Two Jews see each other in the street

and one says to the other,

"Did you hear about Moshe?"

"No, I haven't seen him in a couple of years. Why, what's he doing nowadays?"

"Well nothing, he dropped dead last night from a stroke. Funeral's tomorrow morning."

"Oh, that's awful. Well we have to go, but wait a minute, I don't have a suit to wear."

"Neither do I. But it's six o'clock already and the sun's going down, where are we going to get suits?"

"I know, we'll go to Marcus Pinkus tailors, he'll get us fixed up right."

So they go, and there's Marcus Pinkus, and they explain that they each need a black suit for Moshe's funeral. Marcus Pinkus says,

"Don't you boys worry, I have two suits in your sizes right here. I'll stay up tonight and make the adjustments, come in tomorrow morning on the way to the funeral and I promise you they'll fit like a glove, you're going to love it!"

So the two get up on the stools and Marcus Pinkus takes down their measurements and marks up the suits.

The next day they come in and sure as his word, the suits fit like a glove. They pay for them and step outside into the sunrise. They begin walking towards the funeral and one says to the other,

"Hey does this look black to you, or is it a dark navy?"

"I can't really tell."

"Me neither. But hey, look at those two nuns up there, those habits they're wearing are black. Why don't you go on up between them and compare?"

"Hey, that's a good idea."

So he jogs ahead, wiggles between the two nuns—"excuse me, ladies!"—and steals a glance down at the jacket's sleeves. He mumbles something, and after he passes, the one nun says to the other,

"Well I never knew Jews spoke Latin."

"Me neither. Why, what'd he say?"

"Marcus Pinkus fucked us."