Here’s another joke my dad used to tell:
A young man was leaving his small Irish town for New York City when a little old lady stopped him in the street. She said her son had recently moved to New York and hadn’t called her in several months. She was desperate to hear how he was making on and asked the man if he could get her son call her. The young man told the little old lady that New York was a big place and he’d have a hard time finding her son. She replied that his name was John Dunn and that he lived in a little white house on the side of the road. The young man told her he would do his best to pass along her message and went on his way.
When he arrived in New York he grabbed a cab to his hotel. On the way there he saw a little white house that matched the lady’s description, so he asked the taxi to stop so he could go in. Inside he found a woman standing behind a desk, so he asked her if there was a John there. “Just down the hall, second door on the right,” she said. The young man followed her the directions and entered the door to find inside washing his hands. So the young man asks to him, “Are you Dunn?” The other man looked up and said, “Yes.”
“Well, for God’s sake call your mother!”