A wee, mousy little fella walks into the pub and asks, 'Pardon me, gents, but who owns that gigantic mastiff chained up outside?'
A great, hairy brute of a man stands up off his barstool, looms over the little 'un, and says, 'He's my dog. What of it?'
Nervous as can be, shuffling uneasily from foot to foot, the smaller man stammers, 'I'm terribly sorry to be sure, but...erm...well...it seems that my dog has just killed your dog.'
Taken aback, the big man asks, 'God in heaven, what kind of a dog have you got?'
'A teacup Chihuahua, begging your pardon.'
'WHAT??' roars the giant. 'How in the blue fuck could your Chihuahua have killed my mastiff?'
'Well, it appears he got lodged in his throat.'
Boru
A great, hairy brute of a man stands up off his barstool, looms over the little 'un, and says, 'He's my dog. What of it?'
Nervous as can be, shuffling uneasily from foot to foot, the smaller man stammers, 'I'm terribly sorry to be sure, but...erm...well...it seems that my dog has just killed your dog.'
Taken aback, the big man asks, 'God in heaven, what kind of a dog have you got?'
'A teacup Chihuahua, begging your pardon.'
'WHAT??' roars the giant. 'How in the blue fuck could your Chihuahua have killed my mastiff?'
'Well, it appears he got lodged in his throat.'
Boru
‘I can’t be having with this.’ - Esmeralda Weatherwax