Last Rites

A bus on a busy street struck a Catholic jaywalker knocking him clear over the curb. He was lying near death on the sidewalk as a crowd gathered.

"A priest. Somebody get me a priest!" the man gasped.

Long seconds dragged on but no one stepped out of the crowd.

A cop arrived on the scene, scanned the crowd and finally yelled, "A PRIEST PLEASE! Isn't there a priest in this crowd to give this man his last rites?"

Finally, out of the crowd stepped a small ancient Jew who appeared to be pushing 90.

"Mister Police," he said, "I'm not a priest. I'm not even a Christian. But for fifty years now, I'm living behind the Catholic Church on Second Avenue and every night I'm overhearing their services. I've heard it so many times I can recall a lot of it--maybe I can be of some comfort to this poor man."

Time running out, the cop quickly agreed and cleared the crowd so the man could get through to where the injured man lay.

The ancient Jew knelt down, leaned over the man and intoned most solemnly:

"B-5.... I-19.... N-38.... G-54.... O-72...."

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