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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 splendor.
"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 ass-hole 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!"
