It was raining hard and a big puddle had formed in front of an Irish pub.
An old Irishman stood beside the puddle holding a stick with a string on the end and jiggled it up and down in the water.
A curious Englishman asked what he was doing.
“Fishing,” replied the old man.
Poor old fool,” thought the Englishman.
So he invited the old man to have a drink in the pub.
Feeling he should start some conversation while they were sipping their whisky, the Englishman asked,
“And how many have you caught?”
You’re the eighth.”
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