"Just stay in bed with me. He's probably so drunk, he ain't gonna notice you here with me." The fear of getting caught trying to escape was more powerful than the thought of getting caught in bed with Marge, so he trusted her advice. Sure enough, Marge's husband came crawling into bed and as he pulled the covers over him, he pulled the blankets, exposing six feet.
"Honey!" he yelled. "What the hell is going on? I see six feet at the end of the bed!"
"Dear, you're so drunk, you can't count. If you don't believe me, count them again."
The husband got out of bed, and counted. "One, two, three, four... By gosh, you're right, dear!"
'I got in a tiff with Riley.'
'Riley? He's just a wee fellow,' the barkeep said, surprised. 'He must have had something in his hand.'
'That he did,' Kelly said. 'A shovel it was.'
'Dear Lord. Didn't you have anything in your hand?'
'Aye, that I did -- Mrs. Riley's left boob.' Kelly said. 'And a beautiful thing it was, but not much use in a fight.'
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