The rain was pouring and there was a big puddle in front of the pub just
outside the Air Force Base.
A ragged old Marine Naval Aviator was standing near the edge with a fishing rod, his line in the puddle.
A curious young Air Force fighter pilot came over to him and asked what he was doing.
'Fishing,' the old guy simply said.
'Poor old fool,' the Air Force officer thought and he invited the ragged old aviator into the pub to buy him a drink.
As he felt he should start some conversation while they were sipping their whisky, the haughty AF fighter pilot asked, "And how many have you caught?'
A ragged old Marine Naval Aviator was standing near the edge with a fishing rod, his line in the puddle.
A curious young Air Force fighter pilot came over to him and asked what he was doing.
'Fishing,' the old guy simply said.
'Poor old fool,' the Air Force officer thought and he invited the ragged old aviator into the pub to buy him a drink.
As he felt he should start some conversation while they were sipping their whisky, the haughty AF fighter pilot asked, "And how many have you caught?'
'You're the eighth,' the old Marine answered.
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