Stop me if you heard this one

I think they're pretty good. 

But every time I strike up a conversation with someone and casually launch into a joke, it seems to always end the same way. They suddenly remember their house is on fire or, less subtly, they run screaming in any direction opposite from where I'm standing. 

It doesn't bother me. I'm used to it. In fact, I've had lots of people run away from me screaming - mostly in my teen years while looking for prom dates. 

But I latched onto a joke the other day that is so funny, I have to get it out of my system. 

It's one of those jokes you just have to share with someone. Like the flu, there's really no fun in having it unless you give it to someone else. 

There were three fellows - an Englishman, an American and a Canadian - and they went into a bar. Now I don't mean any disrespect to Great Britain, the United States, or of course, our own great nation by saying that residents of these respective countries are naturally found in bars. It's just the setting for the joke and not a denigration of anyone. 

And I'm also not advocating that people go into bars, although I'm also not advocating that they not go into bars. Some people don't like bars, while others should probably spend less time in them - bums, alcoholics, Tory policy makers and the like. 

So these three went into the bar and each ordered a beer. I don't know what kind of beer, but I guess they were probably the kinds of beer each one was suited to - bitter, black, lukewarm barrel dregs for the Englishman; limp, insipid, colored water for the American and beer for the Canadian. 

When the bartender brought back their order, they noticed that each mug of cheer had a fly floating in the foam. 

That happens to me a lot too. In the summer there are these weird black bugs whose whole existence seems to revolve around dive-bombing into open beer bottles. It seems a pointless pursuit, but I don't suppose they really have much else going on with their lives, being bugs and all. 

Anyway, the Englishman looked at the fly in his beer, snorted and pushed his glass away in disgust. Frankly, anyone who has tried English beer would probably do the same whether it had a fly in it or not. The very first beer I made in my little home brewery was from an English kit, and it took me almost two weeks to choke down the batch - that's how bad it was. 

After the Englishman pushed away his beer, the American looked at his, picked the fly out of the foam and downed his drink as if nothing was wrong. 

I'd say something nasty about American beer here but I used to drink Lone Star. 

Meanwhile the Canadian takes all this in and grabs his glass. Fishing around in the amber nectar, he picks the fly out and holding it over the glass shouts "OK you little bugger, spit it out! Spit it out!" 

I don't know. I thought it was pretty good.