Out fishing with a sailor friend, a priest hooks a huge fish. Helping him reel it in, the sailor says, "Whoah, look at the size of that f*cker!". "Hey, mind your language!" says the priest. Embarrassed, the sailor thinks on his feet and blurts out, "Sorry Father, but that's what the fish is called -- it's a f*cker fish!". Accepting the explanation, the priest forgives the sailor and takes the fish back to church. "Look at this huge f*cker", says the priest, spotting the bishop. "No, no - that's what the fish is called", says the priest "Oh," says the Bishop, scratching his chin. "I could clean that f*cker and have it for dinner." So the Bishop takes the fish, cleans it and gives it to the Mother Superior. "Could you cook this f*cker for dinner tonight?" he asks her. "My what language!" she exclaims, clearly shocked. "No, sister, that's what the fish is called - a f*cker," says the bishop. Satisfied with the explanation, the Mother Superior says, "Wonderful, I'll cook that f*cker tonight, the Pope is coming for dinner!" The fish tastes great and the Pope asks where they got it. "Well, I caught the f*cker!", says the priest. "And I gutted the >>f*cker!" says the Bishop. "And I cooked the f*cker!" says the Mother Superior. The Pope stares at them for a minute with a steely gaze, leans back on his chair, takes off his cap, puts his feet up on the table, pours himself a large whiskey and says, "You know what? You c*nts are alright."