As the coals from our barbecue burned down, our hosts passed
out marshmallows and long roasting forks.
Just then, two fire trucks roared by, sirens blaring, lights
flashing. They stopped at a house right down the block.
All twelve of us raced out of the back yard and down the
street, where we found the owners of the blazing house
standing by helplessly. They glared at us with looks of
disgust.
Suddenly we realized why: we were all still holding our
roasting forks with marshmallows on them.
Received from Doc's Daily Chuckle.