Two globalists are walking down the street. They’re hungry, because of the patriotic tariff on foreign foods, and they’re trying to find a way to get some money. They pass a First Baptist Pentecostal Non-Globalist Church of the Redeemer, and they see a big sign: “CONVERT TO OUR FAITH AND WE WILL PAY YOU $100 CASH.” The first globalist says to the second globalist, “Oh, I could never do that. They don’t believe in globalism.” The second globalist says, “Well, that’s fine for you to say, but I could sure use that hundred bucks.” So he goes in, and the first globalist waits for him on the sidewalk, and after a while the second globalist comes out. The first globalist asks him, “So, how did it go? Did you get the money?” The second globalist looks at him and says, “Is that all you globalists ever think about?”

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A Catholic priest, a Buddhist monk, and a globalist former Presidential adviser are in a lifeboat. The Catholic priest says, “Let us all pray together to our divine Father, and a ship will come along and rescue us.” The Buddhist monk says, “Let us all meditate together on the sublime Buddha’s embodiment of the oneness of all being, and a ship will come along and rescue us.” And the globalist former Presidential adviser says, “I don’t know about you guys, but I’m returning to my previous job at Goldman Sachs!”

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A globalist goes to work for his father-in-law, who happens to be a non-globalist, and, after he’s been working for him for about a year, the globalist arrives at the office and discovers that his special V.I.P. parking permit has been cancelled. So the globalist goes to his father-in-law and asks him, “Why was my special V.I.P. parking permit cancelled? Does the fact that I’m a globalist have anything to do with it?” The father-in-law stares at him for a long time. Then he says, “Of course not! I have some very, very close friends who are globalists.”

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A globalist economist is sitting in his shop on the Lower East Side, making international trade agreements, when a customer comes in very upset and says, “I have a complaint about this international trade agreement you made for me.” The globalist economist looks up from his international-trade-agreement-making bench, adjusts his spectacles, and says, “Come back Monday, when I will be at Davos.”

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A globalist mother and her son are at the beach. The son goes in for a swim, and suddenly he starts to drown. The globalist mother screams, “Save my boy! Save my boy!” A lifeguard jumps in, battles the powerful riptides, and almost drowns himself. After a terrific struggle, he saves the son, and he carries him to the globalist mother. She looks at her son and says to the lifeguard, “He had a hat.” So the globalist mother and her son sue the lifeguard and win a huge settlement from an ultra-liberal proactive globalist judge at the World Court, in The Hague.

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A representative of the Deep State is handing out leaflets on a corner in the garment district. He stops a man and says, “Excuse me, sir, are you a globalist?” The man replies, “I’m a furrier.” The representative of the Deep State says, “Yes, but are you a globalist?” The furrier becomes angry and shouts at him, “Numbskull, I told you I’m a furrier! When did you ever meet a furrier who wasn’t a globalist?”

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A young globalist woman and a young cosmopolite man fall in love and decide to get married. The parents of the globalist woman want to meet the parents of the cosmopolite groom, so they all go out to dinner, and the parents of the globalist woman ask the cosmopolite parents, “And how do you want our grandchildren to be raised—as globalists or as cosmopolites?” There is a long silence. Finally, the waiter, who has overheard the conversation, interrupts: “Forgive me for putting in my two cents, and please excuse my ignorance, but aren’t globalists and cosmopolites pretty much the same thing?”

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My globalist mother-in-law is so unpatriotic. She says to me, “Do you want to be an internationalist citizen of the world? Or do you want to spend the rest of your life sitting in your Buick in Mamaroneck?” And talk about élitist! My globalist mother-in-law is so élitist, she plays mah-jongg with Kristalina Georgieva, the C.E.O. of the World Bank! And out of touch with the real America? You gotta be kidding me! My globalist mother-in-law is so out of touch with the real America that, when I tell her I’m going to Pocatello, Idaho, on a business trip, she says, “Pocatello? You mean the Italian handbag designer?” Don’t get me started.

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Take my globalist wife—please! Or, for the strict globalists who speak only Esperanto: Prenu mian tutmondisman edzinon—bonvole! ♦