I knew a man who was crazy about his Harley Davidson motor bike. He put a carpet in the garage for it and polished it every day. The motor cycle was the most important thing in his life. All his friends were motorcyclists and he only talked about motorcycles.
One day he had a party for all his friends. They talked about motor cycles and he brought his Harley Davidson into the house. He had a few drinks and then he said, “My bike is so wonderful that I can drive it up the stairs!” His friends laughed but he got on the bike in the hall and then put the front wheel on the bottom stair. He revved the engine and then began to go up the stairs.
Suddenly he fell off, the bike fell through the banisters and smashed onto the floor of the hall below. He broke his leg and went to hospital. His wife tried to clean up the house. She cleaned up the petrol with some cloth and squeezed the cloth out into the toilet on the ground floor.
He came back home on the Sunday with his leg in plaster. His wife was angry with him and she complained for an hour and he sat and looked at his broken bike on the kitchen floor. At last he wanted some peace so he went to the toilet on the ground floor, locked the door, lit a cigarette and the toilet exploded.