On a trip to the USA, a wealthy Arab fell in love with Susan. He begged her
to marry him, but she refused, saying that she had no intention of leaving
America to live in a desert.
Immediately, the Arab bought several grand homes across the USA, from New
England to California, and he took Susan on a tour of the homes, flying her from
place to place in his private jet.
Susan was impressed, and she agreed to marry him.
Six weeks later, in tears, she phoned her father and asked him to take her
back home.
"Whatever for?" asked her father.
"I've married a pervert," she cried.
"What do you mean?" he asked.
"I don't want to talk about it," she said. "Just come and take me home."
So her father drove to her New England home. Arriving there, richly ornate
gold gates opened electronically, and he drove along a wide, straight drive
lined with oaks and maples. And at the end of the mile-long drive was a building
so grand that it made the White House look like a dog kennel.
He climbed the solid marble steps to huge doors, at least twelve feet tall,
and there he met his daughter, waiting for him with her two bags packed and
ready to go.
"Oh, father," she cried. "Take me away from here at once. I cannot bear to
stay a moment longer."
Her father could not believe that she should want to leave such
splendour.
"What's wrong, dear?" he asked.
"The man is a pervert!" she exclaimed.
He asked his daughter to explain this perversion that was upsetting her
so.
"When I married him," she sobbed, my asshole was as tight as a penny piece,
and now, it's as big as a half dollar."
"Nay," said her father. "Surely you're not go to leave all this for the sake
of forty-nine cents!"