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This guy owns a horse stud farm and gets a call from a friend. “I know this midget with a speech impediment who wants to buy a horse. I’m sending him over.”

The midget arrives, and the owner asks if he wants a male or female horse. “A female horth,” the midget replies.

So the owner shows him one. “Nith looking horth, can I thee her mouth?”

So the owner picks up the midget and shows him the horse’s mouth. “Nith mouth. Can I thee her eyesth?”

So the owner picks up the midget and shows the eyes.

“Ok, what about her earth?”

Now the owner is getting pissed, but he picks up the midget one more time and shows the ears. “OK, finally, I’d like to thee her twat.”

With that, the owner picks up the midget and shoves his head up the horse’s canal then pulls him out.

Shaking his head, the midget says, “Perhapth I should rephrase. I’d like to thee her run!”

Q: What do you call a big fish who makes you an offer you can’t refuse?

A: The Codfather!

To go outside, Or to remain within:
That is the question;
Whether ’tis better for a cat to suffer
The cuffs and buffets of inclement weather
That Nature rains on those who roam abroad,
Or take a nap upon a scrap of carpet,
And by so dozing melt the solid hours
That clog the clock’s bright gears with sullen time
and stall the dinner bell.
To sit, to stare
Outdoors, and by a stare to seem to state
A wish to venture forth without delay,
Then when the portal’s opened up, to stand
As if transformed by doubt.
To prowl; to sleep;
To choose not knowing when we may once more
Our readmittance gain: aye, there’s the hairball;
For if paw were shaped to turn a knob,
Or work a lock or slip a window- catch,
And going out and coming in were made
as simple as the breaking of a bowl,
What cat would bear the household’s petty plagues
The cook’s well- practiced kicks, the butler’s broom,
The infant’s careless pokes, the tickled ears,
The trampled tail, and all the daily shocks
That fur is heir to, when, of his own free will,
He might his exodus or entrance make
With a mere mitten?
Who would spaniels fear,
Or strays trespassing from a neighbor’s yard,
But that the dread of our unheeded cries
And scratches at a barricaded door
No claw can open up, dispels our nerve
And makes us rather bear our humans’ faults
Than run away to unguessed miseries?
Thus caution doth make house cats of us all;
And thus the bristling hair of resolution
Is softened up with the pale
brush of thought,
And since our choices hinge on weighty things,
We pause on the threshold of decision.

Shakespaw

Q: What is unique about a goose?
A: It grows down as it grows up.

Q: What do you get from a pampered cow?
A: Spoiled milk.



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