An Englishman, a Scotsman, and an Irishman are exploring the deepest part of the Amazon jungle. One day, a savage tribe of cannibals captures the trio and they’re brought before the chieftain.
“Trespassing is punishable by death for white devils,” the chieftain says in passable English. “But your skin will make some fine canoes for us. However, you can all have one request fulfilled to the best of our ability to do so!”
The Englishman nods, accepting his fate. “I don’t suppose you have a telephone out here so I can call home?”
“Yes, we have taken many of these things from interlopers,” says the chieftain.
Surprised, he dials his wife. “Hello my dear, I’m afraid I won’t be coming home. Terribly sorry. My love to the kids.”
He closes his eyes, is killed, and they begin taking his skin and meat for meals.
The Scotsman gulps. “I really could do with a drink — whiskey if you have any, so I won’t feel it.”
The chieftain snaps his fingers and a tribesman brings out a crate of whiskey. The Scotsman immediately begins getting drunk, downing bottle after bottle until he falls asleep, and he too is killed. They make preparations to turn him into meals and a canoe with his skin.
The Irishman says, “Umm… do you have a fork?”
Puzzled, the chief commands a tribesman to give him a fork, and before anybody could react, the Irishman begins stabbing himself all over his body.
“You’re not turning me into a bloody canoe, ye bastards!”
