The Reverend John Flapps was the pastor of a small town.
One day he was walking down the High Street and he noticed a young lady of his congregation sitting in a pub drinking beer.
The reverend wasn’t happy.
He walked through the open door of the pub and sat down next to the woman.
“Mrs Fitzgerald,” he said sternly.
“This is no place for a member of my congregation.
Why don’t you let me take you home?”
Sure,” 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 realised that she’d had far too much to drink and grabbed her arms to steady her.
When he did, they both lost their balance and tumbled to the floor.
After rolling around for a few moments, the reverend wound up on top of Mrs Fitzgerald, her skirt hiked up to her waist.
The pub landlord looked over and said, “Oi Mate, we won’t have any of that carrying on in this pub.”
The reverend looked up at the landlord and said, “But you don’t understand, I’m Pastor Flapps.”
The landlord nodded and said,
“Oh well,
if you’re that far in, you might as well finish.”
