(no subject)
A priest walks into a bar.
No. Seriously. There's no punchline here.
He is short, wearing green Army pants and jacket, a black collared shirt, a battered wide-brimmed tan hat, glasses, and a cross around his neck. He has a small Bible held open in one hand, and he's reading and murmuring to himself as he steps through the door.
" 'O GOD the Lord, the strength of my salvation, thou hast covered my head in the day of battle.' " There is an appraising, thoughtful pause. "That does have a certain ring to it." He shakes his head lightly. "But no, that won't do." He flips through several pages, walking further into the bar without looking up. " 'Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death I will fear no ev'--" He bumps into a chair. He raises his head.
"Oh my."
Good-natured face now twisted into an expression of utter confusion--and some fear--he slowly closes the Bible.
Father Francis John Patrick Mulcahy, this is most certainly not your tent.
No. Seriously. There's no punchline here.
He is short, wearing green Army pants and jacket, a black collared shirt, a battered wide-brimmed tan hat, glasses, and a cross around his neck. He has a small Bible held open in one hand, and he's reading and murmuring to himself as he steps through the door.
" 'O GOD the Lord, the strength of my salvation, thou hast covered my head in the day of battle.' " There is an appraising, thoughtful pause. "That does have a certain ring to it." He shakes his head lightly. "But no, that won't do." He flips through several pages, walking further into the bar without looking up. " 'Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death I will fear no ev'--" He bumps into a chair. He raises his head.
"Oh my."
Good-natured face now twisted into an expression of utter confusion--and some fear--he slowly closes the Bible.
Father Francis John Patrick Mulcahy, this is most certainly not your tent.