An old stockman wanders into an Alice Springs pub. As he sits sipping his beer, a young woman sits next to him. She turns to him and asks, "Are you a real stockman?" He replies, "Well, I've

An old stockman wanders into an Alice Springs pub. As he sits sipping his beer, a young woman sits next to him. She turns to him and asks, "Are you a real stockman?"

He replies, "Well, I've spent my whole life on cattle stations. I've mustered cattle in the blistering sun, camped out under the stars, broken in wild horses, dodged snakes, and wrestled more than my fair share of rogue bulls. I reckon if that doesn’t make me a stockman, I don’t know what does."

The young woman nods. "Wow, that’s impressive! Well, I’m a lesbian."

The old stockman raises an eyebrow. "A lesbian?"

She nods. "Yep. I wake up thinking about women. I go to bed thinking about women. I love women—the way they talk, the way they smell, the way they move. I just can’t stop thinking about women."

The stockman takes a long sip of his beer, thoughtfully nodding.

A few minutes later, another tourist, a scruffy-looking backpacker, sits down next to him and asks, "Are you a real stockman?"

The old stockman scratches his head and says, "Well, mate, I always thought I was... but I just found out I might actually be a lesbian."