Kate and José were celebrating Thanksgiving with turkey.
They were feeling pretty good before long, and José thought he’d tell Kate a holiday joke.
“Why didn’t the turkey have any pumpkin pie for dessert?” he asked her, slurring his words.
“Because he was stuffed?” she answered.
“No!” he laughed. “Because he was dead, you dumb broad!”
He fell over laughing, he was so pleased with himself. Also, he was drunk. Then he started crying.
“Why are you crying?” Kate asked him, not really wanting to know.
“It always happens this time of the year,” José explained. “Thanksgiving is when I became a homosexual. Do you want to hear my sad story?”
“Not really,” Kate replied, still stinging at his “dumb broad” comment.
“Good,” he said, ignoring her the way most men do. “I was but a wee laddie, when our neighbor took her family out of town to visit her mom and dad. Her husband, Coach Sandusky, stayed behind because, well, he just didn’t want to go. My mother, true to her nature, worried about him. Would he be okay? Would he have anything to eat? Would he ever pay back the money she lent him? So she sent me over to invite him to our house for Thanksgiving dinner.
“I came back a little while later, and she noticed I was visibly upset.
“‘José , did you go next door?’ she asked me.
“‘Yes, ma’am,’ I said.
“‘Did you invite Mr. Sandusky to join us?’
“I shook my head no.
“‘Why not?’ my mother wanted to know.
“‘I was going to ask him, mom,’ I tried to explain. ‘Honest, I was. But when I knocked, there was no answer. The door was unlocked, so it swung open when I knocked. I thought that was strange, so I stepped inside. I called out, but there was no answer. Something felt wrong, so I walked inside of the house looking for Coach, I mean, Mr. Sandusky.’
“‘Did you find him?’
“‘Yes, ma’am,’ I said. ‘He was drunk and passed out in the kitchen. His zipper was undone and a little shrimp was sticking out of his open fly.’
“My mother turned red. I could see she was embarrassed, but I guess she felt this was a learning experience for me.
“‘That wasn’t a shrimp,’ she told me. ‘That was his penis.’
“‘Really?’ I said. ‘Well, it sure TASTED like shrimp.’”