Six Feet

Marge was in bed with a man (not her husband). All of a sudden, they heard
a noise downstairs. "Oh, my God, your husband is home! What am I going to
do?"

"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."

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!"