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."
(From the "Rest" of RHF)