Ok...

Two rabbits eating toasted sandwiches..
The first rabbit sticks to eating a ham and cheese sandwich.
The second rabbit tries a ham and cheese sandwich.. and then tries a cheese and tomato sandwich...

The second rabbit is halfway through his second sandwich when he suddenly collapses and starts to writhe in pain..

"Whats wrong"? asks the first rabbit..

with his last breath, the second rabbit replies...."Mixing my toasties"

Checks watch and sighs heavily... when oh when will I know the answer to that age old question "how do you keep an idiot in suspense?" The tension is (almost) palpable!

To be honest, I'd rather you wouldn't being part Irish myself (to be precise: my left foot)... to paraphrase the immortal Armando Iannucci: "We can no longer refer to insane asylums as nut-houses or fruit-farms; it's madness gone politically correct."

This thread is dedicated to bad, bad jokes but this doesn't mean they should insult people on the basis of race, gender, creed or hair pigmentation. If any of these ground rules are broken I will be forced (reluctantly) to wheel out the ******* joke.

In the mean-time...

Dave, Brian and Nigel are involved in a fatal pile-up and, having lead blameless lives, go up to heaven. They are greeted at the pearly gates by St. Peter who gives the lads the guided tour. "Welcome to the eternal hereafter" quoth St. Pete "Enjoy the sights but remember, there is only one rule round these parts and that is DON'T TREAD ON THE DUCKS! The ducks are apprentice seraphin and will be reincarnated as such in their next lives."

Our three protaganists go about their celestial way until Dave turns suddenly and hears a sickening *QUAT* sound (half quack, half splat.) In an instant St. Peter turns up accompanied by a warthog on a length of string... he handcuffs Dave to the hog and says "You broke the golden rule lad and your punishment will be to remain chained to this warthog for all eternity." and promptly disappears in a cloud of myrrh (Gaelic for female horse.)

The weeks drag by and gradually Dave drifts away from his earthly friends (you know how it is with couples) until one day Brian is not watching his step and *QUAT* steps on a duck. Up pops St. Pete accompanied by a foul and sulphur-scented succubus. St. Peter reads out the riot act re: ducks "You've been warned about stepping on fuzzy ducks, your fate will be to be chained to this foul demon for all eternity", does the deed with the cuffs and disappears in a cloud of Frankenstein.

The months flit by and Nigel is left to his own devices; Dave and Brian are double-dating with their respective eternal brides and Nigel fritters his days away avoiding (at all costs) stepping on ducks. One day St. Peter appears accompanied by an angel of such delightful visage that our hero almost choked on his ambrosia... St. Pete does the deeds with the cuffs and departs.

"Well" says Nige "what did I ever do to be deserve such angelic company?"
"B*ggered if I know" says she "I just trod on a duck!"