A dog walks into a bar and takes the first seat he sees.
"What's your poison?" The dog bartender asks.
Now, before we go any further, I need to clarify that obviously, this is a dog bar. Tended to and patronized by dogs. The building is shaped like a kennel, the bathroom has fire hydrants instead of urinals, you get the picture.
At this establishment, they don't serve drinks, but bones. Dogs stop in to sink their teeth into and suckle upon bones of all varieties: cow, pig, shark, even human. If it's got a skeleton, it's got a place on this establishment's shelf, which, by the way, is called "Fido's".
Anyway, the dog takes a seat and studies the various bones available to him on the wall behind the bar. As a human reader (I assume), you're probably not well versed in bone quality – in terms of chewing/biting, that is. Much like liquor, some bones are of higher quality than others.
You've got your top shelf and your bottom shelf bones. What determines bone quality is a mix of many factors such as the amount of exercise the former animal had gotten during its life, sleep quality over their lifetime, pH balance of the stomach, etc. But mostly what it comes down to is how much milk they drank in their life. Higher milk consumption directly correlates to higher bone quality. (As an aside, remember those "Got Milk?" ads? Well they were funded by dogs, specifically the Dog Tavern League, in order to increase milk consumption, thus improving bone quality during and after life. A win-win, as they justified it).
So the dog takes a long look at all the bones behind the bar and finally decides he wants a chicken femur.
"You sure about that?" Says the dog bartender (whose name is Fido, he's the owner/operator of Fido's), "A fresh shipment of rhino bones just arrived this morning. Top of the line stuff, those rhino remains."
The dog (whose name is also Fido, coincidentally (it's a rather common name amongst dogs, akin to "Mohammad" in terms of dogs)) replied "Nah, I'm not the type of guy who needs top shelf stuff. A simple chicken bone will do just fine!"
"Buddy, I'm just trying to save you from buyer's remorse! Those chicken bones are gross, I wouldn't feed that to my cat!" (dogs have pet cats in this universe) replied the bartender, who we will refer to as Fido 1 from here on out.
"I grew up poor. We didn't have money to spend on fancy things like expensive bones! The chicken bone will do just fine." said Fido 2 (dog patron, obviously).
Usually, dog bartenders don't push back this much, but Fido 1 felt strongly about the quality of product he put out. The only reason they even had the chicken bone on the menu was due to the novelty of having the title of World's Largest Bone Selection. A title Fido's Dog Bar wore proudly. It made them a kind of tourist destination in the city of Dogwaukee.
Issues like this didn't come up often, as most dogs preferred higher, or even simply mid-quality bones. Rarely did anyone ever order a chicken femur, and if they did, they were likely a novice bone chewer who could easily be talked out of ordering it.
Fido 1 did not weaken his resolve. "How about an ostrich tibia? Ostriches have some of the strongest bones of all birds! It's an excellent choice and one of my personal favorites!"
"Really, it's ok, I'll just have the chicken femur!" responded Fido 2, ever the jovial fellow. Even a badgering like this couldn't put him in a bad mood.
"Could I convince you to have a badger clavicle?" Said Fido 1.
"Just chicken for me!" Said Fido 2.
Fido 1 was beginning to get annoyed. What did this knuckle dragger not understand? Chicken femur isn't worth it's weight in cat shit! Maybe he just didn't understand the science behind it, he thought.
"Maybe you don't understand the science behind it," said Fido 1 "You see, chickens who lay eggs can develop something called 'cage layer fatigue', a type of osteoporosis. The condition is caused by the high metabolic demand that producing eggs puts onto a chicken. It draws calcium from their bones, leaving them all brittle! You take one bite out of that thing, and it's gonna crack into a million little pieces! No satisfying bite or chew! And we all…" He raised his voice and gestured to the rest of the bar, which was full of dogs, "love a good bite and chew, don't we boys!"
A chorus of barks, yelps, and howls rung through the bar. Fido 1 passed a smug glance at Fido 2.
"Well, barkeep, that's some pretty airtight logic you've presented, along with some social proof! But, again, I still prefer the chicken femur!"
"Is there ANYTHING I could do to convince you to try out a different bone?" said Fido 1.
"Well…" began Fido 2, "Maybe I could try some free samples? See if there's anything here I might like? To be honest, I haven't actually tried many other types of bones."
It dawned on Fido 1 that he might've been too hard on Fido 2. After all, he looked barely past his puppy years, he probably didn't have much worldly experience.
"Sure!" Said Fido 1, "I can definitely give you some samples. How about we start with that rhino I mentioned earlier."
He turned around and heaved a massive rhino rib off the wall behind him and set it on the bar. From under the bar, he pulled out a bone saw and hacked off a small portion. He placed it on a small plate and pushed it across the bar to Fido 2.
Fido 2 furrowed his brow and lowered his face so it was 2 inches away from the bone, inspecting it carefully with both his eyes and sniffing it curiously with his nose.
He stuck out his tongue and gave it a small lick, paused, and then moved closer and gave it a wary gnaw.
"Ehhhhh I don't know… I don't think this one is really my thing." Said Fido 2.
"Very well! Rhino is not for everyone!" Said Fido 1, "Bit of an acquired tasted I guess. Let's try this one."
He turned around again and pulled a smaller bone off the wall. Again, placing it on the bar, he cut a small portion off with the bone saw, and placed it on a small plate.
"Here," he pushed the plate forward, "This is some of that ostrich that I'd mentioned before. I figure you're maybe more of a bird bone guy."
"That makes sense." said Fido 2, but his doubtful expression said otherwise.
Again, he inspected the bone carefully before giving it a sniff and a little bite.
He paused a second, as if gears were turning in his head.
"I don't like this one either!" he said.
Fido 1 looked downcast, he had already pulled out the big guns, and they'd both misfired. He had one more shot at this, though.
"Ok…" Fido 1 began, he realized he had been too ambitious with his initial suggestions. What had he been thinking? You don't START a new chewer with rhino and ostrich, you gotta start 'em with the classics! Beef or lamb! "I'll give you a choice for this last one, you want beef or lamb?"
"Well, definitely not lamb. You're already putting me to sleep with all these lousy bone recs, if I count one more sheep, I'll fall asleep!"
"Ha ha, very funny" said Fido 1, "Here. This is wagyu beef bone. The working dog's bone."
This one couldn't fail. EVERY dog liked a beef bone, this wasn't some esoteric ossification.
He slid the plated bone over to Fido 2. Fido 1 could see his nose perk up a bit and start sniffing. His eyes widened and a slight glisten of saliva could be seen on his lower lip.
This was it, he'd finally broken him, Fido 1 thought. No one, not even this defiant bastard, could resist a classic beef bone!
Fido 2 deliberately studied the bone, even more so than he had the previous two. Sniffing every inch, inspecting every crack and cranny, licking, poking, touching, eyeing.
Finally, he took the bone in both paws and lifted it to his face and opened his mouth. He placed it long-ways into his mouth, so his jaw clamped down in the center of it's length.
He began to bite down harder, in a slow, continuous, almost interrogative, rhythm. His muzzle and tongue wrapped around it, taking in the beefy, boney flavor.
After a few moments of speculative nibbling, Fido 2 removed the bone from his mouth and placed it back on the plate, and a dubious look formed on his face.
"Well…" said Fido 2, "You know, it was better than I'd anticipated. The beefy flavor was pretty good. And the boney-ness was equally satisfying."
At this point, the entire bar had stopped what they were doing to focus in on the scene playing out between the two Fidos.
"But, it's still missing something. A certain chickeny-ness that can only come from a chicken. Ya know?"
The blank look on Fido 1's face made it clear that he did not, in fact, know.
"Thanks for all you've done for me today, really! It's not every day that a stranger is kind enough to help me expand my culinary horizons! But, I think I'm still gonna have to go with the chicken bone."
Feeling defeated, and with his father's words "the customer is always right", ringing through his ears, he finally conceded.
Fido 1 threw his paws up and said, "Ah, whatever! To each his bone!"
Joke Poo: A Fly Walks into a Compost Heap
A fly buzzes into a bustling compost heap and sidles up to the slickest-looking banana peel he can find.
“What’s your pleasure, pal?” asks the centipede tending the slime bar, its mandibles clicking with practiced ease.
Now, to be clear, this isn’t just any compost heap. This is a high-end, artisanal decomposition center. The kind with strategically placed moisture sprinklers, curated fungal colonies, and rotating shifts of earthworms ensuring optimal aeration. The heap is shaped like a giant discarded apple core, and instead of urinals, the bathrooms have mini methane digesters for… well, you get the picture.
Instead of liquor, this establishment serves up various stages of decaying organic matter. Flies come from miles around to sample the finest putrefaction, comparing notes on the terroir of different veggie scraps and the subtle bouquet of wilted lettuce. They judge quality on the nitrogen content, the carbon-to-nitrogen ratio, and the presence of beneficial microbes.
The fly eyes the selection of festering delights laid out before him – apple cores riddled with fruit flies, a moldy hunk of brie that looks like an abstract painting, a particularly pungent pile of discarded coffee grounds. After a moment, he declares, “I’ll take the petunia.”
“You sure about that, bub?” the centipede says, polishing a segment of its exoskeleton. “Just got a fresh shipment of dead pigeons this morning. Top-shelf stuff. Fermented to perfection.”
The fly waves a dismissive leg. “Nah, I’m not one for the high-end stuff. A simple, wilted petunia will do.”
The centipede sighs. “Buddy, I’m just lookin’ out for ya. Those petunias are full of pesticides! You’ll be shitting green for a week! I wouldn’t feed that to my earthworm nephew.”
“I’m a simple fly,” the fly says, preening a leg. “I appreciate the offer, but I really just want to try the petunia.”
The centipede, whose name is Carl by the way, hesitates, but he is after all just a bartender. “Fine, but don’t say I didn’t warn you. One petunia coming right up.” Carl hands over the soggy flower.
The fly takes a huge bite of the putrid blossom, chews, and swallows it down. “Ahhh,” he says in satisfaction. “That hits the spot. Tell you what, Carl, after this I think I’m ready for a second petunia!”
Carl stares back, dumbfounded. “You… you like that stuff?!”
“It’s the perfect combination of wilt and floral,” the fly says, wiping his mandibles with a tiny foreleg. “It’s just… sublime.”
Carl shakes his head in disbelief. “I… I guess there’s no accounting for taste.” He shrugs. “Another petunia coming right up!” Because at the end of the day, a bug’s gotta eat. And even a classy establishment like this one is happy to serve up a little…joke poo.
Okay, let’s break down this extended “dog walks into a bar” joke and see if we can extract some humor to enrich it.
Joke Dissection:
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Core Concept: A reversal of expectations. We expect a dog bar to serve drinks, but it serves bones. The joke plays on the human-like behavior of dogs within this specialized setting.
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Humor Elements:
- Worldbuilding: The detailed description of the dog bar is funny in itself. The kennel-shaped building, fire hydrant urinals, and “Fido’s” shelf create a whimsical and absurd image.
- Parody: The joke parodies human bar culture, with the “top shelf” bones, bone quality assessment, and bartender trying to upsell the customer.
- Irony: The dog’s insistence on the low-quality chicken bone despite the bartender’s strong recommendations is ironic and amusing.
- Character Interaction: The Fido vs. Fido dynamic, particularly the debate over bone quality and the tasting session, creates comedic tension.
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Key Elements for Enrichment:
- Bones: The central element.
- Dog Culture: How dogs interact, their preferences, and their equivalent of human vices (like choosing cheap drinks).
- Bartender as Expert: The Fido 1 character’s knowledge of bone quality and attempt to educate/upsell.
Enrichment through Factual Tidbits and New Humor:
Let’s focus on the bone aspect and the bartender’s attempt to educate the customer.
Did You Know?:
“Did you know that in the wild, dogs (or their wolf ancestors) will often bury bones to save for later? This is called ‘caching’ and is a way to preserve food when they have a surplus. So, in a way, Fido 2 ordering the chicken femur is like a dog insisting on eating the jerky he found buried in the backyard three months ago – a culinary adventure best left un-undertaken!”
New Joke Idea (Playing on Bone Marrow):
A dog walks into Fido’s. The bartender, Fido 1, greets him. “Hey, Fido! What can I get for ya? We just got a new shipment of dinosaur bones. Massive marrow content, guaranteed to make you howl at the moon!”
The dog smiles, “Sounds good, but actually, I am here for a marrow transplant!”
Fido 1 blinks. “Wait, you want actual bone marrow? Why? We only serve them to be chewed…”
The dog sighs, “Well, you see, my owner is a veterinary scientist and is running an experimental study on the possibility of dogs living up to 200 years old via marrow transplant. He says the dinosaur bones are the newest and most potent material available for such a procedure.”
The bartender stares blankly, “Well… alright. Here’s hoping the side effects aren’t too ruff…”
Witty Observation:
The ‘Got Milk?’ ads funded by the Dog Tavern League are absurdly funny. Let’s expand on that absurdity: “You know, those ‘Got Milk?’ ads were brilliant. Turns out, the real slogan wasn’t ‘Got Milk?’ but ‘Got Osteocalcin?’ The dogs knew what was up all along – calcium wasn’t the only thing in milk that strengthens bones.”
Combining Elements:
“Fido 1 always prided himself on his bone knowledge. He could tell you the age, diet, and exercise routine of any animal just by gnawing on its femur. One day, a poodle walks in, orders a chicken wing (a rarity, to be sure). Fido 1, after his obligatory sales pitch of how amazing the rhino bones is, still cannot dissuade the patron. After a brief investigation, he spits the wing back and yells, ‘Madam! Do you know that this poor creature had osteoporosis!? I’d be ashamed to serve such a thing!'”
The goal here is to amplify the existing humor by adding layers of factual absurdity or playing on the character’s established traits. The ‘Did You Know?’ adds an element of real-world canine behavior, while the new joke and observation build on the existing world of the dog bar, creating even more comedic potential.