Slay.me

A woman from New York was driving through a remote part of Arizona when her car broke down. An American Indian on horseback came along and offered her a ride to a nearby town.

She climbed up behind him on the horse and they rode off. The ride was uneventful, except that every few minutes the Indian would let out a Ye-e-e-e-h-a-a-a-a’ so loud that it echoed from the surrounding hills and canyon walls. When they arrived in town, he let her off at the local service station, yelled one final ‘Ye-e-e-e-h-a-a-a-a!’ and rode off.

“What did you do to get that Indian so excited?” asked the service-station attendant.

“Nothing,” the woman answered “I merely sat behind him on the horse, put my arms around his waist, and held onto the saddle horn so I wouldn’t fall off.”

“Lady,” the attendant said, “Indians don’t use saddles.”

Three Irishmen were sitting in the pub window seat, watching the front door of the brothel across the road. The local Methodist vicar appeared at the brothel door and quickly went inside. “Wouldja look at that!” said the first Irishman. “Didn’t I always say what a bunch a hypocrites they are?”

No sooner were the words out of his mouth than a Rabbi appeared at the door, knocked, and went inside. “Another one tryin’ to fool everyone with pious preachin’ and stupid hats!” said the second Irishman.

The three continued drinking their beers, roundly condemning the vicar and the rabbi. Then they saw their own Catholic priest knock on the brothel door. “Ah, now dat’s sad,” said the third Irishman. “One a the gerls musta died.”