A man who smelled like a distillery flopped on a subway seat next to a priest.
The man's tie was stained, his face was plastered with red lipstick and a half empty bottle of gin was sticking out of his torn coat pocket. He opened his newspaper and began reading. After a few minutes, the disheveled guy turns to the priest and asks, "Say Father, what causes arthritis?
My son, it's caused by loose living, being with cheap, wicked women, too much alcohol and contempt for your fellow man.
"Well, I'll be damned," the drunk muttered, returning to his paper.
The priest, thinking about what he'd said, nudged the man and apologized. "I'm very sorry, I didn't mean to come on so strong. How long have you had arthritis?"
"Oh, I don't have it Father. I was just reading here that the Pope does."
“If ye love wealth better than liberty, the tranquility of servitude better than the animating contest of freedom, go home from us in peace. We ask not your counsels or arms. Crouch down and lick the hands which feed you. May your chains set lightly upon you, and may posterity forget that ye were our countrymen.” ― Samuel Adams