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Stein at the Bar

 


A lady and her dog walked into a bar.

"I remember," said the dog, "the guy with the guitar."


It was smoky and dim as they took their seats.

"Scotch, neat," the dog said, not missing a beat.


They were quiet at first as the dog lapped his booze.

"This reminds me," he said, "of the smell of his shoes."


"Don't be crass," she said, "Though his feet did smell,

it seems uncivil, somehow—bad-mannered to tell."


"Man, I loved those slippers," the dog laughed with a wag.

"Slipper," she corrected, just the one, chewed to rags.


"A toast," the dog slobbered, "a toast to our friend.

He's a good snuggle buddy; I like to sniff his rear end."


"That's it, that's enough," she said, grabbing her keys.

"One Scotch is a lot for my lightweight Bernese."










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