My priest and I agreed to go fishing. We sat there talking and waiting for a bite until, finally, the priest snagged a large fish. As I helped him pull it out of the water I said,”This is a big son of a b*tch.”

The priest stopped, “Son, why such salty language?”

Wanting to save face I quickly replied, “No, Father, that’s the name of that fish. It’s a Sonofab*tch fish.”

The priest was relieved and we began walking back to the rectory and a nun met us at the door.
The priest greeted her and said, “Check out the Sonofab*tch I just caught.”

The nun, shocked, exclaimed, “Father, never in my life-“

The priest interrupted her and said, “No, Sister, that’s the name. It’s a Sonofab*tch fish.

The nun was relieved and took the fish to be gutted. After gutting the fish, she brought it out back where the Deacon was heating up the grill. The nun said, “Deacon, here, I gutted this Sonofab*tch for you.”

The Deacon, shaking his head, said, “Sister, that language is unbecoming.”

The nun replied, “No Deacon, that’s the name. It’s a Sonofab*tch fish.”

The Deacon shrugged it off and said, “Alright, I’ll put it on the grill. The Bishop is coming over for dinner and he loves seafood.”

When the Bishop arrived we all sat down at the table. The priest brings out the cooked fish and says, “I caught this Sonofab*tch myself.”

“And I gutted this Sonofab*tch.”

“And I grilled this Sonofab*tch.”

The Bishop looked around. He took his hat off, leaned in and said,

“Now you m0therf*ckers are my kind of people.”