Anyone heard this one?
 

Father Mike had recently been assigned to a new southern parish. The general population was overwhelmingly protestant, more specifically baptist, but there were a few catholic faithfuls around; many of these were male converts, a consequence of marriage most commonly. The bishop of the diocese set Father Mike about his task of revitalizing the parish, the viability of which was in serious question.

Now, the priest was no old fool, and he surmised if his mission was to be successful, he would have to ingratiate himself with the local gentry, and learn about their interests and customs. Judging from the number of pick-up trucks trailoring bassboats he saw in the parking lot on Sundays, he was struck with an inspired plan. While digging out an old fly rod and reel from his belongings, the sole inheritance from his favorite uncle Joe, his mind was busy with the workings of imaginary conversations, where he could subtlely direct discussion to 'the fishers of men', and so on. It had been many years since his uncle had taken him fishing, and the fumble-fingered Father Mike tried to re-familiarize himself with the rod and reel, and the few flys in the tackle box, with varying degrees of success.

Filled with hope, one early Sunday afternoon Father Mike gathered his fishing gear, and began his walk to the nearby river. Before he had walked too far on the dusty country road, a truck with the ever-present bass boat attached, pulled up and slowed along side him. The driver was one of the Father's flock, though he couldn't recall his name immediately.

"Are you heading to the lake, Father? I didn't know you liked to fish.... You want a lift?"

"Why, yes, uh, no, uh I mean," Father Mike stumbled, "I was headed to the river, actually, before it comes into the lake. Oh, my, yes! Fishing and I go way back, don't you know?" Well, that's not a lie, now is it? he told himself.

"Well, throw your gear in the back and hop in, Father! I can take you there....or you can go out with me on the boat."

Father Mike turned his face upward, as if contemplating the mid-day heat from the sun, but was actually thanking the Lord.
"Why, yes, that would be a fine idea! If I wouldn't be too much bother to you....and we can get to the water so much faster." Slow...no, Slocum, Father Mike thought. Jimmy Slocum.

"So, are you a good fisherman, Jimmy?" the priest asked as he stepped up into the truck.

Soon, they were on the lake, and Father Mike did his best to look like he knew what he was doing with his pole. Jimmy opened his cooler, grabbed a Pabst, and offered one over, but Father Mike declined.

" Thank you, but no. Maybe a little later."

"Well, cast out to the shore, Father, and I'll try my luck toward them stumps over there."

The priest surprised himself with his own deftness, able to loop and draw his line out, flicking the old fly rod back and forth as he remembered his uncle doing, and finally laid down his lure about thirty yards out. Jimmy expertly flipped his crank bait toward the submerged trees with a well-oiled Zzzzzz of the reel, and started his own enticing artwork of dancing his lure through the water back to the boat.

"You know, Jimmy, Jesus' disciple Paul, I think it was, was a fisherman."

"Yeah, uh-huh"

"Oh, my," Father Mike thought, "I've done this too quick! I should have waited a while, maybe at least until he'd finished a beer or two."

"I mean, what I meant to say was, why isn't this such a nice way to enjoy the gifts of..."

But Fathers words were interupted by a sudden and violent jerking on his fly rod. The reel began feeding out furiously, and he fumbled for the drag.

"Goodness, I've got a bite, Jim!" Father shouted, surprising himself at his own excitement. Jim turned in time to see the priest bracing his foot on the edge of the hull, and taut line slicing through the water away from the boat and shoreline. The ensuing ten minute struggle was epic, Father Mike thought, and as the last fight ebbed from the fish on the other end of the line, his mind recalled some old movie with Spencer Tracey. He'd have to rent that one, if he could think of the name, and brush up a bit. Tracey did do some praying in that movie, he thought, and there could be the makings of a good sermon there. He'd invite the bishop!

(To be continued)

Come on, WoodPie, don't leave us hanging!!!

As Father Mike reeled in his catch, Jimmy quickly grabbed his net and turned back in time to see the priests catch make its one last valiant jump for freedom. The fish came completely out of the water, and Jimmy's jaw dropped halfway to the deck. This fish was HUGE!

"Father, Father!" he stammered, "Oh my God, Father, don't lose him! Oh my God, I think you've caught the Son-of-a-biotch!"

"Well, yes, Jimmy, I think we've got him now!" replied Father Mike, "But please, son, your language...."

"I'm sorry Father, but, OH! Watch! Watch out! Easy now, ease him a little closer and we got that Son-of-a-Biotch! Here, pull him to the net!"

As luck would have it, the fish swam directly into the net, but both men needed to leverage the net's long handle to bring the fish on-board. With the fish face-first in the net, and subdued, still fully one-third of the behemoth was outside Jimmy's Bass Pro Shop carbon fibered fish sieve. Through the netting, what was plain to see was that this was not the fish's first encounter with a fish hook. Jimmy counted five hooks, and as many more scars, through the fish's large mouth and rearward to the gills. He couldn't see the other side.

"Father, I think you've...but, well, just look! It can't be nothin' but!" As much to convince himself as his fishing companion, "Father, you've caught the Son-of-a-Biotch!"

"Yes, I did, I mean, we certainly did!" He was beaming! " But son, please, and it's for my sake, if you don't mind, the language, you know, it's...."

"I'm sorry, Father, I truley am. But you don't understand! This fish, and I'm pretty damn certain I'm right on this, has been in this lake for years!"

"Yes, I can see, well that's obvious, isn't it Jim?"

"But, what I'm trying to tell ya', is you have caught the Son-of-a-Biotch! Just about every old-timer 'round here worth his salt as a fisherman, has hooked this here fish, right here," he said, pointing, "This very one! And he's always managed to break free afore they'd get him in the boat! He'd trick 'em, or run the line 'cross somethin' sharp, cut the line and" Jim slapped his cupped hands "Wham! Off he'd go! So, see, what I'm saying is, Father, is that I think this is him! This here IS that fish! You have finally caught the Son-of-a-Biotch!"

"Jimmy?"

"Yes, Father?"

"Why do you insist on calling one of God's fine creatures that loathsome name?"

" 'Cause, that's his name, I reckon, Father."

"Jimmy?"

"Yes, Father?"

"I'll take that beer now..."


(To be continued)

The same looney spammed http://TampaRacing.com too

http://www.tamparacing.com/forums/showthread.php?s=&threadid=207636

http://forums.rennlist.com/rennforums/showthread.php?t=181732

Got Rennlist too. . .

By the time Father Mike and Jimmy rolled up to the manse, Jimmy's beer cooler was pretty much empty. The ride home from the lake was not so long, but Jimmy drove slowly, and carefully, as good old boys under the influence are compelled to do. Mike finally found his chance for preaching about the fishers of men and what-not, albeit with a disclaimer to Jimmy that this was what he was paid to do, and so on, and, hey, could I possibly imposed on you for another Pabst, Jim? They also had to stop at the 7-11 for a fresh can of Copenhagen, and both of them climbed into the trailored bass boat to pull the SOB from the well and show off to anyone and everyone they knew or were even only slightly aquainted with. Father Mike was, again, beaming, and by this time in the day, the beam had a slightly redish cast to it, owing partly to the long sun exposure, but probably moreso to the combination of alcohol and Irish heritage.

And so it was, when these fishers of men rolled up to Father's temporary home, his calling, his challenge, that Sister Theresa of the Holy Order of something or other, was less than pleased to see this man, this sot, who was supposed to come and save her lovely station way, and his apparent "catch-of-the-day", Jimmy Slocum, who was not really a Catholic at all, but rather one of those late-life converts. Oh, well, she thought, leaving the vision of Mr. Slocum and Father half-way falling from the pick-up, she went to the laundry.

"Father and a gentleman are home. I don't know if Father has invited his guest to stay for dinner, but you might check the pantry for another can of corn or beans, to stretch our dinner out a little, just in case." She spoke to her underling Sister Thomas kindly, but firmly. She then made her way to the side yard of the manse, where Father and that Slocum man were up in Slocums boat, and she could hear a giddiness in Father's voice, something she was not familiar with.

"Sister, Sister, stop right there! Wait til you see!"

She did as he asked, and stood her ground. Father's head and shoulders disappeared below the edge of the boat, and with much effort and help from Jimmy Slocum, he hoisted up one of the largest fishes she had ever seen in real life. With the two men standing side to side, the fish extended in length past both, and measured from their now fully stretched arms, groin high, to Fathers breast bone.

"What do you think of this, Sister?" Father asked, the esses of 'this' and 'Sister' muddled as if there were an 'H' in there someplace.

"That's a fine big fish, Father. Now, why don't you and Mr. Slocum, is it? Come down and have a rest before dinner. You'll be staying for dinner, Mr. Slocum? Or will you need to be on your way? I'm sure you would like your wife and family to see that fish you've caught...."

Starting before Father Mike could have his say, Jimmy said, "No, Ma'am, but thank you, I won't be staying for dinner. Uh, oh, and anyways, I didn't catch this fish, Father Mike caught it!"

"You caught that fish, Father?"

"That's right! I did it!" said Father Mike, "I caught the Son-of-a-Biotch!!!"




(To be continued)

what if Kitty Kate is right ?

[insert theme to The Twilight Zone here]

If she is, I'm pretty much screwed.

Slocum helped Father Mike with the SOB into the kitchen, where they placed it on a huge butchers block central to the room. Slocum used this opportunity as a way to excuse himself, but Father Mike insisted on walking him back to the truck, and the glorious bass boat, home of this day's greatest acheivement. Sister Theresa went with them, and after Jimmy assured them both he was OK to drive, and would see them in church next Sunday, he drove off, slowly, leaving her with the by this time slightly less inebriated priest.

They walked back to the manse. Father's head was still filled with the excitement, and was trying to pick the right words that would convey that excitement to his charge, the somewhat dowdy and less-than-excitable sister of the divine order of what-the-hell was that? He never could remember!

Almost as if reading his mind, but with just the slightest touch of patronage, she said, "Father, you must be very excited, and happy, to have fished that great fish from the lake! But, Father, and I hope you don't take this wrongly, you made reference to that fish in a manner I found, um, untasteful."

It was something of a fascination for Father, how things went from being unacceptable to accepted norms, the ever-changing societal conventions, how fast it all transformed, how impossible to control. This thought went through his head, but too fast as well, so his response to Sister Theresa was, "Huh?"

"I mean the, you know, theS...O...B thing," she whispered.

"Oh. Huh? Oh, Ha ha ha! But Sister, let me explain. That fish has been in that lake for years. Many people have tried to catch it, but failed. He has always gotten away. But over those years, he has become so well-known, he just naturally got named, and that name is the Son-of-a-Biotch. And today, I caught the Son-of-a-Biotch!"

"So, it's OK? The name? With you?"

"Yes, perfectly. I'll tell you, I'm as happy as a clam! What will we be having for dinner? I'm starving, haven't really eaten all day."

Sister eyed him up and down, feigned a frown, then a smile crept back on her face. "We aren't having much, unless you would like me to cook that fish you brought home?"

"Oh, that would be a fine idea!' Father said. "I think I'll call up the bishop, and see if he might want to join us. I'm feeling so positive about this glorious day! So, we'll be having fish for dinner then?"

"Being as you caught the Son-of-a-Biotch, the least I can do is cook the Son-of-a-Biotch," Sister replied.



(To be continued)

Father Mike went to the study to call the bishop, and Sister Theresa made for the kitchen. There, she found Sister Thomas, staring at the monster fish on the butcher's block.

"Sister, where did this fish come from?"

"Father caught it from the lake," Sister replied, "And now I'm going to cook the Son-of-a-Biotch."

Sister Thomas' hands went to her mouth. Never had she heard words like these from the devout Sister Theresa! Anticipating this reaction, she went on to explain:

"That fish has been in that lake for years. Many people have tried to catch it, but failed. He has always gotten away. But over those years, he has become so well-known, he just naturally got named, and that name is the Son-of-a-Biotch. And today, Father Mike caught the Son-of-a-Biotch."

"So, it's OK? The name? With you?" Sister Thomas querried.

"Yes, perfectly. And the bishop might come for dinner!"

"Well then," replied Sister Thomas, "Before you cook the Son-of-a-Biotch, let me help by cleaning the Son-of-a-Biotch."






The bishop arrived at 6:30, and he and Father Mike made small talk in the study while the sisters made final preparations. Father could hardly contain himself. He wanted to relate his day to his boss, the bishop, and all the wonderful ideas he had regarding his work toward resurrecting this parish. But he wanted to wait for dinner.

This was a first time visit to this parish for the bishop, and with Father Mike the only one of the three to have any contact with him previously, all were on edge about how formal or casual the atmosphere should be. The sisters had put on their finest, and Father wore his finest of three suits. Surely, Father thought, the grandness of the dinner would set the proper tone to the evening. All would go well!

At last, the gentlemen were seated at the table. The kitchen door was swung open, and while Sister Theresa held it, in with as much flourish as she could muster under the considerable weight of the main entre', came Sister Thomas, beaming as brightly as Father had earlier in the day. She presented the platter to the bishop before placing it in the table center for all to admire, then stepped three steps back.

Father Mike looked at the bishop, but couldn't get an accurate read on what he saw. The bishops eyes were wide, but he was neither smiling nor frowning. Silence. Finally, the aroma of the fish, and the other side dishes, filled the bishops nostrils, which caused him to salivate, and swallow hard. He was hungry.

"My goodness, where in the world did you folks get that fish?" He couldn't take his eyes from it.

Father Mike couldn't resist. He told the bishop of his plans, the fishers of men and so on, how God had provided Mr. Slocum at just the right time, his uncles fly rod, his monumental struggle with the fish ( "Old Man and the Sea" the bishop muttered ), and finally finished with "....and so, sir, after many years, I am proud to say I am the person who finally caught the Son-of-a-Biotch!"

At this, the bishop's eyebrows shot staight up. He squared a hard glance to Father Mike, then turned to Sister Thomas.

"And I cleaned the Son-of-a-Biotch!" she said proudly. He then looked to Sister Theresa.

"And I cooked the Son-of-a-Biotch" Sister Theresa offered.

"And then," the bishop judged, "you invited me over for dinner?"

"Yes," all three chimed in, not sure where he was going with this.

"You know, I've been consulted by others regarding your little parrish here. Some are very doubtful. But now, in view of what I've heard here in these last few minutes, I'm going to go back and tell them, you bashturds are really OK."

Don't give up your dayjob:p

A nun is sitting with her Mother Superior chatting. "I used some horrible language this week and feel absolutely terrible about it."
"When did you use this awful language?" asks the elder nun.
"Well, I was golfing and hit an incredible drive that looked like it was going to go over 280 yards, but it struck a phone line that was hanging over the fairway and fell straight down to the ground after going only about 100 yards."
"Is that when you swore?"
"No, Mother," says the nun. "After that, a squirrel ran out of the bushes and grabbed my ball in its mouth and began to run away."
"Is THAT when you swore?" asks the Mother Superior again.
"Well, no." says the nun. "You see, as the squirrel was running, an eagle came down out of the sky, grabbed the squirrel in his talons and began to fly away!"
"And Is THAT when you swore?" asks the amazed elder nun.
"No, not yet. As the eagle carried the squirrel away in its claws, it flew near the green and the squirrel dropped my ball."
"Did you swear THEN?" asked Mother Superior, becoming impatient.
"No, because the ball fell on a big rock, bounced over the sand trap, rolled onto the green, and stopped about six inches from the hole."
The two nuns were silent for a moment. Then Mother Superior sighed and said, "You missed the ****ing putt, didn't you?

2.7- That is a classic!!

i wonder if ANYONE IN THE HISTORY OF THE INTERNET ever read a thread like this and thought, "you know, she's right... i'm now born again."

You know what they say about "born again Christians".....not enough "born again Lions!!"...

2.7 - that's the funniest thing I've seen all week. Thanks for the laugh!

Edit: Does anybody else wonder if this is RedUFO resurrected?

Dan

Thats not RedUFO - Red's God is the main charactor from Childhoods End - no, Kttykate is nothing more than a thief. Not an original thought in her (his) head - most likely a vic of substance abuse or parental negelct.

hay Kitty -do us all a fav and fill out your profile and stop hiding, buy a p-car and some stuff from Wayne and cut the Bible rants - we have our Gods and we don't need your foolish behavior.

Woodpie - loved the story - only reason I read this thread thru.
Milu - I opened with that joke in Atlanta last year - forgot how timeless it is, thanks for making me remember it.

As a conservative Christian (read: born again) myself, I am frankly irritated by posts like Kitty's. That method of 'witnessing' (if you wish to call it that) doesn't do too well. If anything, it turns people off to the Bible and Jesus.

IMHO, posting a long and hard to read (no paragraph breaks, one topic after another, after another...etc) post and expecting people to turn from sin and accept Christ is a very naive way of approaching Christianity.

My Jesus didn't come down to this earth and share His message like that - He spent time with people - got to know them - cared for them and had compassion on them.

So, Kitty Kate, if you're reading (I doubt you are - which is a really, really sad thing since that just shows your message is really empty and without thought), I'd love to hear why you think your approach to evangelism and spreading the word of God is effective. Personally, I think it does more harm than good.

Regards,
-Zoltan.