Once at a bustling resort, a man, who carried the distinct aroma of a distillery, unceremoniously took a seat next to a priest. His tie bore the evidence of the day’s adventures with stains, his face bore traces of red lipstick, and a bottle of gin peeked out from his tattered coat pocket, clearly having seen better times.

With a casual air, he unfolded his newspaper, diving into its pages with the intensity of someone seeking escape or perhaps answers. Moments passed in silence before he turned to the priest, his curiosity piqued by something he had read.

“Say, Father, what causes arthritis?” he asked, his voice carrying more than a hint of intrigue.

The priest, caught somewhat off guard by the sudden inquiry, ruminated thoughtfully before responding. “My dear fellow,” he began, “arthritis is often the result of a life lived in excess. It can come from loose living, from associating with women of untrustworthy character, consuming too much alcohol, and demonstrating a general lack of respect for one’s peers.”

The man absorbed the information for a moment, his muddled mind processing the priest’s words. “Wow,” was all he could manage before turning his attention back to the newspaper, seemingly unfazed.

Reflecting on the severity of his words, the priest began to feel a pang of regret. He reached out and gently tapped the man’s shoulder. “I must apologize for my forthrightness,” he said, sincerely. “I hope I didn’t offend you. May I ask, how long have you been dealing with arthritis?”

With a slightly mischievous smile, the man replied, “I don’t have it, Father. I was just reading here that one of the priests does.”