Three nations go into a bar, or WWI for idiots

Young Joey is sitting at the kitchen table as Grandpa walks in, and while grandpa grabs a cold Yuengling's, Joey slams his history book closed.

"What's wrong, Joseph?", asks Gramps.

"Oh, Gramps," Joey moans.  "I have to write a report on the start of WWI, and there are so many moving parts, I don't know where to start."

"Oh, is that all?"  Gramps says wisely, as his finger fumbles with the pull-tab on his beer.  "Let me explain it to you the way my Gramps explained it to me.

"Three guys walk into a bar- let's call them Schmidt, Horst, and Tony.  Now Schmidtsy is looking for a fight, to impress the ladies.  He looks across the room and sees a fellow he's tangled with before.  But Schmidtsy knows it won't do to START the fight- then, the chicks will think he's a bully.  So he decides to get Horst going after this little guy over in the corner.  It won't be too hard- Horst is half shot already, and the other guy is this mouthy little twerp who's annoying everybody.  Trouble is, first of all, like I said, Horst is pretty well-oiled already, and second, the mouthy twerp has a buddy- a big dumb fella who looks like he could knock the head off Bismark's statue.

"Now, this guy Schmidt has it in for- call him Pierre- he knows what's up, and he's keeping one eye on Schmidt.  Pierre's just liquored up enough, he thinks he can lick anyone.  But just in case, he has a buddy too, name of Manfred.  Manny's just as cocky, just as tipsy, but he's got this stomach condition- they called it an Ulster back then- an' he shouldn'ta even been drinking, let alone fightin'.

"So, anyway, Horst goes over and starts ta wrasslin' with the little mouthy twerp, and his big dumb friend, call 'im Ivan, toddles over thinkin' to intervene.  But Schmidtsy hauls off and nails 'im right in the nose, and he just kinda staggers off outta the way.  At this point, Pierre figures to join in, but as he moves in, this little fella, just mindin' his own business, gets right smack in the way.  Schmidtsy sees Pierre coming and goes to wallop him, too- but he misses an' lays out the little fella.  At this point, all hell breaks loose.

"Pierre, Schmidtsy, Manny, they all get into this big mess of a pile, with the little fella gettin' squished underneath 'em.  Meanwhile, Tony was watchin', but he wasn't much of a fighter.  He was a pickpocket, an' he takes to pickin' the pockets of everyone who's wrasslin'.  But now Horst got staggerin around and lost the twerp- who was on Horst's back, hittin' him with lots of little twerp punches that Horst never felt- so he takes a swing at Tony, and the next thing you know, they're rollin' around on the floor, with the twerp gettin' squished underneath 'em.

"By this time, Ivan had come stumblin' back, tryin' to figure who's head to break, but he was drunker than any of 'em.  Between that fact an' the broken nose Schmidtsy just gave 'im, well, he finally just barfed his guts up and falls down out cold, landin' on top of this old Persian rug salesman who was also tryin' to pick-pocket the combatants.

"Finally, in comes the Sheriff, a big, beefy John Wayne type.  By the time he shows up, though, most everyone is unconscious or exhausted, or both, so he doesn't have much trouble cleanin' up the place.

"After that, Pierre and Manny decide to sue Schmidt for everything he has in damages.  Schmidt never pays up, and ends up torchin' their houses.  Horst never did recover, and according to his will, he was buried in a little bitty grave in Schmidt's back yard.  Ivan ends up becoming a shop steward for the Teansters, and the Sheriff gave up law enforcement and went to Hollywood.  The end."

Joey looked dubious.  "That was a neat story, Gramps," he said, "But what does it have to do with WWI?"

Grandpa laughed, "All ya gotta do is change the names, Joseph.  Schmidt, Horst, and Tony are Germany, Austria, and Italy.  The mouthy twerp was Serbia, the big dummy Ivan was Russia, an' the Persian rug salesman was Turkey.  France was Pierre, England was Manny (and Ireland was his Ulster), and Belgium was the poor smushed little guy under the pile.  And of course, we were the Sheriff."

Joey's eyes lit with realization.  "NOW it all makes sense, " he exclaimed.  "But if I tell it that way, I'll get an F for not being politically correct."

"Well, my Gramps had another way of tellin' it, involving a ladies' bridge club," Grandpa mused, "But Granny took the iron skillet to 'im the last time he told it that way.  Now, be a good boy and help me get this damn beer can open."

"I don't think you want that," Joey laughed.  "Your beer is in bottles- that's a can of sliced peaches."