07/23/2026 from Daily Jokes
#22451
It was late on a Tuesday evening, and the subway car was mostly empty, save for the rhythmic clacking of the tracks and the flickering fluorescent lights. Father Thomas, a well-meaning but occasionally stern parish priest, was sitting quietly, reading his breviary.
The doors hissed open at the next station, and a rather disheveled man stumbled in and collapsed into the seat right next to him. The man was a walking disaster: his tie was stained with something unidentifiable, his collar was smudged with bright red lipstick, and a half-empty bottle of cheap whiskey was peeking out of his torn trench coat pocket. He smelled distinctly of a long night at the pub.
Ignoring the priest entirely, the man pulled a crumpled newspaper from his pocket, smoothed it out on his lap, and began to read.
After a few minutes of silence, the man suddenly folded the paper down, turned to Father Thomas, and asked with genuine curiosity, “Say, Father, what causes arthritis?”
Father Thomas saw this as a divine opportunity for a teachable moment. He straightened his posture, fixed the man with a look of righteous authority, and replied, “My son, arthritis is the body’s physical manifestation of a sinful life. It is caused by loose living, consorting with cheap, wicked women, consuming far too much alcohol, harboring contempt for your fellow man, sleeping around with prostitutes, and a general lack of basic hygiene.”
The man blinked slowly. He stared at the priest for a long moment, muttered a quiet, “Well, I’ll be damned,” and calmly turned the page of his newspaper.
Father Thomas sat there, the weight of his own words suddenly hitting him. He realized he had just unleashed a fiery, judgmental sermon on a clearly broken man in a public transit car. Overcome with pastoral guilt, he gently nudged the man’s arm.
“I’m very sorry, my son,” the priest said, his voice softening with genuine remorse. “I didn’t mean to come on so strong or judge you. Please, forgive me. How long have you been suffering from arthritis?”
The man lowered the newspaper, looked the priest dead in the eye with absolute, innocent sincerity, and said:
“I don’t have it, Father. I was just reading here in the paper that the Pope does.”
