It’s a tale as old as time, but I still love it.
“Hey buddy, you can’t bring that dog in here, this is a tavern, not a kennel,” the bartender cries.
“Come on, Moe, I gotta show you this,” the guy says, turning to his golden retriever. “This dog talks.”
“I don’t care if he sings the national anthem. He can’t come in here.”
“Just gimme a minute and see if it ain’t the greatest thing you ever saw,” the guy says.
“One minute,” says the bartender at last.
“OK, OK,” says the guy. “OK, Oscar, what do you call the outside of a tree?”
“Bark,” says the dog.
“Good boy, good boy,” the guy says. “Now, what’s on top of a house?”
“Roof,” says the dog.
“All right, get outta here,” the bartender says.
“Wait, wait, wait, give him one more chance,” the guy says, lifting himself up triumphantly. “Oscar, who’s the greatest Yankee of all time?”
The dog thinks for a moment and says, “Ruth.”
The bartender physically ejects the man and his dog from the bar.
As the forlorn pair walks along the sidewalk, the guy says to the dog, “What the heck were you thinking?”
“Come on, man, no matter how much you want me to, I’m not going to say DiMaggio,” the dog replies.
