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It was raining hard and a big puddle had formed in front of the 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 visiting New Zealander asked the old man what he was doing.

'Fishing,' replied the old man.

'Poor old fool' thought the Kiwi, 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 Kiwi asked, ‘And how many have you caught?'

'You're the eighth.'

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