Bites with denomination of origin

Tracing that hot doggie.

This bizarre slogan in a motorway service station somewhere out there reminded me of the following ancient and iniquitous exercise in stereotyping:

A gentleman is promenading his poodle late one night on Enrique Granados (it may have been on the Plaza de la Sagrada Familia: I wasn’t there at the time) when he is stopped by a copper.
–Excuse sir, can you tell me where you got that dog, with its typical Lucille Ball trim?
–Why, he’s mine!
–I’m sorry sir, but I have reason to believe that it’s stolen.
And he picks up the dog, sticks his finger up its arse, and sniffs the evidence.
–I’m sorry sir, but there’s no doubt: that’s a Sarrià dog. Now, what’s your name and address?
–Surely you don’t need to ask me that!

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  1. I like the sound of delicious pork cheese products. Sow’s milk is sadly underrated these days.

    But this isn’t fucked translation!

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