me went off just as the priest was giving her a wafer. The woman stammered an apology as she fumbled with the phone, trying to turn it off. Without skipping a beat, the priest said, “Tell them we don’t do takeout.”

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My brother-in-law has a great e-mail address. It starts PS81_10b@, to represent the second half of the Bible verse Psalms 81:10, which states “Open wide your mouth and I will fill it.” By the way, he’s a dentist.

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One night, I told my four-year-old son the story of Noah and the ark. I gave him the full treatment, complete with animal sounds and detailed descriptions of the beasts arriving two by two. At the end, I asked him if he had any questions. He had just one: “Where were you hiding?”

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As a Catholic, I’m partial to Notre Dame football. As a former Michigan resident, though, I also keep tabs on Michigan college teams. One Saturday afternoon, a neighbor dropped in while I was watching Notre Dame vs. Michigan State. “Which team do you want to win?” he asked.   “Gee, I don’t know,” I replied. “I’m kind of torn between Church and State.”

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Thanks to Riverdaughter!

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About turtlemom3

Early 70’s Orthodox Christian, wife, mother, grandmother, nurse with PhD, disabled. Have wonderful service dog - Warrior! Married to the Ol’ Curmudgeon - and I’m pretty doggone happy about that! Interests: Orthodox Christianity; reading; service dogs; computers, woodworking Greatest Life Experiences: Converting to Orthodoxy, Caving in Idaho, Attending Russian Orthodox Choir Conference (Oh! that music!). Favorite Things Back in High School: Reading; classical music - nerdy things. Favorite Things Back in College: Reading; classical music - nerdy things Favorite Things to do Now: Reading; classical music, computer stuff, surfing the internet - nerdy things - no real change! Favorite TV Programs: Anything about Sci-fi or forensics - or both? Favorite Movies: The Chosen; Ostrov; 84 Charing Cross Rd; Air Force One; Becket; Indiana Jones; Star Wars; Favorite Music: Russian Orthodox (Christian) chant; Bach; Mozart's Magic Flute Favorite Quote: The body is a slave, the soul a sovereign, and therefore it is due to Divine mercy when the body is worn out by illness: for thereby the passions are weakened, and a man comes to himself; indeed, bodily illness itself is sometimes caused by the passions.”~*~ St. Seraphim of Sarov, Spiritual Instructions Favorite Authors: Robert Heinlein; Mercedes Lackey; Anne MacCaffrey, Fr. Steven Ritter, Sarah Elizabeth Cowrie, St. Nikolai Velimirovic - among many others

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