
A guy strolls over to his neighbor’s place and gives the door a knock.
An 8-year-old answers, looking like he just won a staring contest with a goldfish.
“Hey there, kiddo,” says the man. “Is your mom or dad home?”
“Nope,” the kid replies. “They hauled off to town.”
“How ‘bout your brother… Howard?” the man asks, clearing his throat like he’s about to deliver bad news wrapped in awkward.
“Nah, Howard went too,” says the boy, unfazed.
The man shuffles his feet, stares at a suspicious leaf on the ground, and mutters something about karma.
The kid, sensing weakness (or opportunity), chirps:
“I know where the tools are if you need to ‘borrow’ one… or I can take a message for Dad!”
The man swallows hard. “Well… uh… I kinda need to talk to your dad about… Howard… getting my sister pregnant.”
The boy blinks once. Twice. Then says, deadpan:
“Ohhh, that’s a livestock question. Dad charges $500 for the bulls, $150 for the pigs—but honestly? I’ve got no idea what Howard’s going rate is.”
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