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Meet the Fockers
Reading Theodore Dalrymple's excellent piece on vulgarity, in which he refers to an Irishman's inventiveness in swearing, I was reminded of this old tale, supposedly from WWII:
One of the Norwegian fliers who escaped the Nazi invasion went to England, and joined the Air Force there. He was a very good pilot, and shot down so many Nazi planes that the British pulled him to the ground and had him give talks to boost morale.
The first talk that he gave was at the London Garden Society. This was a venerable collection of blue haired ladies who owned most of London and its surroundings, they having had the forethought to outlive their husbands.
The Norwegian pilot got up after the normal introductions, and started talking about the latest battle in the air against the enemy.
Talking with his hands, which is something most pilots do, he described how these "fockers" came out of the sun, and how he dove and gave chase to one, and shot the "focker" down.
At that point the President of the club got up, reacting to the open mouths of the ladies.
She explained, saying that the "Focker" was a German aircraft.
The Norwegian pilot said, "Yah - but deese fockers was flying Messerschmidts."