The curator of the gallery realized the confused couple   were having trouble with interpreting the painting and offered his assessment. He went on and on explaining how it depicted the sexual emasculation of African-Americans in a predominantly white, patriarchal society. “In fact”, he pointed out, “some serious critics believe that the pink penis also reflects the cultural and sociological oppression expressed by gay men in a contemporary society”.

After the curator left, an Irish man approached the couple   and said, “Would you like to know what the painting is really about?”

“Now why would you claim to be more of an expert than the curator of the Gallery?”, asked the couple.

“Because I’m the guy who painted it,” he replied. “In fact, there is no African-American representation at all. They’re just three Irish coal-miners. The guy in the middle went home for lunch.”

He soon realized she was heading straight towards his seat .. As fate would have it, she took the seat right beside his..

Eager to strike up a conversation he blurted out, “Business trip or pleasure?”

She turned, smiled and said,  “Business. I’m going to the Annual Nymphomaniacs of America Convention in Boston  ”

He swallowed hard. Here was the most gorgeous woman he had ever seen sitting next to him, and she was going  to a meeting of nymphomaniacs.

Struggling to maintain his  composure, he calmly asked, “What’s your business role at this convention?”

“Lecturer,” she responded. “I use information that I have learned from my personal experiences to debunk some of the popular myths about sexuality.”

“Really?” he said. “And what kind of  myths are there?”

“Well,” she explained, “one popular myth is that African-American men are the most well-endowed of all men, when in fact it is the Native American Indian who is most likely to possess that trait.

Another popular myth is that Frenchmen are the best lovers, when actually it is men of Jewish descent who are the best.

I have also discovered that the lover with absolutely the best stamina is the Southern Redneck.”

Suddenly the woman  became a little uncomfortable and blushed. “I’m sorry,” she said, “I  shouldn’t really be discussing all of this with you. I don’t even know your name..”

“Tonto,” the man said, “Tonto Goldstein, but my friends call me Bubba.

Two weeks later, the son called the father:

Son: Dad, I met a girl and we’re gonna get married.

Dad: Son, you know what they say about those Southern Belles. They can’t cook, they can’t clean house, don’t make love, and she’s gonna call you Jew Boy for the rest of your life.

Son: I don’t care. I love her and I’m going to marry her..

Two weeks later, the son called the father again,

Son: Dad, I married her!

Dad: What about all the things I warned you about?

Son : Dad, she cooks like a dream, she keeps the house spic-&-span and loves sex.

Dad: What about the last thing?

Son: We came to an understanding…………..

She doesn’t call me Jew Boy, and I don’t call her Schvartza.