See, I don’t actually have anything against the Muzzies themselves,’ said Rasher, leaning forward and putting his elbows firmly on the table. ‘I mean, at least they’re honest about it.’‘They are honest, Rasher, they are,’ replied Smokey, in his usual placid tones. It was already past closing time in the small, rundown London pub Smokey had been running for the last fifteen years. Rasher and Smokey, old friends, were the only pigs left that night.‘They don’t like us, and they admit they don’t like us. You have to respect that. It’s the bloody white people that bother me, Smokey. They pretend to have some sort of affection for us, but they make our lives a misery.’‘They do create a lot of problems, Rasher, don’t they?’ said Smokey, always conciliatory in conversation. He drained the last of his pint of Guinness, and settled back into his seat to listen to what was clearly going to be another anti-white diatribe from his old friend.
> posts in tell a joke subforum>gets snippy when asked where the joke is>implies that satire isn't a form of joke0/10, what even is this
Is that a lengthy haiku?He spoke a joke grimStudents listen carefullyThe joke was on them.
