The Reverend John Fuzz was pastor of a small congregation in a little Pennsylvania town. One day he was walking down Main Street and he happened to notice a female member of his congregation sitting in the town bar, drinking beer.
The reverend thought this was sinful and not something a member of his congregation should do, so he walked through the open door of the bar and sat down next to the woman. “Mrs. Fitzgerald,” the reverend said sternly. “This is no place for a member of my congregation. Why don’t you let me take you home?”
“Shure,” she said with a slur, obviously very drunk.
When Mrs. Fitzgerald stood up from the bar, she began to weave back and forth. The reverend realized that she had had too much to drink and he grabbed hold of her arms to steady her. When he did, they both lost their balance and tumbled to the floor. After rolling around for a few seconds, the reverend wound up lying on top of Mrs. Fitzgerald, her skirt hiked up to her waist.
The bartender looked over the bar and said, “Here, here, buddy, we won’t have any of that carrying on in this bar.”
The reverend looked up at the bartender and said, “But you don’t understand, I’m Pastor Fuzz.”
The bartender nodded. “Well, if you’re that far you may as well finish.”
