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A highly timid little man, ventured into a 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 leathers, his body
hair growing out through the seams, turned slowly on
his stool, looked down at the quivering little man
and said, "It's my dog. Why?"
"Well," squeaked the little man, obviously very nervous,
"I believe my dog just killed it, sir."
"What?" roared the big man in disbelief. "What in the
hell kind of dog do you have?"
"Sir," answered the little man, "It's a four week old
puppy."
"Bull!" roared the biker, "How could your puppy kill my
Doberman?"
"It appears that he choked on it, sir."


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