I believe my puppy killed your doberman


A nervous little man, wandered into a tough biker bar in the Bronx and clearing his throat asked, “Um, err, which of you gentlemen owns the Doberman tied outside to the parking meter?”

A giant of a man, wearing biker leather pants, full beard, and covered in tattoos, turned slowly on his stool, looked down at the quivering little man and growled, “It’s my dog. What of it?”

“Well,” squeaked the little man, obviously very nervous, “I believe my dog just killed it, sir.”

“What?” roared the big man in disbelief. “What kind of dog do you have?”


“Well sir,” whispered the little man, “it’s a four week old little puppy.”

“Bull!” roared the biker, “how could your little puppy kill my Doberman?”

“It appears that your dog choked on her, sir.”


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