The Ole story reminded me of this one:
Three crusty old miners shared a claim, working it hard from sunrise to sunset. When they got home at night there was always an argument over who would make dinner. They were all exhausted at this point, and none of them had an aptitude for this kind of ‘women’s work’. After many contentious meals, they decided to draw straws, and the loser would take on the reviled task. The miner who picked the short straw was incensed. “Okay!”, he laid down the law. “I’ll be cook if I have to, but if I hear ONE WORD OF COMPLAINT about my cooking that will be the last meal I ever make for the likes of you!”
And so it was agreed. They took him at his word.
The following day, as it neared sunset, their new cook trudged back to the cabin and made his first meal. It was terrible. He had done his best, but with no training in the subject whatsoever, he had no idea what he was doing. He hated making it and they all hated eating it. Yet bearing his warning in mind- not a word was said.
The following day the process was repeated, except that the meal was even worse. They grimaced and shook their heads and swallowed hard with big gulps of water before their tongues could taste the dreadful muck. Still, no one complained. As bad as the food was, it was better than having to make it themselves.
With each passing day the cook grew more miserable at his post, and as a result, they all suffered at suppertime. Finally, he decided to force them to complain and liberate him from this loathsome job. So, on his way home from the claim, he took a detour through the wood, coming out with the biggest, freshest moose turd he could find. Plopping it into the cook pot, he put it on the fire and used it to make filling for a two big, steaming pies. When the other miners came home they were at once assaulted by the most gut-wrenching stench imaginable. Pinching their noses, they sat down for dinner.
Cook presented each with their own moose turd pie. Hesitantly, they both began to eat. In a few bites, each was filled with the irresistible reflex to spit it all out, right there on the table in front of them!
“Jumpin’ Jehoshaphat!”, swore one.
“Tastes like ****!”, barked the other involuntarily…
“But it’s Good though!”, he quickly added, to Cook’s major disappointment.
