This is translated by me from the French; dad forwarded it from one of his European friends. I guess that’ll tell you something about how they feel in some parts of France.
Donald Trump makes a trip to Jerusalem to meet with Israeli leaders and, while he’s there, he has a perfectly ordinary heart attack and dies.
The mortician team from the hospital contacts the former president’s entourage and says, “we have two options for you. One is we’ll give you the body and you can haul it back to the US for state burial, which will cost millions – and the other is we can give him a pretty simple anonymous burial over here for about $110.”
The leader of the ‘away team’ thinks and says, “We’ll haul him back. You guys have a history of burying people and having them come back after 3 days and we just can’t take the chance of that kind of thing happening.”
I was surprised that my dad shared a joke at all. He’s got a good sense of humor, but “dad jokes” have never been a thing in our family. When I was growing up, dad and I constantly debated the question of whether humor has to have a ‘butt’ – whether ‘funny’ depends on laughing at someone. As a kid, we did a lot of punning and quoting silly limericks, but not a lot of jokes such as the one above. I guess dad has relaxed his standards because we now have an omni-target for humor.