Tá Críost éirithe!
Arimathea ends Latin week with an old joke that features a loveably asinine Irish priest:
Father O’Malley, an Irish Catholic priest, was transferred to a Texas parish.
Father O’Malley rose from his bed one lovely morning. It was a fine spring day. He walked to the window of his bedroom to get a deep breath of the sweet morning air.
It was then that the good man noticed a jackass—lying dead—in the middle of the rectory’s front lawn.
He promptly called the local police station. The conversation went like this:
‘‘Good morning. This is Sergeant Jones. How might I help you?’‘
‘‘And the best of the day te yerself. This is Father O’Malley at Saint Ann’s Catholic Church. There’s a jackass lying dead on me front lawn.”
Sergeant Jones, considering himself to be quite a wit, replied with a smirk, ‘‘Well, now, Father O’Malley, it has always been my impression that you people took care of the last rites.’‘
There was dead silence on the line for but a moment.
Father O’Malley then replied, “Aye, ‘tis certainly true, my dear Sergeant Jones, but we are also obliged to notify the next of kin.”