The Friar

There was a friar who decided to open a florist shop to help raise money for his church. The shop was an instant success. But the friar grew to like being a florist and spent less and less time at his church and more and more time at the florist shop.

The church protested and asked the friar to spend less of his time at the shop. But the friar wouldn't listen and now spent all of his time at the florist shop. He'd grown very fond of being a florist.

The church decided to act. So Hugh the Ogre was sent to the friar. Hugh the Ogre placed a very powerful spell on the friar and the friar, accordingly, returned to the church.

The moral of the story is "Only Hugh can prevent florist friars"..

Hair-Don't

A woman was at her hairdresser's getting her hair styled for a trip to Rome with her husband. She mentioned the trip to the hairdresser, who responded:

'Rome? Why would anyone want to go there? It's crowded and dirty. You're crazy to go to Rome .

So, how are you getting there?'

'We're taking Continental', was the reply. 'We got a great rate!'

'Continental?' exclaimed the hairdresser. 'That's a terrible airline. Their planes are old, their flight attendants are ugly, and they're always late. So, where are you staying in Rome?'

'We'll be at this exclusive little place over on Rome's Tiber River called Teste.'

'Don't go any further. I know that place. Everybody thinks it’s gonna be something special and exclusive, but it's really a dump, the worst hotel in the city! The rooms are small, the service is surly, and they're overpriced. ……..So, what’cha doing when you get there?'

'We're going to go to see the Vatican and we hope to see the Pope.'

'That's rich,' laughed the hairdresser. 'You and a million other people trying to see him. He'll look the size of an ant. Boy, good luck on this lousy trip of yours. You're going to need it.'

A month later, the woman again came in for a hairdo. The hairdresser asked her about her trip to Rome . 'It was wonderful,' explained the woman, 'not only were we on time in one of Continental's brand new planes, but it was overbooked, and they bumped us up to first class. The food and wine were wonderful, and I had a handsome 28-year-old steward who waited on me hand and foot.

And the hotel was great! They'd just finished a $5 million remodelling job and now it's a jewel, the finest hotel in the city. They, too, were overbooked, so they apologized and gave us their owner's suite at no extra charge!'

'Well,' muttered the hairdresser, 'that's all well and good, but I bet you didn't get to see the Pope.'

'Actually, we were quite lucky, because as we toured the Vatican, a Swiss Guard tapped me on the shoulder, and explained that the Pope likes to meet some of the visitors, and if I'd be so kind as to step into his private room and wait, the Pope would personally greet me. Sure enough, five minutes later, the Pope walked through the door and shook my hand! I knelt down and he spoke a few words to me.'

'Oh really! What'd he say?'

He said: 'Where'd you get the terrible hairdo?'

Now that's dry!

It's so dry in Kentucky that the Baptists are starting to baptize by sprinkling, the Methodists are using wet-wipes, the Presbyterians are giving out rain-checks, and the Catholics are praying for the wine to turn into water.

Now that's dry!

Honoring the Dead

One Sunday morning, the pastor noticed little Randy standing in the foyer of the church staring up at a large plaque. It was covered with names and small American flags mounted on either side of it.

The six-year old had been staring at the plaque for some time, so the pastor walked up, stood beside the little boy, and said quietly, 'Good morning Randy.'

'Good morning Pastor,' he replied, still focused on the plaque. 'Pastor, what is this?'

The pastor said, 'Well son, it's a memorial to all the young men and women who died in the service.'

Soberly, they just stood together, staring at the large plaque.

Finally, little Randy's voice, barely audible and trembling with fear asked, "Which service, the 8:30 or the 10:45?"

Letters to a Pastor

Letters to a Pastor

**Dear Pastor, I know God loves everybody but He never met my sister.
Yours sincerely, Arnold. Age 8, Nashville.

**Dear Pastor, My father should be a minister. Every day he gives us a sermon about something. Robert, age 11, Anderson

**Dear Pastor, My mother is very religious. She goes to play bingo at church every Thursday, even if she has a cold. Yours truly, Annette.
Age 9, Albany

**Dear Pastor, I would like to go to heaven someday because I know my brother won't be there. Chrissy. Age 8, Chicago

**Dear Pastor, I think a lot more people would come to your church if you had free donuts. Lorreen Age 9. Tacoma

**Dear Pastor, Please say a prayer for our Little League team. We need God's help or a new pitcher. Thank you. Alexander. Age 10, Raleigh

**Dear Pastor, I liked your sermon on Sunday. Especially when it was finished. Ralph, Age 11, Akron

I Swear to Beer

The Beer Prayer

Our lager,
Which art in barrels,
Hallowed be they drink.

Thy will be drunk.
(I will be drunk),
At home as in the tavern.

Give us this day our foamy head,
And forgive us our spillages,
As we forgive those who spill against us.

And lead us not into incarceration,
But deliver us from hangovers.

For this is the beer,
The bitter and the lager,
For ever and ever,
Barmen.