A preacher was having a heart-to-heart talk with a backslider of his flock whose drinking of moonshine invariably led to quarreling with his neighbors, and occasional shotgun blasts at some of them.
“Can’t you see, Ben,” intoned the parson, “that not one good thing comes out of this drinking?”
“Well, I sort of disagree there,” replied the backslider. “It makes me miss the folks I shoot at.”
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