There was an aligator farm and amusement park in Florida. At this farm worked Jeff, a jack of all trades who was a general repairman, fixing plumbing, wiring, and mechanical problems with equal ease. Everywhere Jeff went he took his pet aligator, a placid ten footer who lived mainly on road kill and tourist's lunches. Because Jeff was so good at fixing things, and the aligator was well behaved, the management put up with this. One day one of the tanks was not circulating properly, and Jeff was sent to fix it. After draining the tank and moving the inhabitants, Jeff saw that the circulator inlet had plugged with dirt. He went into the tank to clean it, and his 'gator sat on the edge of the tank to sleep and supervise. As it happened, a busload of tourists from the midwest came by, and being too dumb to be afraid of a grown aligator, they walked up and began feeding him, and asking Jeff questions, each dumber than the last. "Is he a Florida aligator?" "Does he have a girlfriend?" "His breath smells like a dead skunk!" "Is he housebroken?" This went on for an hour, when the manager came along and hustled the tourists away and came back to see why the tank wasn't fixed. "What's the problem, Jeff? You should have done that in ten minutes or so. Have you been keeping your mind on the job?" "It's hard to remember you're here to swamp the drain when you're up to your aligator in assholes."
(From the "Rest" of RHF)