Joker

Out of the Mouths

His sermon finished, back of church

he stood, shook hands, to say farewell.

He felt something in, six, John’s palm.

‘Cash. It’s for you’ said smiling boy.

‘I want you to have it’, paused, lad,

‘I want to help. Dad says you’re the

poorest preacher we ever had.'

Cash in the Attic

An Amsterdam man feels the need,

so visits his priest, to confess,

‘Forgive me, Father, I have sinned.

My attic, hid, during the war,

I sheltered a scared refugee.’

Answers the priest ‘Well that’s no sin’.

‘But I made him agree to pay

me twenty guilders every week.’

‘I admit’ said priest, ‘that wasn’t good;

but for good cause you did it then.’

‘My mind is eased, so Father, thanks.

But may I one more question ask?’

‘And what is that my son?’ says priest.

‘Now do I have to let him know

the war is over?’

ID

Despite full search, Dennis Thatcher -

the train, it offered no free seat,

save carriage one empty, window,

its ‘Reserved’ label, in the name,

a psychiatric wing nearby.

Our Dennis took a place therein.

Some stations further, folk piled on,

with, in attendance, clipboard man.

He sauntered through, ticked register,

asked Mr T ‘And who are you?’

‘Prime Minister’s husband’, grinned reply.

‘OK’ said clipboard, and moved on.

He Said, She Said

’Tis Sunday morning, bedroom door,

when mother knocks, 'Time to get up

and go to church.'

But her son says ‘Today, no, I’m

not going to church’

Mouths mother ‘You’ve got to get up

and go to church’

‘I’m not, no’ states son, ‘Yes you are’

tells mother. ‘No I’m not’ comes son.

‘They don’t like me, I don’t like them.

Give me good reasons, two, why I

should go to church.’

So mother patiently replies.

‘For one, you’re fifty five years old.

And two, you are the minister.’