Oh yeah, and all that immigratinghellzapoppin’ gasbagging reminds me of this following palaver:
So a Polish guy, an Italian guy and an Irish guy got out of workand confabbed about where to go for a drink. The Irish guy says, "Let's goto O'Donoghues. With every third round, the bartender will give us each a freeGuinness."
TheItalian guy says, “Sounds a’mighty good to me, but if we go to the Baldini's,every third round they bring us a free bottle of wine to the table."
Andthe Polish guy says, "You’s guys, listen. At Kowalski's, we drink free allnight and then go out to the parking lot and get laid but good."
Theother two would-be ethnic stereotypes agree that it sounds too good to be true,so the Irish guy asks the Polish guy if he’s actually ever been to Kowalski’s.Polish guy says, “Heck no, I heard about it from mywife. She goes there all the time.” Ba-ding!
And I got to tell you’s that I thinkthat the jocular tale above just may show how far we’ve come in being sensitiveto the peccadilloes if not downright peculiarities of ethnic types who hailfrom other cultures that got started in other countries of land that would beforeign to the American experience, I kid you not.
Years ago, you see, our threefictitious melting-pot co-workers in need of a drink would’ve beenstereotypically called “Luigi,” “Paddy” and “Stosh.” But hey, just ’causeyou’re a’from the Italydoesn’t necessarily mean your name is “Luigi” and you gesture like a madman oncrystal meth as you verbally butcher the English language. Just because you’refrom the Emerald Isle doesn’t necessarily mean your name is “Paddy,” you have17 siblings, and you are chronically tardy for work ’cause you’re too fockinghammered to know which end is up. And just because you were born in Krakow doesn’t mean your name is “Stosh” and you’refocking stupid.
No sir, “the Italian guy,” “the Irishguy,” “the Polish guy”these are terms of a palatable generic-ness that perhapscan help inform and civilize the dissection of the discussion of our country’speoples’ differences in this day of age. God bless America, you betcha.
So anyways, I got to go and get readyfor the Mother’s Day coming up, the day we celebrate the lady from whom we alltraveled within so as to enter out into this world as we know it.
Now, in regard to the current crapeconomy, I’m guessing many Americans don’t have the extra couple, three bucksso as to present mom with a bunch of flowers, box of candy, new doilies,brunch, Sunday afternoon trip to the zoo, evening at the nightclub featuringthe Chippendales, what the fock. So how ’bout you present her with the gift oflaughter on her special day?
Go for it. Here’s a couple, threelittle stories you can use no matter what the circumstance of your get-togetherbe:
So this little kid sauntersinto his parents' bedroom one night and sees his mom on top of his pop bouncingup and down. The mom notices her son, quickly rolls over and covers herself,worried about what her son has seen. She dresses quickly and seeks to find him.The kid asks, "What were you and dad doing?"
Mother replies, “You knowyour dad has a big tummy and, well, sometimes I have to get on top of it tohelp flatten it.” The kid says, “You're wasting your time, mom. Whenever you goout shopping, the lady next door comes over, gets on her knees and blows itright back up.” Ba-ding!
And who doesn’t enjoy a “Mommy Mommy”zinger?
“Mommy,mommy, I hate Daddy’s guts.”
“Shut up, kid, and keep eating!”
Yes sir, or how ’bout this chestnut?
Littleboy’s in the living room playing Amtrak with his new electric-train set. Fromthe kitchen, the mom hears the train stop and her son say, “All you sons ofbitches who want off, get the hell off now ’cause this is the last stop. Allyou fockers who are getting on, get your asses onboard ’cause we’re leaving.”
The mom can’t believe what she justheard, rushes into the living room and scolds her son, “We don’t use that kindof language in this house. Now go to your room for the next two hours and whenyou come back down, you can play with your train as long as you use properlanguage.”
Two hours later, the boy starts playingwith his train again. From the kitchen, she hears the train stop and the boysay, “All passengers disembarking, please remember to take all your belongings.We thank you for riding with us and we hope your trip was a pleasant one. Forthose just boarding, please stow your hand luggage under the seat and enjoyyour trip. For those of you pissed off about the two-hour delay, please see thefocking bitch in the kitchen.”
And don’t forget you can always springfor a nice riddle, such as: Why don't Jewishmothers drink? Hey, ’cause alcohol interferes with their suffering.
Ba-ding! ’cause I’m Art Kumbalek and Itold you so.
