This fellow wishes to join an exclusive African lion-hunters club. Actually,
the club's members consist entirely of aging Englishmen, who never do any
hunting, and whose only enjoyment comes when some silly sod wants to join. On
the night of the initiation, all of the members sit beneith the African sky
around three identical grass huts. The club's founder begins to speak: "To
become one of use, you must pass the test of the three huts. In the first
hut, there is a bottle of whiskey that must be consumed. In the second,
there is a Bengal tiger with a bad tooth that must be removed. In the third,
there is an amourous woman that must be satisfied." With only a lion's skin
to wear, the man marches into the first hut, and, after a minute of gulping
noises, comes staggering out and barely makes his way in to the second.
Within seconds, the hut begins shaking as fur flies in all directions, and
screams can be heard from both man and beast within. After another moment of
silence, the man emerges from the second hut, bleeding, and covered from
head-to-toe with thousand of scratches. He strains his eyes at the concerned
looking crowd of old men and asks "Now where's this woman with the bad tooth?"
