A young monk arrives at a monastery. His first job is to copy out old canons and law by hand
After a while he notice that all the other monks are doing the same and that they are copying from copies, rather than the original document
Bright spark that he is, our young monk goes to the Head Abbot and points out the inherent risk in this approach. That is, if someone makes a small mistake somewhere along the line, it would get repeated indefinitely. The young monk suggests that as a precaution, they should re-check the newly produced stuff against the now fragile original every so often, just to reduce the risk
The Head Abbot is no dinosaur. He is receptive to new ideas and suggestions. So he says "What the Hell" (yes, really) "we may as well start doing that now" and off he bumbles down into the darkest recesses to dig out the originals
After a while the monks start to miss the Head Abbot and wonder where he has got to. Time drags on and they decide they'd better go and check on him
After a few minutes they find the Head Abbot sitting in a corner of a dark room. His head was bruised and bleeding as though he had been banging it repeatedly against the wall. It also looked like he'd been crying
"What's wrong Head Abbot?" asked the young monk
The Head Abbot slowly lifted his head. His grey hair was caked against his forehead and he had a forlorn look on his face. He looked at the young monk, and wiped a tear from the corner of his eye. Then he smiled a rueful smile and took a deep breath ...
The word, apparently, was "Celebrate" not "Celibate" he said
