Father Sean and Father Patrick

We thought you deserved an extra laugh, so this week you can enjoy not one, but three Friday Funnies. Find out how Father Sean and Father Patrick got it all wrong, discover what you should never do with a credit card, and more.

Father Sean and Father Patrick
Sean is the pastor of a Church of England parish on the Northern Ireland/South Ireland border, and Patrick is the priest in the Roman Catholic Church across the road.

One day they are seen together, pounding a sign into the ground, which says:

Ta end is near!
Turn yerself arount afor it is too late!

As a car speeds past them, the driver leans out his window and yells, “Leave people alone you Oirish religious nutters! We don’t need your lectures.”

From the next curve they hear screeching tyres and a big splash.

Shaking his head, Father Patrick says, “Dat’s da terd one dis mornin.”

“Yaa,” Father Sean agrees, then asks, “Do ya tink maybe da sign should say, Bridge Out?”

High security
There was a bit of confusion at the shop this morning. When I was ready to pay for my groceries, the cashier said, “Strip down, facing me.”

I made a mental note to complain about security running amok, but I did just as she had instructed.

When the hysterical shrieking and alarms finally subsided, I found out that she was referring to my credit card.

I have been asked to shop elsewhere in the future.

The soldier and the chemist
A Scottish soldier in full dress uniform marches into a chemist. Very carefully he opens his sporran and pulls out a neatly folded cotton bandana, unfolding it to reveal a smaller silk square handkerchief, which he also unfolds to reveal a condom.

The condom has a number of patches on it. The chemist holds it up and eyes it critically.

“How much to repair it?” the Scot asks the chemist.

“Six pence,” says the chemist.

“How much for a new one?”

“Ten pence,” says the chemist.

The Scot painstakingly folds the condom into the silk square handkerchief and the cotton bandana, replaces it care fully in his sporran and marches out of the door, shoulders back and kilt swinging.

A moment or two later the chemist hears a great shout go up outside, followed by an even greater shout.

The Scottish soldier marches back into the chemist and addresses the proprietor, this time with a grin on his face.

“The regiment has taken a vote,” he says. “We’ll have a new one.”