Heaven-sent jokes for Lent

:bowlol:

I particularly enjoyed the jewish boy in a Catholic school joke
 
Jesus protects "deaf 'n' dumb"

The burglar knew the family was “deaf ‘n’ dumb,” so for easy pickings late one night, he broke into their house. He walked boldly through the living room but suddenly froze in his tracks when he heard a loud voice say, "Jesus is watching you!"

Silence returned to the house, so the burglar crept forward.

"Jesus is watching you," the voice boomed again. The burglar stopped dead, frightened. The whole family supposedly couldn't hear or talk.

In a dark corner, he spotted a bird cage with a parrot inside. "Was that you who said Jesus is watching me?"

"Yes," said the parrot.

The burglar breathed a sigh of relief and asked, "What's your name? Polly?"

"No,” said the bird. “Joseph.”

"What dope would name a parrot Joseph?” sneered the burglar.

"The same dope who named the Doberman Jesus."
 
A man is struck by a bus on a busy Portland street. Seriously injured, he gasps to on-lookers, “A priest. Somebody get me a priest!"

A police officer checks the crowd--no priest, no nun, no eucharistic minister or person of the cloth of any kind. "Please, any words of the church,” the injured man cries.

Out of the crowd steps a shabby old man. He says he’s not Catholic, but he’s slept behind Sacred Heart Cathedral forty years and has heard the words of the priests so many times they are etched in his memory.

Desperate, the injured man nods. The elderly homeless man kneels by him and solemnly intones, “B-4 . . . I-19 . . . N-38 . . . G-54 . . . O-72 . . ."

Thank God for Casino Night!:giggle:
 
For the Irish in us . . .

For the next ten days of Lent before St. Paddy’s Day, here's some Irish Catholic humor:

Muldoon lived in the Irish countryside with only a pet dog for company. One day the dog died, and Muldoon went to the parish priest and asked, “Father, me dog is dead. Could ya be sayin' a mass for the poor creature’s soul?”

Father Patrick replied, “Are ye daft, man? We canna have services for an animal in the church. Go on with ya to the Baptists down the lane. There's no tellin' what they believe. Maybe they'll do something for the dog.”

Muldoon said, “I'll be goin’ right away, Father. Do ya' think 5,000 pounds is enough to donate to them for the service?”

Father Patrick exclaimed, “Sweet mournin’ Mary! Why dint ya tell me yer fine dog was Catholic?”
 
After Sunday morning Mass, Pat unties his dog from the shade tree by the mill stream, and Pat and Mike have a smoke waiting for Pat's wife by the cars.

Mike asks, “Hey, Paddy, whacha think o’ Father Murphy’s homily?”

“Ya mean himself sayin’ a man’s wife's 'is best friend? I dunno, Mikey. I al’ays heard a man’s best friend were 'is dog.”

Mike says, “Well, I don’ want ya goin’ agin the word o’ our own good parish priest, so I’m thinkin’ ya should put it to the test.”

“An’ how would I be doin’ that?” asks Pat.

“‘Tis easy, Paddy. Throw both yer dog an’ yer wife in the boot o’ yer car fer the whole hour goin’ home on them rocky, dusty roads,” says Mike. “When ya open the boot, y’ll soon find which one's happier to see ya.”
 
Donation

Please try to understand that the worst Catholic humor is usually only appreciated by lifelong Catholics.


Father O'Malley answers the parish phone.

“Is this Father O'Malley speaking?"

"That I am!"

"This is the Mr. Johnson of the IRS. Can you help us?"

"That I can!"

"Do you know a Sean Houlihan?"

"That I do!"

"Is he a member of your congregation . . . er . . . parish?"

"That he is!"

"Did he donate $10,000 to the church?"

"That he will!"
 
A short joke:

‘Twas back before that Gore fella invented global warmin’ -- the coldest winter Ireland had ever seen. Two leprechauns wrapped in green blankets pounded on the gates of a convent on the southern coast by the icy sea.

Sister Patience opened the small door high in the gate, but could see nothing. “‘Tis a joke some scallywags is playin’ on poor nuns?” she called out.

“Nay, good sister, we’re down here,” said Erin, the taller leprechaun, almost two feet high. “Me wee shy friend, Shamus, is wonderin’ if a nun his size lives here.”

“Oh, heavens no. We’re the Sisters of Soaring Stature. A very tall order.”

“No midget with a slight habit?” asked Erin.

“No,” answered Sister Patience impatiently.

“Not one dwarf lady wearin' the holy black ‘n’ white?”

“Are ye deaf? What part o’ ‘tall’ is so hard to grasp, li'l man?”

“Told ye, Shamus,” Erin said. “Yer date last night was a penguin.”
 
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