A man always wanted to go sky diving but was never able to gather the courage. He goes to the airport and inquires about what is involved in the jump.
The manager explained the procedure to him: “We are expert chute packers and have never had a failure. We take you up in the plane and tell you when to jump out. You pull the main chute ripcord. It always works but if it doesn’t, you pull the auxiliary chute ripcord. You float softly to the ground and we will meet you in that truck over there.”
The man decides to go for it. The plane takes off and circles the airfield. He jumps out and after a brief moment of free fall, pulls the mail chute which fails. He pulls the second ripcord and that fails as well. He looks down towards the ground and says, “I bet that damned truck isn’t there either.”
When Mozart passed away, he was buried in a churchyard. A couple days later, the town drunk was walking through the cemetery and heard some strange noise coming from the area where Mozart was buried. Terrified, the drunk ran and got the priest to come and listen to it.
The priest bent close to the grave and heard some faint, unrecognizable music coming from the grave. Frightened, the priest ran and got the town magistrate.
When the magistrate arrived, he bent his ear to the grave, listened for a moment, and said, “Ah, yes, that’s Mozart’s Ninth Symphony, being played backwards.” He listened a while longer, and said, “There’s the Eighth Symphony, and it’s backwards, too. Most puzzling.” So the magistrate kept listening. By that time more towns folk came to the grave to hear the strange sounds.
“There’s the Seventh… the Sixth… the Fifth…” Suddenly the realization of what was happening dawned on the magistrate; he stood up and announced to the crowd that had gathered in the cemetery, “My fellow citizens, there’s nothing to worry about. It’s just Mozart decomposing.”
A drunk man who smelled like booze sat down on a bench 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 man turned to the priest and asked, “Say Father, what causes arthritis?”
The priest replies, “My Son, it’s caused by loose living, being with cheap, wicked women, too much alcohol, contempt for your fellow man, sleeping around with prostitutes and lack of a bath.”
The drunk muttered in response, “Well, I’ll be damned,” then returned to his paper.
The priest, thinking about what he had 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?”
The drunk answered, “I don’t have it, Father. I was just reading here that the Pope does.”