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Joke Types
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I heard the parish magazine is starting a cooking section. Can't wait for 'Holy Guacamole – Recipes Straight from the Pulpit'!
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Why did the journalist break up with the parish magazine? It had too many commitment issues – every month a new edition!
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Why did the computer subscribe to the digital version of the parish magazine? It wanted to improve its spiritual bytes!
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Why did the ghost subscribe to the parish magazine? It heard it had some hauntingly good articles!
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Why did the tomato turn red while reading the parish magazine? It saw the salad dressing!
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What's the favorite section in the parish magazine for dogs? The 'Bark of the Town'!
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I submitted a joke to the parish magazine, but they rejected it. They said it was too pun-ishing!
Parish Magazines: The Real Soap Opera
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I've started treating my local parish magazine like the latest episode of a soap opera. The drama is intense! Who borrowed Mrs. Thompson's lawnmower without asking? Forget about Netflix, give me the gripping saga of suburban lawncare disputes. I can't wait for the next thrilling installment: The Mysterious Case of the Missing Hedge Trimmer.
Parish Magazine Predictions
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Reading the horoscope section in the parish magazine is my guilty pleasure. According to them, this week I'll find love, win the lottery, and discover a hidden talent for interpretive dance. I can't wait for my newfound romance to start waltzing with me into financial abundance. Who knew the stars were so invested in my dance moves?
Parish Magazines Unleashed
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You ever notice how parish magazines are like the Wikipedia of small towns? It's the one place where gossip, events, and questionable poetry collide. I read one the other day, and apparently, Mrs. Johnson's award-winning zucchinis have become the talk of the town. I didn't know vegetables could cause so much envy; now I'm afraid to bring a carrot to the potluck.
Parish Magazines' Fashion Police
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Parish magazines are the fashion police of the neighborhood. I wore the same socks two days in a row, and suddenly I'm getting side-eye from Mrs. Johnson, the zucchini queen. I didn't realize my sock choice was a potential scandal. Next time, I'll make sure to coordinate with the weather report.
Parish Magazines and Extreme Sports
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You want adrenaline? Forget bungee jumping; try submitting an article to the parish magazine. It's an extreme sport. Will they accept my expose on the riveting world of mold growth in damp basements? Or will it be deemed too controversial for the knitting club? The stakes are high, folks.
Parish Magazines: Breaking News
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Breaking news in the parish magazine is on a whole other level. The headline: Mr. Thompson Changes His Mailbox Color. I can't believe they buried the lead; I was on the edge of my seat, wondering if he'd go for a daring chartreuse or stick with the classic beige.
Parish Magazines vs. Social Media
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In the battle of parish magazines versus social media, it's like watching a medieval knight fight a cyborg. Parish magazines are still advertising bake sales, while on Facebook, someone's crowdfunding to send their cat to culinary school. I guess it's a tough call between grandma's famous cookies and Mr. Whiskers becoming a sushi chef.
Parish Magazines and the Alien Invasion
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If aliens ever decide to invade Earth, they should start by reading our parish magazines. They'd be so confused by our priorities. Earthlings worried about picket fence heights. Abort mission! I can see the extraterrestrial headlines now: Humans More Concerned with Rose Bush Pruning Than Interplanetary Relations.
Parish Magazines and Mystery Novels
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Move over, Agatha Christie; the real mysteries are in the parish magazine's classified ads. Lost: One Sock. I'm hooked. Is it a tragic laundry accident, or is there a sock thief in our midst? I can see the movie adaptation now: The Case of the Vanishing Hosiery.
Parish Magazine Poetry Night
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Parish magazines love to feature local poets. I attended their poetry night recently, and let me tell you, if rhyming roses are red with violets are blue is high art, then I'm the Shakespeare of suburbia. I didn't know we had so many bards among us. Move over, Wordsworth; here comes Brenda with her masterpiece, Ode to the Neighborhood Cat.
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