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Here's another one told to me by Australian jokemeister Mark Bell.
Blame not the messenger.





	 During the second world war a company of British 
	 soldiers was camped in the desert. Unfortunately, one day 
	 their cook was killed in an accident. So they drew straws to
	 select a new cook and the job fell to a young private. Now 
	 being company cook was a dreadful job, but it wasn't working
	 out in the cook-tent in the blazing sun cooking up greesy 
	 slop that bothered our young private - it was the constant 
	 complaints. Nothing saticfied the men, and finally the 
	 private could stand it no longer. "Listen," he said "the 
	 next person who complains about my cooking, gets the job!" 
	 Then he went out into the desert and gathered up a big bag 
	 of fresh cammel shit, took it back to the tent, and cooked 
	 it up as meat-balls for breakfast next morning. Well, come 
	 breakfast the men all sat in silence looked at the mess on 
	 their plates. Then finally a man rose to his feet and said 
	 "Private! This is shit! Mind you, it's very nicely cooked."

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