An old opal prospector comes into a small township after 8 months in the desert and heads straight for the only bar.
'Give me a cold beer, mate,' he says to the barman.
Drinking his cold one, he looks around the bar and asks, 'Where's all the sheilas?'
'You're too late, mate,' says the barman. 'The boys from the Wooloomolloo Mine came in and took the lot off to a barbecue.'
'Strewth!' says the old prospector. 'I've been out in the flaming desert with no women around for 8 months. Surely you've got just one still around spare.'
The barman shakes his head. 'Not one, but there is Old Joe out the back if you're interested.'
The prospector shakes his head and says, 'I'm not like that! Give me another cold beer.'
A few more cold beers and the old feller's getting pretty desperate. 'You sure you haven't got a spare sheila around? Even an ugly one would do.'
The barman shakes head sadly. 'I told you. There's only Old Joe out the back if you're interested.'
'I told you I'm not like that! Give me another cold one.' says the prospector.
A few more beers and the prospector is feeling pretty desperate. He leans across the bar and quietly says to the barman. 'I'm not like that really, but if I was to go with Old Joe, who would know about it?'
The barman thinks for a minute and says, 'There's only be the seven of us.'
'Seven!' shouts the old prospector. 'How do you make that out?'
'Well,' says the barman. 'There'd be you, me and Old Joe of course, plus the four blokes to hold him down 'cos Old Joe's not like that either.'
