This one's from a book called "E.", it's a fictional compilation of the emails that go round an office in a few weeks, a brilliant read...this was "the first e. gag of the new millennium" - appologies for the language!
Father Conor is walking by the Shannon when he sees one of his congregation fishing. He stops for a chat and mentions he's neve fished before. "It's a doddle," says the angler. "Take a rod and give it a go."
"Well, I suppose the blessed Saint Peter himself was a fisherman. Perhaps I'll try my hand," says the priest.
Father Conor sits down and casts his line. After a while he gets a bite and reels in a fat ten-pounder. He's pleased as punch as his parishioner slaps him on the back and says, "That's a great big f**ker, Father!"
"Language!" replies Father Conor. "I am a priest."
"No, Father, this fish is called a f**ker," explains the angler, thinking on his feet.
Laughing at the misunderstanding, the proud priest takes his catch home and finds the bishop waiting in his front room.
"That's a splendid looking fish, Father" exclaims the bishop.
"Aye," replies the priest. "It's a great f**ker."
"Please, Father! Such language," sas the bishop.
"No, no, Your Grace," replies the priest, "f**ker is the name of the fish."
It being Friday, the reassured bishop suggests the repair to his residence for a fine fish supper. Once there the bishop goes to the kitchen to clean and gut the fish. They are joined by the mother superior of the local convent. Being no great cook himself, the bishop says, "Reverand Mother, would you mind poaching this f**ker for us?"
"Bishop, you cannot say that in the house of God," gasps the horrified nun.
"You misunderstand, Reverand Mother," explains the bishop, "this fish is called a f**ker."
Calm again, the mother superior sets to cooking the fish. Shortly they are joined by the Pope who is making a surprise visit (as he does). Delighted, the bishop invites him to supper.
They sit down at the table and the Pope says grace. Then the mother superior brings in the fish on the finest silver platter. Eagerly the three of them await the opinion og God's Mouthpiece on Earth,.
"That is a fine fish," remarks the impressed pontiff.
"That it is, Your Holiness. I caught the f**ker," says the beaming priest.
"I cleaned the f**ker," adds teh bishop.
"And I cooked the f**ker," chips in the mother superior.
The Pope sits back and stares at them for a moment. Then he plants his feet on the table, lets out a mighty fart and says, "Know what? You c**ts are alright."