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Duck Hunting
An American hunter was having very bad luck in the Newfoundland outback, not bagging anything. After five dismal days he finally shot at a duck and saw it fall far off. he tramped through the bush and found it had landed in the back yard of a homestead in the middle of nowhere. He climbed over a rail fence and was about to retrieve the bird when the Newfie homesteader saw the wet and bedraggled hunter. "What's ya doin, boy?" he asked the hunter.

"Gettin' my duck," said the Yank.

"Well now I figgers it's my bird, seeing as it's in my yard," says the Newfie.

"Oh God!" said the Yank, "I tracked over miles of awful bush, was lost, hungry, tired, soaked, you name it. I shot this bird. Can't I just take it and go?"

"Well " says the Newfie, who didn't like big smart Yankee hunters much, "tell you what I'll do, boys. We'll fight fer it."

"Fight for it? You kiddin'?" asks the Yank.

"I'll give you a sportin chance," says the Newfie. Here's the rules. One feller bends over and the other kicks him in the arse real hard. Who ever kicks the farthest gets the bird. Deal?" The Yank figures he's bigger and has a winning chance, so he agrees. "I'll go first, seein' as it's my yard," says the Newfie. "Bend over, boy."



The Yank complies. The Newfies hails off and boots the hapless hunter, sending him face first into a manure pile. He splutters to his feet, wipes his face off, then says, hopefully, "Okay, your turn."

The Newfie scratches his head, contemplates, then says, "No, boys. You take the bird an go, Yank. I doesn't like duck anyway."