George loves the race track.
One day he was there betting on the ponies and nearly losing his shirt when he noticed this Priest who stepped out onto the track and blessed the forehead of one of the horses lining up for the 4th race.
Lo and behold, this horse - a very long shot - won the race.
George was most interested to see what the Priest did the next race.
Sure enough, he watched the Priest step out onto the track as the 5th racehorses lined up and placed his blessing on the forehead of one of the horses.
George made a beeline for the window and placed a small bet on the horse.
Again, even though another long shot, the horse the Priest had blessed won the race.
George collected his winnings and anxiously waited to see which horse the Priest bestowed his blessing on for the 6th race.
The Priest showed, blessed a horse, George bet on it, and won!
George was elated.
As the day went on, the Priest continued blessing one of the horses, and it always came in first.
George began to pull in some serious money, and by the last race, he knew his wildest dreams were going to come true.
He made a quick stop at the ATM and withdrew every penny he owned, and awaited the Priest’s blessing that would tell him which horse to place the bet on.
True to his pattern, the Priest stepped out onto the track before the last race and anointed the forehead, eyes, ears and hooves of one of the horses.
George placed his bet every cent he owned - and watched the horse come in dead last.
George was dumbfounded. He made his way to the track, and when he found the Priest, he demanded, “What happened, Father? All day you blessed horses and they won. The last race, you bless a horse and he loses. Now I’ve lost my life savings, thanks to you!!”
The Priest nodded wisely and said, “That’s the problem with you
Protestants … you can’t tell the difference between a simple blessing and the Last Rites.

A man and a woman walk into a bank and ask to see the manager.
They are ushered in and the manager, despite his professionalism, can hardly keep his eyes off the bulging cleavage and perfect curves of the woman.
“Mr Wilson” says the man, “I have an investment proposition that needs £20,000. I presume, as I bank here, that will be no problem?”
Smugly the bank manager replies, “In banking, one should never assume Sir. I will need to ask a few questions and run a few checks.”
“Here’s the deal.” says the man, leaning forward. “No questions. No checks. £20,000 today and I will let you have my wife for one night and one night only to do whatever you want. And she is very.. adventurous.”
Once again Mr Wilson mentally undresses the woman, licks his lips, loosens his tie and becomes flustered. After a few moments he buzzes in his secretary and they draw up the paperwork. He arranges to bring the money to the executive suite of the Radisson hotel at 7 o’clock that evening.
At ten to seven, Mr Wilson nervously enters the hotel lobby and takes the lift to the 17th floor. He knocks shyly on the door of the suite and it is answered by the woman in a low cut short red dress and heels.
“Mr Wilson” she purrs. “Have you got the money?”
The bank manager shakily hands her an envelope.
She smiles. “Then come in.”
He follows the woman into the room and stops in shock. Lying on the bed is a hideously ugly woman in faded grey underwear eating a pie. At least 25 stone, she lies in a provocative pose showing unshaven armpits and bikini line.
The man is sitting in an armchair with a glass of Scotch.
“What’s this?!” stutters the bank manager.
“My wife” says the man. “In banking, Mr Wilson, one should never assume.”