Murphy came home one night drunk as a skunk, only to find his angry wife standing at the front door waiting for him.
When I say she was angry, she was livid. She was literally seething, furious and whatever other nasty mean ugly words to describe her mood that you might come up with.
It didn’t help that Murphy had alcohol on his breath, that his hair and clothing were dishevelled and there was also lipstick on his collar.
“I assume”, his wife snarled, “that there is a very good reason for you to come waltzing in here at six o’clock in the morning?!”
“There is, woman, there is”, he replied. “Breakfast!”
And that as they say, is when the fighting began. I have a feeling that poor old Murphy didn’t come out of it the winner either.
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