Father Murphy

The Fundraising Problems Of Father Murphy

Father Murphy was a priest in a very poor parish.  He asked for suggestions about how to raise money for his church.  He was told that racehorses made money for their owners, so he went to a horse auction, but he made a very poor buy.  The horse he bought turned out to be a “Donkey.”

However, he thought he might as well enter the donkey in a race.  The donkey came in third, and the next morning, the headline in the paper read,

“Father Murphy’s Ass Shows”

The Archbishop saw the paper, and was displeased.  The next day, the donkey came in first, and the headline read,

“Father Murphy’s Ass Out In Front.”

The Archbishop was up in arms, and figured something had to be done.  Father Murphy had entered the donkey in a third race, and it came in second.  Now the headline read,

“Father Murphy’s Ass Back In Place.”

The Archbishop thought that this was too much, so he forbade the priest to enter the donkey in any more races, which inspired the editor to write,

“Archbishop Scratches Father Murphy’s Ass.”

When the Archbishop read this, he ordered Father Murphy to get rid of the donkey.  He was unable to sell it, so he gave it to Sister Agatha for a pet.  Now the headlines read,

“Nun Owns Best Ass In Town.”

The Archbishop read this and immediately ordered Sister Agatha to dispose of the animal.  She managed to sell it for $10.00.  The next day, the headline read,

“Sister Agatha Peddles Her Ass For $10.”

They buried the Archbishop three days later.

 

Royal Babysitters

Once upon a time, long, long ago, and far, far away in a distant country, lived a great and powerful ruler, named a Shah.  He lived on a gloriously beautiful palace with his beloved wife, who was the Shahnee, and his only child, a handsome boy, known as the Shan.

The Shah loved his little son very much, and tried to protect him as much as possible.  The Shan was subject to small fits, or seizures, and had been known to fall down and hurt himself.  So the Shah hired two strong, alert, intelligent guards to go with the Shan wherever he went, to protect him from all dangers, and to be there when the Shan had an attack, to keep him from falling and hurting himself.

One day though, a minor catastrophe occurred.  The Shan, now approaching manhood, had become interested in pretty girls, and went to a club, to watch the dancers, and talk to them.  While he was engaged in conversation, the two guards became distracted by a couple of pieces of feminine pulchritude, and were not near when the Shan had an attack, and fell down a short flight of stairs, breaking his arm.

After leaving his son with the doctor, the Shah called the two guards, to question them as to where they had been at the time of the accident, and why they had not prevented the Shan’s fall and injury, as they should have.  He ranted and raved, and yelled at them, and threatened them with dire punishments, and finally screamed at them, “Just where were you, when the fit hit the Shan??!”

 

Smart Feller

The vain person is one who loves the smell of his own farts.

The amiable person is one who loves the smell of other people’s farts.

The proud person thinks his farts are exceptionally fine.

The shy person releases silent farts, and then blushes.

The impudent person boldly farts out loud, and then laughs.

The scientific person is one who farts regularly, but is concerned about pollution.

The unfortunate person tries hard to fart, but shits himself, instead.

The nervous person is one who stops in the middle of a fart.

The honest person admits he has farted, but offers a good medical reason.

The dishonest person is one who farts, and then blames the dog.

The foolish person suppresses a fart for hours and hours.

The thrifty person always has several farts in reserve.

The anti-social person excuses himself, and farts in complete privacy.

The strategic person conceals his farts with loud laughter.

The sadistic person farts in bed, and then pulls the covers over his bedmate.

The intellectual person can determine from the smell of his neighbor’s farts, precisely the latest food consumed.

The athletic person farts at the slightest exertion.

The miserable person would truly love to, but can’t fart at all.

The sensitive person is one who farts, and then starts crying.

 

Which Came First, The Chicken Or The Egg?

A newly hatched chick asked his mother, “Am I people?”  No, you are chicken!  Do chickens come from people?  No, chickens come from eggs.  Do people come from eggs?  No, people are born.  Are eggs born?  No, eggs are laid.  Are people ever laid?  Some are; others are chicken!!    😕

A Penny, Lira, Peso, Etc, For Your Thoughts

So, you were asking how it was that I began collecting foreign coins.  You weren’t??!  Well, get with the program here.  I’ve got an ego to support.  Alright, don’t beg.  I will reveal all.

Once upon a time….I like that opening so much more than, “In the beginning”!  My father had a few coins tucked away in a fireproof cashbox.  They included some old Canadian large-pennies, bigger than quarters.  They were fifty years old or more, I’m embarrassed to say I sneaked a few out to buy penny candy.  No wonder the store keeper was so happy to accept them.  In a fit of remorse, I bought a bunch back for him when I was in my forties, at a dollar apiece.

He also had a few foreign coins.  He may have just picked them out of pocket change, or he may have got them from servicemen returning from Europe when he was stationed in Halifax during W.W. II.  However he got them, as a Scottish child, I was always interested in money.  Money maybe, but not always coins.  I worked in a bank for almost a year.  An 18 year-old kid, and I walked seventeen $1000 bills a mile down the street one day, but still had no real interest in coins.

When I worked at the metal-fab plant, I liked to take my breaks and lunches with the guys in the plant.  If I stayed at/near my desk, there was always somebody asking, “Can you check this?  Can you phone this guy?”  As I’ve said, the list of nationalities working there was varied.  The other young guy in my department was born before me, during the Second World War, and was brought to Canada as soon as they could get out, after hostilities ended.  I asked him one day what country, and found that, by the time he emigrated; he had lived in three countries, and never left the house.  They kept re-aligning the borders.  His family was *German*, but he was born in Austria, then his village became part of Hungary, and finally settled in Czechoslovakia.

Especially around vacation time, I would hear guys say, “I’m going home to see my parents.” Or, “I just got back from visiting my grandparents.”  Often I would ask where – Poland, Portugal, Italy, Romania.  One day one of them said, “I’ve still got some coins left from the trip,” and pulled them out.  The first ones were Polish, I believe.  I oohed and aahed, and he asked, “Do you want them?”  I never saw the bus coming.  I said, sure.  Not even knowing what to do with them, I showed them to the wife, and left them on the dresser.

A couple of days later, one of the other guys said, “You took some Polish coins from Potrzebi, would you like my Portuguese pesetas?”  Oh great, can’t insult him.  Sure.  I went back into the office and commented on how I had just acquired coins from two European countries, and a newly hired female clerk piped up, “I just came here from Peru.  Would you like some Peruvian coins?”  Well, the genie’s out of the bottle now, might as well.

Now I started watching for foreign coins, and discovered that there were quite a few floating around, if you kept your eyes open for them.  I also started asking guys in the plant, “Going home to Jamaica at Christmas?  Bring me a few coins back.”

Strangely enough at that time, I could not find a local coin club.  There was one in the smaller city fifteen miles away, so, once a month I would drive over and attend a meeting.  They were concentrated on Canadian coins, with maybe some American, but there were always a couple of dealers with a slush-box which included cheap foreign coinage that I could buy for ten, or twenty-five cents each.  One night, at the club auction, I went wild and spent two dollars for a two-headed coin.  It’s a British, Churchill commemorative Crown, with the Queen on the front, and bull-dog Winston on the back.  It’s the only legal English coin with the face of anyone but a monarch on it.  They say Cromwell doesn’t count.  He was just a usurper.

As people found out about my foreign coins, I got more and more donations from people who got stuck with them in change.  My wife’s twenty-year-older sister was a Catholic nun who was a house-mother to foreign female teen-age students at an English convent boarding school.  It used to be a sign of good luck to place money in the wall of a newly erected building.  The convent decided that they wished the dining hall renovated, and the beautiful, old, dark, oak wainscoting was ripped off the walls.  Out rolled this thin, quarter-sized coin.

Our nun picked it up.  At first she thought it was something from a game, perhaps like Monopoly, something one of the girls had shoved in.  As she looked at it, she realized it was a real coin, worn till it was almost illegible, but real.  She saved it, and when her contract was up and she returned to Canada, she gave it to me.  It turned out to be a silver, Edward II, short-cross sixpence.  It was minted between 1547 and 1552, the years of his reign.  Back then, they didn’t date coins.  It’s badly worn, but still worth about $25.

I have coins from places like Russia, and Cuba, where coins aren’t legally allowed to leave.  Collecting foreign coins is an exercise in both geography and history.  Where’s that coin from?  South Pacific?  Where exactly?  British East Africa?  That’s Mali now.  French West Africa?  That’s Zimbabwe.

I have WW II coins, both from free France, with their Liberte, Egalite, Fraternite motto, and from German-occupied France, where the Nazi-imposed motto was Travail, Famille, Patrie – Work, Family, Homeland.

The best historical run of coins I have starts with the Weimar Republic, soon to be incorporated into the newly organized Germany.  I have pre-war German coins and Nazi-German coins. I have East German coins and West German coins.  I have re-unified German coins, and finally German-minted Euro coins.

I have over 500 coins, from over 100 countries, and still keep an eye out for more.  The Scotsman has found that money isn’t just for saving, or occasionally, grudgingly, for spending.  It can be fun, and educational.