JERSEY BOYZ

My cousin Vito came out to visit me last week. Vito is from New Jersey; Joyzee, as he describes it. We have had an off and on relationship for quite a while. He refused to speak to me for several years after I insulted his idol, Ronald Reagan. I mentioned that it was silly that during his presidency, Reagan continued to wear the same shoulder pads in his suits that he wore when he played The Gipper in The Knute Rockne Story. One thing you don’t do in front of Vito is to criticize The Greatest President in American history. All is forgiven now, however. I got a tip from a friend of mine who owns race horses. I told Vito about a horse running at Aqueduct and he made a bundle. So much for family feuds.

Anyway Vito came along with his wife. I believe this is wife number five although I’m not sure if I should count the one who mysteriously disappeared two weeks after they got married. There was talk about “a problem” but I didn’t get too much information. Vito is in the cement business and I learned not to ask too many questions about it.

“This is my wife, Poyle,” Vito opened.

“Nice to meet you,” I replied, wondering at the derivation of such a name until he continued.

“She’s my oyster.”

“Oh, Pearl. That’s such a nice sounding name,” I chimed.

Vito has a thing for big women and Pearl was no exception. She clearly hadn’t missed a meal since The Great Depression. Neither had Vito. The first thing we did was head to the nearest Italian Restaurant for a bite. In this case the bite cost me $142. Remind me to get reacquainted with my cousin Sylvia; she’s anorexic.

Over the course of dinner, many courses, I might add, I learned that they had only been married a few months, having met the previous year on match.com, a dating website.

“I hear your governor, Chris Christie met his wife on a dating website, too. It’s called munch.com, an exclusive website for the hopelessly overweight.”

Vito froze in mid-meatball. I apparently touched a nerve. I never imagined that Christie could be held in the same reverence as Reagan. I was soon to learn otherwise.

“Chris Christie is the greatest governor in American history,” retorted Vito after consuming a meatball the size of Newark.

“Wait a minute, Vito. Reagan was governor of California. Are you saying Christie is greater than Reagan? Or just bigger? (I couldn’t resist).

“You’re always trying to twist my words,” he responded as he twirled some spaghetti marinara around his fork, giving me just enough time to reply.

“Vito, he lied to the whole state of New Jersey about the George Washington Bridge scandal.”

“They couldn’t find a thing wrong.”

“He hired his own layer to investigate, Vito. Why would he find anything wrong? He insults anyone who dares to even ask him an intelligent question. He can’t even do a high five on national television.”

“Anyone can mess up a high five,” he artfully defended.

“He actually went to an African-American church and made racist comments. He later made a comment that he was tired of hearing about the minimum wage. “

“I think I’ve heard enough about this,” he declared, after finishing off a second helping of gelato.

Realizing I had gone too far I played my ace in the hole.

“Sorry, Vito. Look, I have a surprise for you.” I pulled out my wallet and presented him with two tickets to the Reagan Library in Yorba Linda.

“Cuz,” he gushed, “all is forgiven. We’re still family after all.”

“Yes we are, Vito. By the way, when you’re there don’t forget to check out the room where they keep all his movie memorabilia. I hear they have a special section for the shoulder pads.”