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The Rite Stuff

Father O’Malley, the Irish priest, rose from his bed one morning. It was a fine spring day in his new parish in America. He walked to the window of his bedroom to get a deep breath of the beautiful day outside.

He then noticed there was a jackass lying dead in the middle of his 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 St. Ann’s Catholic Church. There’s a jackass lying dead in me front lawn, and would ye be so kind as to send a couple o’ yer lads to take care of the matter?”

Sergeant Jones, considering himself to be quite a wit, replied with a smirk, “Well now, Father, it was always my impression that you people took care of the last rites!”

There was dead silence on the line for a long moment, and then, Father O’ Malley replied: “Aye, ’tis certainly true; but we are also obliged to notify the next of kin.”

—Submitted by Thomas Stockton


  • Jesuit

    “Last rites for a jackass,” sounds like an accurate description of everyman’s annointing with the final sacrament.