At the Al Smith dinner, Donald Trump roasted Kamala Harris for skipping the event, suggesting she’d have shown up if looters were involved, while also dishing out zingers about Eric Adams and Doug Emhoff.

Trump's jabs at Harris for her absence—marking the first time a presidential candidate bailed since Walter Mondale in '84—underscore the increasing divide in political decorum. While he entertained the crowd with digs at legal troubles and personal lives, the vice president's decision to opt for a video message serves as a stark reminder that even at a charity dinner, some political figures just can't face the roast—or the roast beef.

In his signature tongue-in-cheek style, Trump lamented the lack of Harris at the dinner, joking that if she had known the funds raised were intended to bail out looters, she would have canceled her plans. Apparently, the opportunity to help those fond of carrying off flat-screen televisions was a more appealing draw than mingling with political peers and the good people of New York City. This biting humor, albeit slightly inspired by the day's news cycle, was not only aimed at Harris but also a subtle jab at the political landscape where attendance at charity functions now seems optional if the message isn’t pacifying enough.

During his roast, Trump continued his comedic venture with a quip about Harris purportedly being busy 'receiving communion from Gretchen Whitmer', which provoked both laughs and groans from the audience. To be fair, the idea that a political figure might seek spiritual counsel amidst a fervent election season is not entirely outlandish. After all, who among us hasn’t longed for divine intervention in political affairs, especially when dealing with candidates in the running who face their own crises?

Meanwhile, Trump couldn’t resist taking a swing at New York City’s own Mayor Eric Adams, who, let’s be honest, has faced his fair share of scrutiny lately, particularly since being under federal indictment. The mayor’s presence at the dinner might have served as a reminder that legal challenges provide ample opportunities for comic relief. Trump’s remarks were a blend of self-deprecation and sympathy: as he lauded the mayor, he also highlighted their mutual entanglements with the law, turning a dire circumstance into another peculiarly humorous episode in the annals of political gatherings.

But it wasn’t just Harris and Adams who bore the brunt of Trump’s jokes. Doug Emhoff, Harris's husband, also found himself on the receiving end of a 'nasty' quip regarding an affair from his first marriage. Trump's humor appears to have an affinity for personal matters, perhaps a reflection of his own history where marital issues often emerged as fodder for public discourse. One to capitalize on the absurd, even when it circles back to personal anecdote, he reminded the audience that in politics, privacy takes a back seat—if it even exists at all.

Highlighting the reason for the gathering, Trump referenced the charitable aspect of the Al Smith dinner, which benefits Catholic charities. One must wonder if the humor was just the appetizer to a more serious main course aimed at funding support for those in need. Perhaps more pertinent to the evening’s light-hearted attacks was the looming question: while the roast may lighten the moment, the funds to be raised are intended to uplift the less fortunate. By marrying the two concepts—comedy and charity—Trump attempted to remind everyone why they were seated together, laughing.

Despite missing the live appearances, Harris made an effort to engage the attendees through a pre-recorded video. In her own witty style, she managed to turn the table by suggesting that making fun of Catholics at the Al Smith dinner was akin to 'insulting Detroit when you're in Detroit.' A solid point made with a smirk—it seems Harris was prepared to reach into her comedy toolkit even from a distance. However, it’s essential to note that her absence was met with disappointment, not only from the audience but also from Timothy Cardinal Dolan, who publicly expressed his disapproval of her lack of attendance. It's hard to say whether the church, known for its messages of inclusion, would have appreciated such a snub on such a significant evening.

Trump’s critiques didn’t stop there; he eventually took aim at Senator Chuck Schumer as well. He suggested that if Harris were to lose, maybe Schumer could seize the opportunity to become the first female president. This humorous spin on political futures, shrouded with a hint of doubt about either candidate’s chances, served both as a jab and an amusing, albeit serious, reflection on the shifting tides of political ambition and identity—not to mention the tenor of the ongoing campaign season.

Dinner host Jim Gaffigan added to the evening's levity with his own observations about the intense political climate leading up to the election. Each poke and prod at the state of affairs left the attendees in a complex blend of laughter and disbelief, reminding them that while they might dine in fine company, they also navigated a canvas laden with overhanging controversies. A community rich in contentious chatter, all gathered under one roof, proved to be fertile ground for comedic expression.

Despite the mixed reactions, including some groans and boos stemming from Trump's more controversial remarks, there was an undeniable sense of camaraderie amongst the attendees that evening. The atmosphere, while charged with political banter, was established under the banner of bipartisanship—a commendable but increasingly fraught task. The tradition of the Al Smith dinner as a unifier of political factions took a clear, winding road as the participants grappled with the festivities alongside their differences. The event featured humor, particularly when Jim Gaffigan, the dinner host, joked about the political tension leading up to the election.

Amusingly, Trump even considered delving into self-deprecating humor before realizing the nation's state was too grim for such revelations. Apparently, there are limits to self-derision, even in a room full of mockery. Perhaps it was a strategic decision—a moment to spare the audience any semblance of sincerity that might disturb the delicate balance they were all trying to navigate with humor, roast beef, and their favorite form of political entertainment. In the end, the Al Smith dinner wasn’t merely a foray into whimsical political commentary; it was a reminder that even as politics takes its punches, humor holds the power to sustain the dialogue we need—even if it occasionally veers into the bizarre.