A nun walks into a liquor store . . .

and asks for a bottle of whisky.

The owner is shocked. "I'm sorry, Sister, but I'm a good church-going man. I simply can't sell liquor to a nun."

The nun blushes a little, looks around nervously, then leans forward to whisper: "It's for Mother Superior's constipation."

"Oh, well, that's a different story," the owner says. He wraps up a bottle of his best and hands it to her, waving away her attempt to pay for it.

On his way home, he walks past the convent and sees the nun, drunk as a skunk, doing cartwheels on the lawn. He runs up to her. "Sister, how could you? You said the whisky was to help your Mother Superior's constipation!"

"It will, it will," the nun mutters. "When she sees me, she's just going to shit!"

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