A Jewish gangster escapes from a shootout with the police and staggers into his mother’s apartment on the lower East Side. Near death and with a gaping wound in his chest, he gasps, "Ma, I’ve been shot."
"Oy. Eat first," his mother says, "Later, we’ll talk."
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A Jewish Mother’s Answering Machine
If you want varnishkas, press 1;
If you want knishes press 2;
 If you want chicken soup, press 3;
 If you want matzoh balls with the soup, press 4;
 If you want to know how am I feeling, you are calling the wrong number since nobody ever asks me how I am feeling.