The rain was pouring down, and, standing there in front of a big puddle outside the pub was an old Irishman, drenched, holding a stick with a piece of string dangling in the water.
A passer-by stopped and asked, "What are you doing?"
"Fishing," replied the old man.
Feeling sorry for the old man, the gent says, "Come in out of the rain and have a drink with me."
In the warmth of the pub, as they sip their whiskies, the gentleman cannot resist asking, "So, how many have you caught today?"
"You are the eighth," said the old man.