A Hasidic man is standing by the bar at Ceasars’ Palace about an hour before Shabbat, all dressed up in his special Shabbat clothes.  A magnificent looking blonde airline hostess, with legs that go on forever, and breasts that are just waiting to envelop a man, has just finished checking in, and is on her way to the elevator, when she sees the Hasid. She stops dead in her tracks and walks over to him.

“Hi,” she says.

“Hello,” he answers.

“I have a confession to make to you,” she says.

He nods.

“I have a sexual fantasy.”

Again he nods.

“I don't know how to say this, but I’ve always wanted to be with a Hasidic man.  I want to run my hands up and down his white silk socks, run my hands over his tzitzis, play with his gartel, run my fingers through his beautiful beard, and fiddle with his payess.  In fact, I want you now, and I have a room upstairs. Will you join me?”

He looks at her thoughtfully and asks,

“And vot’s in it for me?”