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A little old man stumbles into a biker bar and asks, "Does anyone knows whose Doberman Pincher is outside chained up? The burliest, ugliest and hairiest guy
in the joint stands up and mutters, "It's mine old timer. What's it to you?" "I hate to be the bearer of such dreadful news, but I believe the poor beast
has passed on," explained the old man.
"What? Are you sure? How did he die?" asked the shocked biker guy. "It seems that my dog killed him, I'm sorry to say," replied the old man. "I don't buy
it," remarked the biker in disbelief, "No dog could beat my Brutus. "It's true, my Gunther killed him." "Oh yeah? Well, what kind of dog is your Gunther, anyway?" "A Chihuahua," answered the old man.
"There is no way that a measely little Chihuahua could have killed Brutus! No way!" "If you don't believe me, take a look for yourself," instructed the
man, "It looks as though Brutus tried to swallow him whole and choked to death."
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