A priest hooks a huge fish
Helping him reel it in, a sailor says āWhoa, look at the size of that fucker!ā.
āHey, mind your language!ā says the priest.
Embarrassed, the sailor thinks quickly and blurts out, āSorry father, but thatās what this fish is called, itās a Fucker fishā.
Accepting the explanation, the priest forgives the sailor and takes the fish back to church.
āLook at this huge fuckerā says the priest, spotting the bishop.
āLanguage, please! this is Godās house,ā replies the bishop.
āNo, no thatās what this fish is called, āsays the priest.
āOh,ā says the bishop, scratching his chin āI could clean that fucker and we could have it for dinnerā.
So the bishop takes the fish, cleans it, and brings it to the mother superior.
āCould you cook this fucker for dinner tonight?ā he asks her.
āMy, what language!ā she exclaims, clearly shocked.
āNo, sister thatās what the fish is called - a fuckerā, says the bishop.
Satisfied with the explanation, the mother superior says, āWonderful, Iāll cook that fucker tonight, The Pope is coming for dinner!ā
The fish tastes just great and The Pope asks where they got it.
āWell, I caught the fucker!ā says the priest.
āAnd I cleaned the fucker!ā says the bishop.
āAnd I cooked the fucker!ā says the mother superior.
The Pope stares at them for a minute with a steely glaze, leans back on his chair, takes off his cap, puts his feet up on the table, pours himself a whiskey and says:ā You know what?, You cunts are alright.ā
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