Up in the mountains there was an old monastery whose monks had taken a vow of silence, however tradition had it that on the feast day of their patron saint, once a year, one of the monks was allowed to say anything they felt like.
One year, after the meal, the head abbot stood up and pointed at one of the younger monks and said "This year, my son, I have decided it is you who may speak"
The monk cleared his throat, stood up and said "I think the porridge is always too lumpy", and he sat down again.
A year passed in silence, until, at the end of the next feast, as the novices were clearing away the dishes, the head honcho once more stood up and, pointing at one of the monks down the far end of the table, said "My son, this year I have decided it is you who may speak".
The monk stood and said "Er, actually, I think the porridge is always too cold", and sat down again.
Another year rolls around, silently, until once more it is the feast of the saint, and after the meal the abbot rises, and this time selects one of the older monks. "This year, my son," he said, "I have decided it is you who may speak".
The older monk slowly stands up, and says "I have decided to leave the monastery".
"What?!" exclaims the abbot, "But...but you are one of our oldest serving members...you've been here nearly as long as I have! Why on earth are you leaving?"
The old monk looks at him and says "I can't stand all this moaning about f**king porridge!"