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 hel_l kind of
dog do you have?"
"Sir," answered the little man, "it's a little four week old female
puppy."
"Bull!" roared the biker, "how could your puppy kill my
Doberman?"
"It appears that your dog choked on her, sir."