This one's my favourite, and I rarely give it away for free. If you can tell it with a good French accent, it rarely misses.

Quasimodo, the hunchback of Notre Dame, was aging, and feeling it. He requested an interview with the Archbishop of the Cathedral and explained that he would not be able to continue ringing the great bell every hour.

"Monsieur, every day I grow 'unchier and 'unchier, and zee fatigue 'as me absolutely whacked. I cannot ring ze bells all ze time any more."

"But Quasimodo!" expostulated the Archbishop. "No one else can create the beautiful, crystal ringing sound that floats over the streets of Paris every day. Quasi, what shall we do? I can't give you up!"

"I 'ave a friend 'oo well 'elp me," said Quasimodo. "'e will take ze morning shift, I will take ze afternoon shift. Eet weel geeve me a break."

"What are your friend's qualifications?" asked the Archbishop.

"'ee 'as none," admitted Quasimodo. "'een fac, no one wee' 'ire 'im because 'ee 'as no arms."

"No arms!!" exclaimed the archbishop. "How will he ring the bell?"

"Listen, Monsieur, 'ee is desparate. "ee weel run at ze bell and 'it it wiz 'is face."

"Good God!"

"Yes, well maybe God weel be good to 'eem and 'ee weel be successful," returned Quasimodo.

After much discussion in various accents, the deal was struck, and Quasimodo's friend was appointed to begin the following morning, with Quasimodo there as moral support.

At eight o'clock, Quasimodo's friend ran at the bell eight times, and managed to produce clear, ringing tones with a fairly even rhythm. People in the streets of Paris looked up, smiled, and said "Ah, Quasimodo ees reengeeng ze bell."

At nine o'clock, having had an hour's rest, the man ran again at the bell, hit it with his face nine times, and produced...serviceable but slightly ragged bongs. One eye was blackened, and he had split his lip, but was still game.

"You just rest," said Quasimodo. "You 'ave, ten, eleven, twelve, zen I take over and you weel 'ave done a good job."

Ten o'clock came and went with ten rough, mushy bongs that were out of rhythm and not at all what the people of Paris were accustomed to. Several of them looked up at the bell tower in puzzlement. The new bell ringer collapsed against the wall of the bell tower, spitting out two teeth.

"Nevair mind!" said Quasi "eet ees nearly over now."

Unfortunately, at eleven o'clock, Quasimodo's replacement created only nine substandard, weak and distinctly unmusical bongs that made the bell sound cracked. "I 'ave failed!!" he cried through broken jaw, staggered over to the parapet, and fell down, down, down into the streets of Paris...

Two gendarmes rushed over to see what had happened.

"My God!" said the first. "Zat man ees a dead ringer for Quasimodo."

"Yes," said the second. "I thought 'ees face rang a bell."

(Sure glad you all don't know where I live.)