THE HORTH WHITHPERER

A bloke calls his mate, a horse breeder, and says he's sending a friend over to look at a horse.

His mate asks, 'How will I recognize him?'

'That's easy. He's a dwarf with a speech impediment.'

So, the dwarf shows up, and the breeder asks him if he's looking for a male or female horse.

'A female horth.'

So he shows him a prized filly.

Nithe lookin’ horth. Can I thee her eyeth?'

So the breeder picks up the dwarf and he gives the horse's eyes the once over.

Nithe eyeth, can I thee her earzth?'

So he picks the little fella up again, and shows him the horse's ears.

Nithe earzth, can I thee her mouf?'

The breeder is getting pretty ticked off by this point, but he picks him up again and shows him the horse's mouth.

Nithe mouf, can I thee her twat?'

Totally mad at this point, the breeder grabs him under his arms and rams the dwarf's head up the horse's fanny, pulls him out and slams him to the ground.

The midget gets up, sputtering and coughing.

'Perhapth I thould rephrathe that. Can I thee her wun awound a widdle bit?'