This bloke is sitting reading his Daily Record when his wife sneaks up
behind him and whacks him on the head with a frying pan. "Whit wis that
fur?" he cries. "That wis for the piece of paper in yir trooser
pockets with the name Mary-Rose written oan it," said she.
"Dinnae be daft," he explains, "two weeks ago when I went to the
races Mary-Rose wis the name of one o' the horses I bet on."
She seems satisfied and apologises, and goes off to do work
around the house. Three days later he's again sitting in his chair
reading when she nails him again with the frying pan, knocking him
out cold. When he comes around, he says, "whit the hell wis
that fur?" "Your horse phoned!" she said.
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