Here’s a somewhat risque joke for the last Monday of the year:
Sister Christen’s first post as a missionary was in a remote tribal area in East Africa. She realized that the first step in converting the heathen would be to teach them her language. She began her lessons with the tribal chieftain.
Leading him into the countryside, she pointed out a banyan tree and said, “Tree.” “Tree,” the chief repeated obligingly.
Next they came across a herd of monkeys, “Ba-boons,” explained Sister Christen. “Ba-boons,” he repeated. “Very good.”
The nun was quite proud of herself. At the riverbank they encountered a herd of hippopotami and she slowly spoke out the word, and the tribesman dutifully repeated, “Hip-po-pot-a-mus.”
Then, what should they encounter in the rushes at the water’s edge, but a couple making love. Blushing, the nun blurted, “Man on bicycle.”
Paying no attention, the chief thrust his spear into the man’s back.
“Chief, why did you kill him?” screamed the horrified nun.
“Him on my bicycle,” he explained with a shrug.