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