It's something another guy and I modified "in honor of" a Brit of stature who was actually a WWII "war baby" who was moved out to the country during the Blitz, and who had a career with the GPO riding a "Bantam" motorbike, and we called him "Fred the Bantam Postie".
I can't remember the original source but it was many years ago and I've never found it since ...
As long as you enjoy a Yorkshire accent, this is pretty funny ...
"A travelling circus was performing one evening in a little town with a disappointingly small audience. One of the sideshows was a wrestling ring and during the course of the performance, the MC invited any member of the audience to try his luck against the resident strong man.
“Roll up roll up! I am pleased to offer a prize of twenty pounds to any person who can go three rounds with the Black Gripper our resident champion, 25 stone never bin beat, who’s having a go?”
The Black Gripper is built like Arnold Schwarzenegger so there is a deadly silence from the audience.
“Come along there – I offer FIFTY pounds to any man who can go three rounds with the Black Gripper our resident champion, 25 stone never bin beat.”
Still no response from the audience.
“Very well then ONE HUNDRED POUNDS to any man who can go three rounds with the Black Gripper our resident champion, 25 stone never bin beat.”
From the back of the auditorium steps a wizened little man about 5 foot 3 inches tall and built like a matchstick.
“Eh reet, I’ll ‘ave a go like, I cud reet do wiv ‘undred quid. I usterwrassle in’t Army when I were a lad, right grand wrassler I were in them days like.”
So the MC has the little chap dressed in a leotard about 5 sizes too large and off they go. “Laydeez and gennelmen – in the red corner, the Black Gripper 25 stone never bin beat, in the blue corner Mr Fred Stump, 7 stone, Army Champion No 3 Platoon 1941. Seconds out, round one.”
The Black Gripper comes out of his corner like an express train out of a tunnel and in a trice has Fred Stump tied in a hopeless knot, with both their arms, legs etc everywhere. The crowd is booing disapproval and Fred’s second is about to throw in the towel, when the Black Gripper is thrown bodily out of the ring and hurtles into the third row of seats, out cold.
The MC can’t believe it. “Fantastic, fantastic” he yells, rather reluctantly handing over a wad of £10 notes to Fred who is dripping with sweat but otherwise unharmed. “Tell us Fred, what’s your secret?”
Fred is ecstatic with his purse money. “Eh, gradely were that,” he says with a huge grin on his face, “I ain’t ‘ad wrassle that good since I were in’t Desert fightin’ Rommel. But does ye know, when yon Black Gripper starts tyin’ me in’t knots like, I thought I were donefor right enough. I were about to yell for mercy when all er sudden I sees this willy ‘angin’ down right in front o’ me eyes like. So like a flash I grabbed it an’ I champed me teeth dahn on it as ‘ard as I could.”
“Oooh,” cried the crowd, wincing and crossing their legs.
“Aye,” says Fred, “but by gum, yer don’t know yer own strength till yer bites yer own willy.”