Three lads from Waterford, all employees of a company on the city’s Industrial Park, decided to go trekking in the deepest jungle during their holidays.
They walked for several days staying in local villages at night and everything was going well until the seventh morning when, to their surprise, they were surrounded by armed men as they made their way through a little valley.
“Good morning, gentlemen,” said the leader in an educated Oxbridge accent. “Damn,” muttered the lads to themselves, ”they’re going to take us hostage and demand money for our release.”
As if he could read their minds, the leader smiled and said: “Sorry boys, this is no hostage situation. We are all educated and wealthy people in our tribe but down through the years we have enjoyed a history of cannibalism and, I’m afraid, you are this year’s sacrificial victims.”
The smile vanished from the leader’s face and his voice became hard and cruel. “You, my fine friends, will be killed and eaten and your skins will be used to cover our traditional canoes.
“However,” he added, “we are not savages so we will allow you to die quickly by your own hands.”
Michael volunteered to go first and asked for a pistol. “God Save Ireland and Up The Deise,” he shouted as he pulled the trigger.
Thomas went next and also asked for a handgun. “May God forgive you and Up the Blues,” he screamed with his last breath.
Laurence was the last to step forward and glaring at the cannibals he surprised them by asking for a fork.
“May you all die roaring and rot in hell,” he shouted. And, as he began to stab himself all over with the fork, he added: “And good luck with your leaky fecking canoe!”