A girl goes to confession.
“Father, I called a man a son-of-a-bitch yesterday.”
“Why did you call him a son-of-a-bitch??” the priest asked.
“Because, Father, he touched me on my arm without permission.”
“Do you mean like this??” He touches her arm.
“Yes Father.”
“That’s no reason for calling him a son-of-a-bitch.”
“But Father he also touched my breasts.”
“You mean like this??” He touches her breasts.
“Yes Father.”
“That’s no reason to call him a son-of-a-bitch.”
“But Father, he took off my clothes.”
“Like this??” He takes off her clothes.
“Yes Father.”
“That’s no reason to call him a son-of-a-bitch.”
“But Father he then put his you-know-what… in my you-know-where… and he wasn’t even using a condom.”
“Like this??” He put his you-know-what… in her you-know-where… without a condom.
“Yes father,” she says sometime later… after Father had finished with his you-know-what… in her you-know-where.
“But that’s no reason to call him a son-of-a-bitch.”
“But father,” the girl says… “He has AIDS.”
“THAT SON-OF-A-BITCH!”
