A Mormon and an Irishman were seated next to each other in First Class on a flight out of NYC.

Once the plane was airborne and the seat-belt sign was turned off, drink orders
were taken. The Irishman asked for a whiskey, which was brought to him right away and placed in front of him. Then the flight attendant asked the Mormon what he was drinking, to which the Mormon replied, “I would rather be raped by 12 wild whores
than let demon liquor touch my lips.”

The Irishman then handed his drink back to the attendant and said, “Same here.
I didn’t know we had a choice.”

I prefer dead baby jokes, they just never get old.

Some tourists at the Chicago Museum of Natural History were marveling at the dinosaur bones. One of them asks the guard, “Can you tell me how old the dinosaur bones are?”

The guard replies, “They are 73 million, four years, and six months old.”

“That’s an awfully exact number,” says the tourist. “How do you know their age so precisely?”

The guard answers, “Well, the dinosaur bones were seventy three million years old when I started working here, and that was four and a half years ago.”

With the first anniversary of the new pope approaching, Vatican staff were preparing a banquet and reviewing the menu with Leo.

After a few minutes, Leo started looking distracted. When asked what was wrong, he said, “The food here at the Vatican is amazing, but I really miss good old Chicago-style deep-dish pizza. I would like you to serve that at my anniversary banquet.”

Not having had any experience with it, they nevertheless agreed. Since there is no pizza oven in the Vatican, their kitchen staff went to a local pizzeria to use theirs. After a couple days of experimenting, they served Leo their first attempt at deep-dish pizza for lunch.

“Yuck,” he said. “I don’t know what this is, but it’s certainly not deep-dish pizza!”

For the next month, a couple of times a week, the Vatican chefs prepared another attempt, and each one was met with a similar reaction. With the banquet only two days away, Leo finally said, “I’ve had enough! You obviously aren’t able to figure this out on your own, so take me down to the pizzeria and I’ll show you how to make a deep-dish pizza.”

So the pope went to the pizzeria and into the kitchen, and soon flour and sauce were flying everywhere. A local reporter stopped by to get lunch, gaped in surprise, and immediately got on the phone with her editor.

“Are you aware of some VIP visiting Rome today?” she asked.

He replied, “No—I haven’t heard anything. What’s up?”

She said, “I don’t know for sure, but it must be someone really important: the pope is baking a pizza for him!”

After getting Pope Francis’s luggage loaded into the limo, the driver notices the pope is still standing on the curb.

“Excuse me, Your Holiness,” says the driver. “Would you please take your seat so we can leave?”

“Well, to tell you the truth,” says the pope, “they never let me drive at the Vatican, and I’d really like to drive today.”

“I’m sorry, Your Holiness, but I cannot let you do that. I’d lose my job! What if something should happen?!” protests the driver, wishing he’d never gone to work that morning.

“Who’s going to tell?” says the pope with a smile.

Reluctantly, the driver gets in the back as the pope climbs in behind the wheel. The driver quickly regrets his decision when, after exiting the airport, the pontiff floors it, accelerating the limo to 205 km/h.

“Please slow down, Your Holiness,” pleads the worried driver, but the pope keeps the pedal to the metal until they hear sirens.

“Oh, dear God, I’m going to lose my license—and my job!” moans the driver.

The pope pulls over and rolls down the window as the cop approaches, but the cop takes one look at him, goes back to his motorcycle, and gets on the radio.
“I need to talk to the chief,” he says to the dispatcher.

The chief gets on the radio, and the cop tells him that he’s stopped a limo going 205 km/h.

“So bust him,” says the chief.

“I don’t think we want to do that. He’s really important,” says the cop.

The chief exclaims, “All the more reason!”

“No, I mean really important,” says the cop with a bit of persistence.

The chief then asks, “Who do you have there, the mayor?”

Cop: “Bigger.”

Chief: “A senator?”
Cop: “Bigger.”

Chief: “The president?”

Cop: “Bigger.”

“Well,” says the chief, “who is it?”

Cop: “I think it’s God!”

The chief is even more puzzled and curious. “What makes you think it’s God?”

Cop: “His chauffeur is the pope!”

A photographer for a prominent national news magazine was assigned to get photos of a humongous forest fire.

Smoke at the scene was too thick to get any good shots, so he frantically called his home office to hire a plane. His editor made the arrangements and assured him the plane would be started and waiting for him at the airport.

As soon as he got to the small rural airport, sure enough, a plane was warming up near the runway. He jumped in with his equipment and yelled, “Let’s go! Let’s go!”

The pilot turned the plane into the wind, and soon they were in the air.

“Fly over the north side of the fire,” said the photographer, “and make three or four low-level passes.”

“Why?” asked the pilot.

“Because I’m going to take pictures! I’m a photographer, and photographers take pictures!” said the photographer with great exasperation and impatience.

After a long pause, the pilot said, “Wait, you mean you’re not the instructor?”