The Reverend John Flapps was the pastor of a small town. One day he was walking down High Street and he noticed a young lady of his congregation sitting in a pub drinking beer. The reverend wasn't happy. He walked through the open door of the pub and sat down next to the woman.
   "Miss Fitzgerald," he said sternly. "This is no place for a member of my congregation. Why don't you let me take you home?"
   "Sure," she acquiesced with a slur, obviously very drunk.
   But when Miss Fitzgerald stood up from the bar, she began to weave back and forth. The reverend realized that she'd had far too much to drink and grabbed her arms to steady her. When he did, they both lost their balance and tumbled to the floor.
   After rolling around for a few moments, the reverend wound up on top of the young lady, whose flailing about had inadvertently hiked her skirt up to her waist.
   The barkeep looked over to see what the fuss was and said, "Oi, Mate, we won't have any of that carrying on in this pub."
   The reverend looked up at the landlord indignantly and said, "No, you don't understand... I am Pastor Flapps."
   The barkeep shrugged and said, "Ah, right... well, if you've got that far, you might as well finish then."