The year is 2028 and the United States has elected the first woman as well as the first Jewish president, Susan Goldstein.
She calls up her mother a few weeks after Election Day and says, “So, Mom, I assume you’ll be coming to my inauguration?”
“I don’t think so. It’s a ten-hour drive, your father isn’t as young as he used to be, and my arthritis is acting up again.”
“Don’t worry about it, Mom, I’ll send Air Force One to pick you up and take you home. And a limousine will pick you up at your door.
“I don’t know. Everybody will be so fancy-schmantzy; what on earth would I wear?”
Susan replies, “I’ll make sure you have a wonderful gown, custom-made by the best designer in New York.”
“Honey,” Mom complains, “you know I can’t eat those rich foods you and your friends like to eat.”
The President-to-be responds, “Don’t worry Mom. The entire affair is going to be handled by the best caterer in New York; kosher all the way. Mom, I really want you to come.”
So Mom reluctantly agrees and on January 20, 2025, Susan Goldstein is being sworn in as President of the United States. In the front row sits the new President’s mother, who leans over to a Senator sitting next to her and says: “You see that woman over there with her hand on the Torah, becoming President of the United States?”
The Senator whispers back, “Yes, I do”
Mom says proudly, “Her brother is a doctor.”
Giuseppe excitedly tells his mother he’s fallen in love and that he is going to get married.
He says, “Just for fun, Mama, I’m going to bring over three women and you try and guess which one I’m going to marry.” The mother agrees.
The next day, he brings three beautiful women into the house, sits them down on the couch and they chat for a while.
He then says, “Okay, Mama, guess which one am I going to marry?”
Mama says immediately, “The one on the right.”
“That’s amazing, Mama. You’re right. How did you know?”
Mama replies: “I don’t like her.”
AN IRISHMAN’S FIRST DRINK WITH HIS SON
I was reading an article last night about fathers and sons, and memories came flooding back to the time I took my son out for his first drink.
Off we went to our local bar, which is only two blocks from the house.
I got him Guinness Stout. He didn’t like it so I drank it.
Then I got him an Old Style. He didn’t like that either, so I drank it.
It was the same with the Coors and the Bud.
By the time we got down to the Irish whiskey . . . I could barely push the stroller back home.
Six retired Irishmen were playing poker in O’Leary’s apartment when Paddy Murphy loses $500 on a single hand, clutches his chest, and drops dead at the table. Showing respect for their fallen brother, the other five continue playing standing up.
Michael O’Connor looks around and asks, ‘Oh, my boys, someone got to tell Paddy’s wife. Who will it be?’
They draw straws. Paul Gallagher picks the short straw. They tell him to be discreet, be gentle, don’t make a bad situation any worse.
‘Discreet??? I’m the most discreet Irishmen you’ll ever meet. Discretion is me middle name. Leave it to me.’
Gallagher goes over to Murphy’s house and knocks on the door. Mrs. Murphy answers, and asks what he wants.
Gallagher declares, ‘Your husband just lost $500 at poker; and is afraid to come home.
‘Tell him to drop dead!’, says Murphy’s wife.
‘I’ll go tell him.’ says Gallagher.