Not too long ago I heard a story about a wake. In this case, preparations got going early. The husband had been ill for several years and the doctor found the patient in a much weekend condition and remarked to the wife that her husband would probably die today.

She got a big pot of soup going and about 10 o'clock at night made a visit upstairs. The first thing her poor husband had to say was, "Mary dat soup smells good, I'd like a drop."

Wife: "Ah pat b'y can't ya be more considerate? I'm saving that soup fer d'wake."

I told the gathering that during June, I was standing in line on Friday afternoon at the bank. I spoke to a number of people whom I knew in the lineup and then turned my attention to the man immediately behind me. He was a pleasant chap and he told me he knew who I was and then put this question to me in a very Irish accent: "Skipper" why did d'man have to t'row away his waterbed?"
I said "You tell me."
"Because his wife's side froze over."

A henpecked Newfoundland husband was silent as he watched his wife prepare to mount a very large picture of her mother on the living room wall.
"I simply can't decide the best place to put this picture of mother," she said, "I don't suppose you have a worthwhile opinion?"
Well, I think hanging is too good for her," he replied.

Taken from Al Clouston's "When I Grow Too Old to Laugh.....shoot me!"