One quiet afternoon, in a peaceful countryside town, a well-dressed lady walked nervously up the stone path to the local church rectory. Her eyes darted around as if afraid someone might see her. With a deep breath, she knocked on the door.
It opened to reveal Father Thomas, a kind-faced priest known for his calm wisdom and love for the odd mysteries of life.
“Good afternoon, my child,” he said, smiling warmly.
“Father…” she began, hesitating, “I have a very… unique problem. And I don’t know who else to turn to.”
The priest motioned her inside, encouraging her to sit.
“Whatever the trouble is, the Lord listens—and so do I.”
After a pause, the lady leaned forward and whispered:
“I have two talking parrots. Female parrots. Beautiful birds. But… the only thing they ever say is:
‘Hi, we’re hot. Do you want to bang us?’”
The priest blinked.
“I beg your pardon?”
She repeated, more shamefully this time:
“They say, ‘Hi, we’re hot. Do you want to bang us?’”
Father Thomas sat back in his chair, stunned, then slowly crossed himself.
“That is… highly inappropriate. But I’m glad you came. Because I may have a solution.”
The woman looked up, hopefully.
“You see,” the priest continued, “I happen to have two male parrots. Remarkable creatures. I’ve raised them since they were young, and I’ve trained them to pray daily, read the Bible, and even hold rosary beads. They live a life of virtue… far more disciplined than some humans I know.”
The woman’s eyes lit up.
“Do you think your holy parrots could… influence mine?”
“With God’s help,” said the priest confidently, “yes. Bring your parrots to my house tomorrow. Let’s see if a little divine company can set them straight.”
The Next Day
The sun was shining when the lady returned to the rectory, carrying a cage covered with a lace cloth.
Inside the priest’s study, the two male parrots sat peacefully in their ornate cage, holding tiny rosaries in their claws, their beaks quietly reciting prayers.
“Lord, grant us wisdom… Lord, keep us strong…”
The priest nodded to the woman.
“Let’s introduce them.”
She carefully placed the cage of female parrots beside the male parrots’ cage and removed the cover.
The moment the female parrots saw the males, they fluffed their feathers flirtatiously, tilted their heads, and said in their chirpy voices:
“Hi, we’re hot. Do you want to bang us?”
Silence.
The two male parrots stopped praying mid-sentence. Their beads dropped to the floor.
One slowly turned to the other and, wide-eyed, shouted:
“Put the Bible away, Frank… OUR PRAYERS HAVE BEEN ANSWERED!”
Later That Day
Out on the highway, a man and his young son were driving through town.
The boy looked up from his book and asked:
“Dad, do prayers really work?”
The father chuckled.
“Yes, son. Sometimes in ways you never expect.”
Just then, they drove past the church — and from the open windows, they could hear a squawk from inside:
“Frank! Stop dancing! We’re priests, remember!”
The boy raised an eyebrow.
The father just grinned.
“Never underestimate the power of hope… or the trouble two parrots can get into.”
Moral of the Story:
Faith works in mysterious ways. But if your parrots start flirting, maybe skip the rosary and call a bird trainer instead.
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