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Passing The Blame

The minister was driving his car through Cookstown when he came out of a side road without looking and ran slap bang into the priest's Mercedes.
'Heavens above, Father,' he said, I'm dreadfully sorry. Are you all right?'
'Oh, nothing broken,' said the priest. I'm just a bit shaken, that's all.'
I have the very thing,' said the minister, producing a silver hip flask from his jacket pocket. 'Take a good swig of this.'
'Why, thank you,' said the priest, taking a long draught. 'My, my, that's awfully good whiskey.'
'Have another,' said the minister. It'll do you the world of good.'
'Thank you, I will,' said the priest. 'But aren't you having any yourself?'
'Certainly not, said the minister, retrieving the flask. 'Here come the police.'


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