Friar's Club Encyclopedia of Jokes

by Barry Dougherty

  —TOM DREESEN

  “Father Reilly,” the Mother Superior reported, “I just thought you should know that there’s a case of syphilis in the convent.”

  “Oh, good,” the priest replied. “I was really getting tired of the Chablis.”

  We were skeptical Catholics. We believed Jesus walked on water. We just figured it was probably winter.

  —JOHN WING

  Christianity

  Born-again Christians . . . I’m a little indignant when they tell me I’m going to hell if I haven’t been born again. Pardon me for getting it right the first time.

  —DENNIS MILLER

  Why don’t Baptists make love standing up?

  They’re afraid it might lead to dancing.

  Three fellows die and are transported to the pearly gates, where St. Peter explains that admission depends on a quick quiz, a mere formality. “I’m just going to ask each of you a single question,” he explains, turning to the first guy. “What, please, is Easter?”

  “That’s easy. Easter is when you celebrate the Pilgrims’ landing. You buy a turkey—”

  “Sorry,” interrupts St. Peter briskly, “you’re out.” And he asks the second man, “What can you tell me about Easter?”

  “No problem,” the fellow responded promptly. “That’s when we commemorate Jesus’s birth by going shopping, and decorating a tree—”

  “No, no, no,” St. Peter bursts out, and turns in exasperation to the last guy. “I don’t suppose you know anything about Easter?”

  “Certainly I do. See, Christ was crucified, and He died, and they took the body down from the cross and wrapped it in a shroud and put it in a cave and rolled this big stone across the entrance—”

  “Hang on a sec,” interrupts St. Peter excitedly, beckoning the other two over. “Listen. We’ve got someone here who actually knows his stuff.”

  “And after three days they roll the stone away,” continues the third guy confidently, “and if He sees His shadow, there’s going to be six more weeks of winter.”

  I was recently born again. I must admit, it’s a glorious and wonderful experience.

  I can’t say my mother enjoyed it a whole lot.

  —JOHN WING

  When I was a kid my mother switched religions from Catholic to Episcopalian. Which is what, Catholic Lite? One-third less guilt than regular religion! You could eat meat on Friday, but not a really good cut.

  —RICK CORSO

  How many Christian Scientists does it take to change a lightbulb?

  One—to pray for the light to go back on by itself.

  A man going into church was stopped cold by a huge sign the janitor had placed in front of the area of the floor that he just washed. It read: “Please Don’t Walk on the Water.”

  Eastern Religions

  My son has taken up meditation—at least it’s better than sitting doing nothing.

  —MAX KAUFFMANN

  What’s the deal with incense? It smells like somebody set fire to a clothes hamper. Gym socks and jasmine. Do we need that smell? You know what incense smells like? If flowers could fart.

  —WILLIAM CORONEL

  There was a very strict order of monks who lived by a rule that permitted speaking only once on one day a year, one monk per year. When the day came around, the monk whose turn it was stood up and said, “I don’t like the mashed potatoes here, they’re too lumpy.” And he sat down.

  A year later, another monk stood up and said, “I rather like the mashed potatoes here, they’re very tasty.”

  Another year went by and it was a third monk’s turn. He stood up and said, “I’m leaving the monastery. I can’t stand this constant bickering.”

  —HAL MCKAY

  What did Buddha say to the hot dog vendor?

  “Make me one with everything.”

  I believe in reincarnation. I’ve had other lives. I know, I have clues. First of all, I’m exhausted.

  —CAROL SISKIND

  How many Zen Buddhists does it take to screw in a lightbulb?

  Two. One to screw it in and one to not screw it in.

  Combination Acts

  Probably the worst thing about being Jewish at Christmastime is shopping in stores, because the lines are so long. They should have a Jewish express line: “Look, I’m a Jew, it’s not a gift. It’s just paper towels!”

  —SUE KOLINSKY

  A priest, a minister, and a rabbi are all enjoying a beer together when a fly lands right in the priest’s glass. Fishing it out, the priest shakes off the beer and throws it in the air, saying, “Be on your way, little creature.”

  Five minutes later the fly is back, this time making a nose dive for the minister’s beer. Fishing it out and shaking it dry, the minister tosses it in the air, saying, “Be free, little bug.”

  But the fly is a slow learner and ends up five minutes later in the rabbi’s glass. Picking it up and shaking it violently, the rabbi screams, “Spit it out, spit it out!”

  When I was eight years old I sang in the Peewee Quartet and we worked at this Presbyterian church. And I got an Ingersoll watch. I went home and I said, “Ma, I’ve been a Jew for eight years and I never got anything. I was a Presbyterian for one day and I got a watch.”

  My mother said, “Help me hang the wash.”

  —GEORGE BURNS

  Why didn’t you tell me your mother was Jewish? With a Protestant father, you must have had the same kind of deal I had. I’m not upset that you’re such a sly one, I’m upset over the missed opportunities. A million times I could have said, “Some of my best friend is Jewish.”

  Seated next to an aged rabbi on a transcontinental flight, the eager young priest couldn’t resist the opportunity to proselytize. “You really should think about coming over to the Roman Catholic faith, being welcomed into the arms of the Holy Father,” he enthused. “It is the only true faith, you know—only those who believe in the Sacraments shall be admitted to the Kingdom of Heaven when they die.”

  The rabbi nodded indulgently, but expressed no interest in the mechanics of conversion, and eventually the young priest fell silent, depressed by his failure. A little while later, the plane ran into a tremendous hurricane, lost power, and crashed into the Illinois countryside. Miraculously the priest was thrown, unhurt, from his seat. When he came to and looked back at the flaming wreckage, the first thing he saw was the rabbi, making the sign of the cross.

  Crossing himself and whispering a brief prayer of gratitude, the priest ran over and took his arm. “Praise the Lord!” he babbled joyfully. “You did hear the Word after all, didn’t you? And just in time for it to comfort you through mortal peril. And you do wish to be saved, to become one of us now. Alleluia!”

  “Vat on earth are you talking about?” asked the elderly fellow, still rather dazed.

  “Sir, I saw it with my own eyes. As you stepped out of the flames, you made the sign of the cross!”

  “Cross? Vat cross?” asked the rabbi irritably. “I vas simply checking: spectacles, testicles, vallet, and vatch.”

  The priest became friends with the rabbi whose synagogue was across the street from his church. One day he couldn’t help remarking that the church was in perfect repair, while the synagogue needed a new roof and was generally dilapidated.

  “I don’t seem to be able to get a penny out of my congregation,” confessed the rabbi, “wealthy though they are. And while your parishioners are mostly blue-collar workers, you’re obviously rolling in money.”

  “I’ll show you how I do it,” offered the priest generously, and beckoned for the rabbi to follow him into the confession booth.

  Soon a penitent entered. “Father, I have sinned,” she murmured. “I have committed adultery.”

  “Three Hail Marys and ten dollars in the collection box,” ordered the priest. And so it went; for each of his sinning parishioners, the priest prescribed some Hail Marys and a donation. Eventually the priest turned to the rabbi and suggested that he handle the next one. “Professional court
esy,” he said with a smile. “I’m sure you’ve gotten the point.”

  So the rabbi was behind the screen when the next person came into the booth. “Father, I committed adultery three times last week,” she confessed in a whisper.

  “Thirty dollars and nine Hail Marys,” ordered the rabbi.

  “But, Father, I only have twenty-five dollars,” she admitted in great distress.

  “That’s all right,” the rabbi consoled her, not missing a beat. “Put the twenty-five in the collection box and go home and do it again. We’ve got a special this week—four for the price of two and a half.”

  A Christian, a Moslem, and a Jew, all very pious, met at an interfaith congress and got to talking about the experiences that had led to their religious devotion.

  The Christian recounted being on a plane when it ran into a terrible storm over a remote wilderness area. “There was lightning and thunder all around us, and the pilot told us to brace for the crash. I dropped to my knees and prayed to God to save us—and then for a thousand feet all around us, the wind calmed and the rain stopped. We made it to the airport, and since then my faith has never wavered.”

  The Moslem then told of a terrifying incident on his pilgrimage to Mecca. “A tremendous sandstorm came up out of nowhere, and within minutes my camel and I were almost buried. Sure I was going to die, I prostrated myself toward Mecca and prayed to Allah to deliver me. And suddenly, for a thousand feet all around me, the swirling dust settled and I was able to make my way safely across the desert. Since then I have been the devoutest of believers.”

  Nodding respectfully, the Jew then told his tale. “One Sabbath I was walking back from the temple when I saw a huge sack of money just lying there at the edge of the road. It had clearly been abandoned, and I felt it was mine to take home, but obviously this would have been a violation of the Sabbath. So I dropped to my knees and prayed to Yahweh—and suddenly, for a thousand feet all around me, it was Tuesday.”

  A priest and a rabbi went to a prizefight at Madison Square Garden. One of the fighters crossed himself before the opening gong sounded. “What does that mean?” asked the rabbi.

  “Not a damn thing if he can’t fight,” answered the priest.

  —BELLE BARTH

  My mother is Jewish, my father Catholic. I was brought up Catholic . . . with a Jewish mind. When we’d go to confession, I’d bring a lawyer with me. . . . “Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. I think you know Mr. Cohen?”

  —BILL MAHER

  A rabbi and a priest were seated together on a plane. After a while, they started talking and the priest said, “Rabbi, I hope you don’t mind my asking, but I’m curious, have you ever eaten pork?”

  “Actually, yes, once I got drunk and temptation overcame me. I had a ham sandwich and, I hate to admit it, I enjoyed it,” replied the rabbi. “Now let me ask you, have you ever been with a woman?”

  “Well,” responded the priest, “I once got drunk and went to a whorehouse and purchased the services of a prostitute. I, too, quite enjoyed the experience.”

  “It’s a lot better than a ham sandwich, isn’t it?”

  I do benefits for all religions—I’d hate to blow the hereafter on a technicality.

  —BOB HOPE

  There was once a nobleman who died at the age of sixty-five and then proceeded to heaven. At the pearly gates, he was met by St. Peter, who asked him whether he wanted to go to heaven or to hell. He could take a tour of both and decide for himself.

  First, he was taken to heaven. There he was shown people praying and, in general, leading an austere kind of existence. Then he was taken on a grand tour of hell, where he saw people were drinking and having a good time, lots of good-looking women and a lot of merrymaking.

  When he was taken back to St.Peter, he asked to be put in hell. Suddenly, a huge servant from hell pulled him gruffly by the arm and took him to hell. But he was shocked to see that everywhere people were being tortured. There were vats of boiling oil and lots of strange-looking devilish creatures. He exclaimed to the attendant, “This is not what I was shown a little while ago.”

  To this the attendant laughed and replied, “Oh, that was our demo model!”

  A Catholic, a Jew, and an Episcopalian are lined up at the pearly gates.

  The Catholic asks to get in and St. Peter says, “Nope, sorry.”

  “Why not?” says the Catholic. “I’ve been good.”

  “Well, you ate meat on a Friday in Lent, so I can’t let you in.”

  The Jew walks up and again St. Peter says no. The Jew wants an explanation, so St. Peter replies, “There was that time you ate pork . . . sorry, you have to go to the other place.”

  Then the Episcopalian goes up and asks to be let in and St. Peter again says no.

  “Why not?” asks the Episcopalian. “What did I do wrong?”

  “Well,” says St. Peter, “you once ate your entrée with the salad fork.”

  Two Irishmen were digging a ditch across the street from a brothel, and one noticed a rabbi walk into the place. He said to the other, “It’s a sad day when men of the cloth walk into a place like that.”

  After a little while, the other man saw a minister walk into the brothel. He stood up and said to his partner, “Did ya see that? It’s no wonder the children today are so confused, what with the example that the clergy are settin’ for them.”

  After about another hour, the first man saw a Catholic priest walk in. He promptly stood up and proclaimed to his partner, “Aw, that is truly sad. One of the poor lassies must be dyin’.”

  A young Protestant couple wants to become Catholic.

  “How long have you been Protestant?” asks the priest.

  “All our lives.”

  The priest thinks a while, then replies, “We usually ask those who wish to join the faith to perform some kind of penance to prove their sincerity. Your penance is simple. You must not make love for thirty days.”

  Thirty days later, the husband returns.

  “How did it go?” asks the priest.

  “Well, for the first twenty-nine days, it was fine. We didn’t even look at each other. And then, on the thirtieth day . . . I saw her standing over the freezer . . . and I just had to. I’m sorry, Father.”

  The priest frowns. “Well, I’m afraid that this means I won’t be able to let you into the arms of the Church.”

  “That’s okay,” says the husband. “They won’t let me into the supermarket anymore either.”

  One day a Catholic priest goes to a barber for a haircut. After the barber has finished, the priest asks him how much he owes.

  The barber says, “For a man of the cloth, the haircut is free!”

  The priest thinks, “What a nice man!” And the next day the barber finds a case of wine outside his shop.

  Then, a minister comes in for a haircut. Again, the barber tells him that the haircut is free.

  The minister thinks, “What a nice man!” And the next day, the barber finds a box of chocolates outside his shop.

  Then, a rabbi comes in for a haircut. Again, the barber gives the haircut on the house.

  The rabbi thinks, “What a nice man!” The next day, the barber finds a long line of rabbis outside his shop!

  Rabbi Greenberg is sitting alone in the sanctuary of his synagogue—crying. He is clutching a prayer book in his hands and a written sheet of paper. Tears are streaming down his upturned face, and his chest heaves with sobs.

  “Why, Lord?” he cries out. “Why did this have to happen? How could my son, my only son, destroy me like this? My—my only son—he converted to Christianity!”

  And a great voice booms down from the heavens: “Yours, too?”

  Responsibility

  The recent recruit was on guard at the main gate of a key naval base, and was given strict orders to admit absolutely no cars that had not been issued a special new permit. Finally, the inevitable happened. The recruit stopped a car in which a high-ranking officer was the passenger.

 
“Drive on,” ordered the admiral to his driver, dismissing the guard with a wave.

  “I’m sorry, sir, but I’m new at this,” admitted the recruit, drawing a deep breath. “Who do I shoot, you or your driver?”

  Two weeks after Paisley’s transfer into the promotion department, his old boss got a phone call. “You told me Paisley was a responsible worker!” yelled the furious head of promotion.

  “Oh, he is,” she confirmed. “In the year he worked in my department, the computer went down five times and had to be completely reprogrammed, the petty cash got misplaced six times, and I developed an ulcer. And each time, Paisley was responsible.”

  I hate to advocate drugs, alcohol, violence, or insanity to anyone, but they’ve always worked for me.

  —HUNTER S. THOMPSON

  The farmer’s son was returning from the market with the crate of chickens his father had entrusted to him, when all of a sudden the box fell and broke open. Chickens scurried off in different directions, but the determined boy walked all over the neighborhood scooping up the wayward birds and returning them to the repaired crate. Hoping he had found them all, the boy reluctantly returned home, anticipating the worst.

  “Pa, the chickens got loose,” the boy confessed sadly, “but I managed to find all twelve of them.”

  “Well, you did real good, son,” the farmer beamed. “You left with seven.”

  Restaurants

  The holdup guy walks into a Chinese restaurant and says, “Give me all your money.”

  The man behind the counter says, “To take out?”

  —HENNY YOUNGMAN

  Never eat anyplace where they mark the restroom doors in any fashion but “Men” and “Women” or “Ladies” and “Gentlemen.” Especially do not eat in a restaurant that specializes in seafood and marks its restroom doors “Buoys” and “Gulls,” because they have been too busy thinking up cutesy names for the restroom doors to really pay attention to the food.