A gay guy goes into a bar and asks in an effete voice, “Can I have a beer please?”
“We don’t serve your types in here,” says the butch barman.
“Serve me or I’ll bring my fierce German Shepherd in here,” says the gay guy.
The barman laughs his head off.
The gay guy comes back in with a truly magnificent German Shepherd. “Let him have it, Cyril!” he orders.
Cyril puts his front paws on the bar and barks, “Bowsy-wowsy!”
Dear Dog,
I am so sorry about you being sent to the dog pound for the broken lamp which you did not break; the fish you did not spill; and the carpet that you did not wet; or the wall that you did not dirty with red paint…
Things here at the house are calmer now, and just to show you that I have no hard feelings towards you, I am sending you a picture, so you will always remember me.
Best regards,
The Cat
A man runs into the vet’s office carrying his dog, screaming for help. The vet rushes him back to an examination room and has him put his dog down on the examination table. The vet examines the still, limp body and after a few moments, tells the man that his dog, regrettably, is dead. The man, clearly agitated and not willing to accept this, demands a second opinion.
The vet goes into the back room and comes out with a cat and puts the cat down next to the dog’s body. The cat sniffs the body, walks from head to tail, poking and sniffing the dog’s body and finally looks at the vet and meows.
The vet looks at the man and says, “I’m sorry, but the cat thinks that your dog is dead, too.”
The man, finally resigned to the diagnosis, thanks the vet and asks how much he owes. The vet answers, “$350.”
“$350 to tell me my dog is dead?!” exclaims the man.
“Well,” the vet replies, “I would only have charged you $50 for my initial diagnosis. The additional $300 was for the cat scan.”
Conclusion: They’re tiny women in little fur coats.