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"Mrs. Fitzgerald," the reverend said sternly. "This is no place for a member of my congregation. Why don't you let me take you home?"
"Sure," she said with a slur, obviously
very drunk. When Mrs. Fitzgerald stood up from the bar, she began to
weave back and forth. The reverend realized that she had had too much to drink and he
grabbed hold of her arms to steady her. When he did, they both lost their balance and
tumbled to the floor. After rolling around for a few seconds, the reverend wound up lying
on top of Mrs. Fitzgerald, her skirt hiked up to her waist.
The bartender looked over the bar and said, "Here, here, buddy, we won't have any of that carrying on in this bar."
The reverend looked up at the bartender and said, "But you don't understand, I'm Pastor Fuzz."
The bartender nodded, "Well if you're that far into the game, you may as well finish!"
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