My favourite nun joke

The nuns from the Convent of the Immaculate Conception were on a day trip when their bus went off the road, plunged over a cliff and they were all killed. It had been a long day at the gates of heaven and Saint Peter had been counting down the minutes to knocking off time and some well-earned cloud lounging when word came through of a late rush and the nuns began to appear looking slightly stunned, blinking in the bright sunlight. Saint Peter sighed deeply and uttering a silent curse to his bad luck and proceeded to attempt to organise the nuns into something resembling an orderly queue, shouting to be heard above the uproar. He spoke briefly to one of his minions who scurried away, then he turned to address the rabble of rowdy religious. “Listen carefully, I will only say this once.” Gradually the babble of excited chatter died down and the nuns turned their faces towards Saint Peter who stood between them and the Pearly Gates and the pleasures which lay beyond. When silence had eventually fallen Saint Peter continued, “At my feet is a bucket and in this bucket is water. It is holy water of the most holiest of the holy waters in heaven”. The nuns muttered their approval. Silence fell again and Saint Peter continued, “In order to expedite procedures given the late hour I will ask each of you to come forward and, without needing to offer an explanation of any sort, wash the part of your body with which you have sinned in this most holy of holy waters, after which you may proceed to your just deserts without further ado.” A murmur of approval ran through the throng of sisters and within seconds one of their number was thrust to the front where she hesitated for a second before the holy bucket. Sister Aloysius was her name and as she thought back on her life of prayer and devotion only one small episode from her youth troubled her purity. She had once, as a young and impressionable maid working for the summer in a dairy, come under the influence of a randy and lecherous older man who had persuaded her to touch him in the most unpure of places and in the most unpure manner. Bashfully blushing at the memory she dipped her hand in the holiest of holy waters, whereupon a ray of light from the sky illuminated her and guided her way through the gates of heaven and to her eternal reward. The other nuns muttered their approval and Saint Peter allowed himself a terse smile at the prospect of this backlog being dispersed with in double times. Next in line was Sister Mary Immaculate. Old and haggard, one could hardly imagine she had ever been prey of male desires. But she duly dipped her right foot in the water and was rewarded with the illuminated path to paradise. It was at this point that a commotion was heard from the back of the herd and signs of pushing and unrest became evident. Saint Peter sighed again, fearing his optimism had been misplace. After quite a bit of shoving and elbowing and more than one expert punch thrown, Sister Concepta eventually managed to force her way to the head of the queue. Saint Peter stopped her there and enquired in his most imperious tone, “What is the meaning of this unruliness?” Sister Concepta looked up at him, her feet firmly planted in a no-nonsense pose, and said, “Listen Pete, if I’m gonna have to gargle this water I want to do it before Sister Rosaria sticks her fucking arse in it!”