Mullah Stories – Seconds

It had been a real big night at the tavern. Mulla Nasrudin had to be carried back to his shack by his friends. When he woke up the next day, he was startled to see a huge gorilla sitting on the foot of his bed. He carefully reached for his 45. He took careful aim and said, “If you are a real gorilla, you’re in a bad fix. But if you are not, then I am.”

Nasrudin was walking through the desert and spotted a foreign holy man. Nasrudin introduced himself, and the holy man said, “I am a mystic devoted to the appreciation of all life forms—especially birds.”

“Oh, wonderful,” Nasrudin replied. “I am a Mulla, and I would like to visit with you for a while so we can share teachings. And guess what—a bird saved my life once!”

Delighted to hear this, the mystic agreed to share company with Nasrudin. As they shared their teachings, the mystic constantly asked to hear about how a bird saved Nasrudin’s life, but each time Nasrudin refused to tell the story.

One day, after the mystic pleaded and pleaded to hear the story, Nasrudin finally agreed.
“OK, here is how the bird saved my life,” Nasrudin began explaining while the mystic intently listened. “One day about six years ago, crossing a desert much like this, I found myself stranded alone without shelter or food. I was about to starve to death, until I caught a bird and ate it.”

At a gathering where the Hodja was present, people were discussing the merits of youth and old age. They had all agreed that, a man’s strength decreases as years go by.

The Hodja dissented. “I don’t agree with you gentlemen,” he said. “In my old age I have the same strength as I had in the prime of my youth.”

“How do you mean, Hodja Effendi?” asked somebody. “Explain yourself.”

“In my courtyard,” explained the Hodja, “there is a massive stone. In my youth I used to try and lift it. I never succeeded. Neither can I lift it now.”

“Oh, what a funny-looking cow,” the young city-girl said to Mulla Nasrudin. “There are many reasons,” said Nasrudin, “why a cow does not have horns. Some do not grow them until late in life. Others are dehorned. Some breeds are not supposed to have horns. And, this particular cow does not have horns because it is a horse!”

Mulla Nasrudin was weeping and complaining in a bar. “I don’t have anything to worry about,” he said. “My wife takes care of my money. My mother-in-law tends to my business. All I have left is to work.”

A man on the street whom Mulla Nasrudin had asked for a handout advised, “You would stand more chance of getting a job if you would shave and clean yourself up.” “Yes, Sir,” the Mulla said. “I found that out years ago.”

Mulla Nasrudin said to a man sitting next to him in a bar, “one drink always makes me drunk.” “Really?” asked the stranger, “only one?”

“Yes,” said the Mulla. “And it’s usually the sixth.”

Mulla Nasrudin was bragging to his friend about his family. “When I go home at night,” he said, “everything is ready for me, my slippers, my pipe, the easy chair in the corner with the light turned on, my book open at the same place I left it the night before… and always plenty of hot water.”

“I get all that stuff about the slippers and easy chair and book and the pipe,” his friend said, “but what about the hot water, Mulla?”

“Well,” replied Nasrudin, “My family loves me. You don’t think they are going to make me wash dishes in cold water, do you?”

Mulla Nasrudin and his neighbor were talking about problems raising their boys. “Is your son very ambitious, Mulla?” asked the neighbor. “Yes,” said Nasrudin, “He has such big ideas about being rich and successful, he’s already beginning to look on me as a sort of poor relation.”

Nasrudin was hanging a picture in his room. He accidentally hammered too hard, and made a big hole in his wall. He looked through it and saw goats on the other side, but didn’t realize it was his neighbor’s yard.

He immediately ran to his wife and exclaimed, “Fatima! You’re not going to believe this! Guess what!”

“What!” his wife asked curiously.

“Accidentally, while hanging a picture my hammer made a hole in the wall, and through the hole I discovered another universe—a universe full of goats!”

Mulla Nasrudin was chatting with his master, who had taken up art. “When I look at one of your paintings, Sir,” he said, “all I can do is stand and wonder.” “Wonder how I do it?” asked the master. “No,” said Nasrudin. “Why you do it.”

Mulla Nasrudin climbed into a barber’s chair and asked, “Where’s the barber who used to work on the next chair?” “Oh, that was a sad case,” the barber said.

“He became so nervous and despondent over poor business, that one day when a customer said he didn’t want a massage, he went out of his mind and cut the customer’s throat with a razor. He is now in the state mental hospital.

By the way, would you like a massage, Sir?” “Absolutely!” said Mulla Nasrudin.

Every seat in the doctor’s waiting room was taken. Several more people were standing. There was no word from the doctor. Finally, Mulla Nasrudin stood up wearily and said, “Well, I guess I’ll just have to go home and die natural death.”

Mulla Nasrudin finally won a parrot at an auction after some rather spirited bidding. “I assume the bird talks,” he said to the auctioneer. “Talks?” the auctioneer said. “Who do you think has been bidding against you for the past half hour?”

One night, Mulla Nasrudin’s father noticed a light in his barn. He went to see what it was all about and he found Nasrudin with a lantern, all dressed up. “What are you doing all dressed up and with that lantern?” asked his father. “I am going to call on my girlfriend, Dad,” said Nasrudin. “I have got to go through the woods and it is dark.”

“When I was your age calling on my wife for the first time,” said the father, “I went through the woods without a lantern.”

“I know,” said Nasrudin, “but look what you got, Dad!”

Mulla Nasrudin was telling his wife about a dream he had the night before. “It was terrible,” he said. “I was at a birthday party at Yusef’s house. His mother had baked a chocolate cake three feet high, and when she cut it everybody was given a piece that was so large that it hung over the sides of the plate. Then she dipped up some homemade ice cream. She had so much of it that she had to give each one of us our share in a soup bowl.” “What was so terrible about that dream?” asked his wife. “Oh,” said Nasrudin, “I woke up before I could get the first taste.”

The rival political candidates were scheduled to speak at the county fair on the same program. Mulla Nasrudin was chosen to introduce them. He rose and said, “I want to present to you a man who, above anyone, has the welfare of each and every one of you at heart. More than anyone I know, he is devoted to our great and glorious nation.” Then he turned to the candidates and asked, “Which of you fellows wants to talk first?”

It was the ‘better part of town’ and the lady who came to the door said to Mulla, “I should think you would be ashamed to beg in this neighborhood.”

“Don’t apologize for it, lady,” said Nasrudin, “I have seen worse.”

An acquaintance of Mulla Nasrudin touted a certain horse very, very highly. So Mulla put his money on that horse. The next day, the horse came in last. Mulla found the tipster, and screamed, “Boy, have I got it in for you. That horse you told me to bet on came in dead last!”

“Last?” the fellow said. “I can’t understand it. He should have been able to win that race in a walk.”

“That’s the way he tried it,” said Nasrudin, “But he still came in last.”

Mulla Nasrudin lived far beyond his means and was constantly hounded by his creditors. But he was so used to them that their presence caused him no distress. In fact, he treated them with the utmost courtesy. Once he even served a bill collector champagne. “If you cannot afford to pay your debts,” the bill collector demanded, “how can you afford to serve champagne?” “Don’t get sore,” said Nasrudin, “I assure you, this hasn’t been paid for either, sir.”

When Nasrudin was a magistrate two men came before him. The first man said, “This man has bitten my ear! I demand compensation!” The second man said, “He bit it himself!” Nasrudin withdrew to his chambers, and spent an hour trying to bite his own ear. He succeeded only in falling over and bruising his forehead.

Returning to the courtroom, Nasrudin pronounced, “Examine the man whose ear was bitten. If his forehead is bruised, he did it himself and the case is dismissed. If his forehead is not bruised, the other man did it and must pay three silver pieces.”

Mulla Nasrudin used to say: “Every man should have at least one wife, because there are somethings that just can’t be blamed on the government.”

A man said to his friend Mulla Nasrudin: “Who is the boss in your house?” “Well,” said Nasrudin, “my wife assumes command of the children, the servants, the dog and the parakeet. But I say pretty much what I please to the goldfish.”

“Nasrudin, which is wiser, camel or man?” asked an acquaintance.
“A Camel. Because a camel carries loads and never asks for more, but man, even if he is overwhelmed by responsibility, often chooses to add more,” replied Nasrudin,

The town’s richest man had died. The next morning, another rich, and particularly miserly, old man said to Mulla Nasrudin, “I wonder how much he left.” Mulla Nasrudin laughed and said, “every cent of it, sir.”

The clerk was waiting on Mulla Nasrudin at the meat counter, when a woman pushed herself ahead of the Mulla and said, “Give me a pound of cat food, quick, I am in a hurry.”

Then she turned to the Mulla and said, I hope you don’t mind my pushing ahead of you like this.” “Not if you are that hungry,” said Nasrudin sweetly.

A member of the finance committee called on Mulla Nasrudin. “I am calling about the yearly contribution to the fund for converting the heathen,” he said. “last year you gave a rupee.” “What!” said Nasrudin in surprise “Haven’t you converted them yet?”

One day, some other Mullahs complained to Tamerlane about Nasreddin. So Nasreddin took a hen with its chicks to one of Tamerlane’s advisors. The following day, Nasreddin and the other Mullahs were summoned to the palace. After their complaint was heard, the advisor began his defense of Nasreddin. Then Tamerlane asked Nasreddin, “What can you say to prove that you’re not guilty?” He replied, “I have nothing more to say, your Majesty. The hen and chicks have already spoken in my favor.”

“My wife used to play piano,” a friend told Mulla, “but since the children came, she has not had time to even touch it.” “Children sometimes are a comfort, are they not?” said Mulla.

A school teacher wrote a note home to Abdul’s mother, “Dear Mrs. Nasrudin, your son, Abdul, is a smart boy, but he spends all of his time with the girls. I am trying to break him of this habit.”

The teacher received this reply, “I wish you success. Please let me know how you do it. I have been trying for years to break his father of the same habit.”

It was a cold winter day, and a heavily dressed man noticed Nasrudin outside wearing very little clothing.

“Mulla,” the man said, “tell me, how is it that I am wearing all these clothes and still feel a little cold, whereas you are barely wearing anything yet seem unaffected by the weather?”

“Well,” replied Nasrudin, “I don’t have any more clothes, so I can’t afford to feel cold, whereas you have plenty of clothes, and thus have the liberty to feel cold.”

Mulla Nasrudin’s wife complained bitterly to the Mulla. “I am absolutely ashamed of the way we live. Mother pays our rent. My aunt buys our clothes. My sister sends us money for food. I don’t like to complain, but I am ashamed that we cannot do better than that.”

“You should be ashamed,” said Nasrudin. “You have got two uncles who don’t send us a dime.”

Mulla Nasrudin limped into a doctor’s office with a badly swollen ankle. “Goodness, Man,” said the doctor, after looking at Nasrudin’s ankle, “how long has it been like this?” “About three weeks,” said the Mulla. “Why, this ankle is broken,” said the doctor. “Why didn’t you come see me right away?” “Well, I sort of hesitated,” said the Mulla, “because every time I say anything is wrong with me, my wife insists that I stop smoking.”

Mulla Nasrudin greeted his neighbor one day… “Good morning,” said the Mulla. “You are looking fine this today.”

“I am sorry I can’t say the same thing for you,” said the neighbor.

“You could,” said Nasrudin, “If you were as big a liar as I am.”

Mulla Nasrudin called a psychiatrist, and told him that he had problems and needed help. “I want to talk to you,” said the Mulla, “because my ethics have not been what they should be, and my conscience is bothering me.”

“I understand,” the psychiatrist said, “and you want me to help you build up a stronger will power, is that it?” “No,” said Nasrudin, “that’s not it. I want you to try to weaken my conscience.”

A neighbor ran into Judge Nasrudin’s room and asked, “If one man’s cow kills another man’s cow, is the owner of the first cow responsible?”

“It depends,” Nasrudin cautiously answered.

“Well,” said the man, “your cow has killed mine!”

“Oh,” answered Nasrudin. “Well, everyone knows that a cow can’t think like a human. So obviously, a cow isn’t responsible—and therefore, its owner isn’t responsible either.”

“Excuse me, Judge,” the man interrupted, “I made a mistake. What I meant to say is that my cow has killed yours!”

Judge Nasrudin sat in contemplation for a few moments. “Now that I think about it more carefully,” he announced, “this case is much more complex then I initially thought.”

He turned to his assistant and said, “Please bring me that big blue book on the shelf behind you…”

“What in the world happened at the picnic yesterday?” a fellow asked Mulla Nasrudin. “They are saying around the tavern that you acted like a coward.”

“Well, I am no fool,” the Mulla said. “Some of the girls found a big hornet’s nest in the top of a tree and dared me to climb up and get it. And I just didn’t do it, that’s all.”

“Whether you were smart or not,” said the friend, “That sort of thing makes you unhonored and unsung around here.” “That’s right,” said Nasrudin, “but I am also unharmed and unstung!”

A concertgoer turned to Mulla Nasrudin, sitting next to him, and criticized the voice of the woman who was singing. “What a terrible voice,” he said. “Do you know who she is?” “Yes,” said the Mulla. “She’s my wife.” “Oh,” said the embarrassed guest, “I beg your pardon. Of course, it is not her voice that is bad, it is that awful song she has to sing. I wonder who wrote it.” “I did,” said Nasrudin.

After tripping on a rock while walking, Nasrudin angrily yelled out, “Son of a bitch!”

Unfortunately, a man who happened to be standing nearby thought the comment was directed towards him, and was so offended that he took Nasrudin to court, much to Nasrudin’s annoyance.

When the judge heard the case, he ruled that Nasrudin should pay the man five dollars. Nasrudin then handed the judge a ten dollar bill, and as the judge searched for change, Nasrudin asked, “So I take it the fine for cursing at someone is five dollars, right?”

“Right.” “OK then-keep the change you son of a bitch.”

The young daughter of Mulla Nasrudin heard a tapping on her window in the early hours of the morning. There on a ladder was her boyfriend. Their elopement was going according to plan. “Are you all ready?” her boyfriend asked. “Yes,” whispered the girl, “but don’t talk so loud, you might wake up my father.” “Wake him up?” her boyfriend asked. “Who do you think is holding the ladder?”

A drunk on a bus sat next to Mulla Nasrudin. Thinking Mulla to be a preacher from his appearance, and trying to start a conversation, he said, “I ain’t going to heaven. There ain’t no heaven.” The Mulla ignored him. “I say there ain’t no heaven,” said the drunk in a loud voice. The Mulla still didn’t respond. “I said I ain’t going to heaven,” shouted the drunk. Mulla Nasrudin quietly turned to the drunk and said, “Well, go to hell, then, but be quiet about it.”

“Doctor,” a woman cried, as she rushed into Mulla Nasrudin’s house, “I want you to tell me frankly, exactly what is wrong with me.”

Nasrudin looked her over from head to foot, then said, “Madam, I have three things to tell you. First, you are about fifty pounds overweight, Second, your looks would be improved if you took off several layers of rouge and lipstick. And third, I am not the doctor. The doctor’s office is across the street.”

“For fifteen years,” a new acquaintance related, “my habits were as regular as clockwork. I rose exactly at six. Half an hour later I was at breakfast. At seven I was at work. I had lunch at one, and supper at six, and was in bed at nine-thirty. I ate only plain food, and didn’t have a day of sickness during all those years.”

“My,” said Mulla Nasrudin who was listening to the story, “And what were you in jail for?”

“I am going to get a divorce,” a friend told Mulla Nasrudin. “My wife has not spoken to me in three months.” “I’d think twice if I were you,” said the Mulla. “Wives like that are hard to find.”

Mulla Nasrudin said to his wife, “My dear, this article says women need more sleep than men.” “Is that right? ” she said. “Yes, dear,” said the Mulla, “so maybe you’d better not wait up for me tonight.”

A rich farmer had been trying desperately to marry off his daughters. One day he met Mulla Nasrudin. “I have several daughters,” the farmer told the Mulla. “I would like to see them comfortably fixed. And I will say this, they won’t go to their husbands without a little bit in the bank, either. The youngest one is twenty-three and she will take Rupees 25,000 with her. The next one is thirty-two, and she will take Rupees 50,000 with her. Another is forty-three and she will take Rupees 75,000 with her.” “That’s interesting,” said Nasrudin. “I was just wondering if you have one about fifty years old.”

Once Mullah woke his wife in the middle of the night and said, “Quick, give me my glasses.” The wife asked, “Why do you need your glasses in the middle of the night?” Mullah replied, “I’m having a very interesting dream, and need to see some of the details that are a bit blurry.”

A friend advised, “Nasrudin, you should get up early in the mornings, because ‘the early bird gets the worm.'”

“Well,” replied Nasrudin, “I don’t know if getting up early has any merit to me. After all, I am not hunting for worms.”

“I thought you might say that.” said the friend. “But listen… A few days ago, I woke up at sunrise and went for a walk, and I found a gold ring lying right on the ground!”
“Well, how do you know it wasn’t lost the night before?” said Nasrudin.

“I’m sure it wasn’t. I was on the same road the night before and did not see it,” said the friend.
“Well, that shows that it isn’t always so great to get up early,” concluded Nasrudin.

“Why is that?” asked the friend.
“Because the person who lost that gold ring must have gotten up earlier than you did!” explained Nasrudin.

Nasrudin was working for an employer who complained to him one day. “You’re doing everything too slowly,” he said. “There’s no reason for you to go to the bazaar three separate times to buy material—you surely can do it all at once.”

Then several days later, the employer said to Nasrudin, “I’m sick—get a doctor.” Nasrudin came back with a doctor and two other people, causing his boss to ask, “Who are the other two people?”

“Well,” explained Nasrudin, “in order to save myself from making extra trips, I also brought the imam, in case we need to pray for your recovery, and the undertaker, in case you die!”

Mulla Nasrudin was called to testify in an election bribery case. “You say,” asked the judge, “that you were given $10 to vote for the Democrats, and you got another $10 to vote for the Republicans?” “Yes, Sir, Your Honour,” said the Mulla.

“And how did you vote?” asked the judge. “Your honor,” said Nasrudin, “I voted according to my conscience.”

Mulla Nasrudin had lost out in the last election and was feeling sorry for himself. “I was a victim,” he said, “nothing but a victim.” “A victim?, asked a friend. “A victim of what?” “A victim of accurate counting,” said Nasrudin.

Mulla Nasrudin’s wife said to him at a buffet supper: “That’s the fifth time you have gone back for more fried chicken. Doesn’t it embarrass you?” “Not at all,” he said. “I keep telling them i am getting it for you.”

Mulla Nasrudin and his neighbor were chatting. “Yesterday, I took a girl to the soda fountain in the afternoon,” said the neighbor, “and I paid for that. Then I took her to the drive-in for a hot dog and I paid for that. Then I took her to a movie, and I paid for that. Then I took her to a nightclub and I paid for that. Do you think I should have kissed her goodnight, Mulla?” “No,” said Nasrudin. “I think you did enough for her for one day.”

A traveling scholar treated Nasrudin to a meal at a local restaurant.

The scholar ordered two lamb steaks, and after a while, the waiter brought back a platter containing one medium sized steak and one larger one. Nasrudin immediately took the larger steak and put in on his plate.

The scholar in total disbelief explained, “What you did violates virtually every moral, ethical, etiquette, and religious principle there is!” He followed with a long lecture.

When the scholar finally finished talking, Nasrudin asked, “Well, may I ask what you would have done if you were in my situation?”

“Yes,” the scholar replied. “I would have taken the smaller steak for myself.”

Nasrudin placed the smaller steak on the scholar’s plate and said, “OK, fine—here you go!”

Mulla Nasrudin and his wife were discussing a neighbor. “I have never heard a man talk so fast in all my life,” said the wife.

“That’s not surprising, ” said Nasrudin. “His father was a politician and his mother was a woman. ”

Mulla Nasrudin had just checked into the hotel. “Welcome,” said the desk clerk. We are going to do everything we can to make you comfortable, and help you to feel at home.”

“Please don’t,” said the Mulla. “I left home so I could feel like I am at a beach resort.”

Mulla Nasrudin had been fishing all afternoon. A man, who had just walked up, asked him, “How many have you caught today, Mulla?” “Well,” said Nasrudin, “If I catch this one that’s nibbling, and then two more, I will have three.”

Mulla Nasrudin sat fishing in a bucket of water. A visitor, wishing to be friendly, asked, “How many have you caught?” “You are the ninth,” said Nasrudin.

Mulla Nasrudin rushed into a bar and said breathlessly, “The usual, please, and hurry, I gotta catch my train.” The bartender set up five martinis in a row and the Mulla gulped the second, third and fourth, leaving the first and last drinks on the bar. Then he rushed out as rapidly as he had entered. A bystander asked the bartender why the customer left the two drinks.

“Oh, he does that all the time,” said the bartender. “He says the first one always tastes terrible and the last one gets him in trouble at home.”

One day Mulla Nasrudin went to a department store to buy his wife some nylon stockings. Inadvertently, he got caught in a mad rush at a bargain counter where a special sale was in progress. He found himself being pushed and stepped on by crush of frantic women. He stood it as long as he could, but finally in desperation, with head down and elbows out, he plowed his way out through the crowd.

“You there!” said a woman. “Can’t you act like a gentleman?”

“Not anymore,” said Nasrudin. “I’ve been acting like a gentleman for an hour. From now on, I am acting like a lady.”

Mulla Nasrudin, who was really unaccustomed to public speaking, arose in confusion after dinner and muttered hesitatingly: “M-m-my f-f-friends, when I came here tonight only God and myself knew what I was about to say to you, and now only God knows!”

A friend was visiting Mulla Nasrudin. “My boy has just written me from jail,” he said. “He says they’re going to cut six months off his sentence for good behavior.” “My,” said Mulla Nasrudin. “You must be proud to have a son like that.”

In the days following the death of Nasrudin’s wife, Nasrudin’s friends noticed that he didn’t seem to be very shaken up. However, after his donkey died the following week, he appeared visibly upset and quite inconsolable.
His friends, puzzled by his reactions, asked him why the death of his donkey seemed to upset him so much more than the death of his wife.

“Well,” Nasrudin explained, “when my wife died, everyone consoled me and assured me they would find me another wife in no time at all. But when my donkey died, nobody seemed to care the least bit, and nobody offered to get me a new donkey!”

Mulla Nasrudin had just bought a dog and was bragging about him to a friend. “He’s not what you’d call a pedigree dog,” said the Mulla, “but no prowler could get near the house without him letting us know about it.”

“What does he do?” asked the friend. “Bark and wake the neighborhood?”

“No,” said Nasrudin proudly.”He crawls under the bed.”

Nasrudin heard a knock at his door one night. He opened the door, and the man standing there said, “Mullah, can you help a brother out and provided me with some shelter for the night. I am God’s nephew.”

“Oh, is that so?” asked Nasrudin. “It surely is,” the man replied.

“Well then,” remarked Nasrudin, “for an exalted guest such as yourself, I must offer only the most exalted place to spend the night.” Nasrudin stepped outside and closed his door, and then turned to the man and said, “Follow me.” The man curiously followed Nasrudin.

Hundreds of meters down the road they reached the local Mosque. Nasrudin turned to the man and said, “And what better place could I offer you to stay the night than here at your own uncle’s house!”

“This is a lesson in logic,” said the old professor in the teahouse. “If the show starts at nine and dinner is at six and my son has the measles, and my brother drives a Cadillac, how old am I?”

“You are eighty-four,” replied Mulla Nasrudin promptly. “Right,” said the professor. “Now tell the rest here how you arrived at the correct answer.”

“It’s easy,” said Nasrudin. “I have got an uncle who is forty-two and he is only half crazy, sir.”

Invited out for a drink with his friends following a lodge meeting, Mulla Nasrudin said he had to hurry home. “I can’t join you,” he said, “I have to go home and explain to my wife.” “Explain what?” one of his friends asked. “I don’t know,” said Nasrudin, “I am not home yet.”

It seemed that every time Mulla Nasrudin met his lawyer, he had some added legal fees. It worried the Mulla to the point of ulcers. Then one day, he met his lawyer in the post office and said, “Nice day, isn’t it? And remember, I am telling you, not asking you, sir.”

One day Hodja wished to learn playing the zurna—a kind off shrill pipe, and visited a zurna player. “How much does it cost to learn playing zurna?” asked Hodja.

“Three hundred akche (coin) for the first lesson, and one hundred akche for the next lessons,” said the zurna player.

“It sounds good,” replied Hodja. “May we start with second lesson. I was a shepherd when I was young, so I already had some whistle experience. It must be good enough for first lesson, isn’t it?”.

Nasreddin Hodja made a pilgrimage to Mecca. On the way he passed through Medina. While walking by the main mosque there, a confused-looking tourist approached him. “Excuse me sir,” he said, “but you look like a native of these parts; can you tell me something about this mosque? It looks very old and important, but I’ve lost my guidebook.”

Hodja, being too proud to admit that he too had no idea what it was, immediately began an enthusiastic explanation. “This is indeed a very old and special mosque,” he declared. “It was built by Alexander the Great to commemorate his conquest of Arabia.”

The tourist was suitably impressed, but presently a look of doubt crossed his face. “But how can that be?” he asked, “I’m sure that Alexander was a Greek or something, not a Muslim… Wasn’t he?”

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“I can see that you know something of these matters,” replied Hodja with chagrin. “In fact, Alexander was so impressed at his good fortune in war that he converted to Islam in order to show his gratitude to God.”

“Oh, wow,” said the tourist, who paused… “Hey, but surely there was no such thing as Islam in Alexander’s time?”

“An excellent point! It is truly gratifying to meet an English man who understands our history so well,” answered Hodja. “As a matter of fact, he was so overwhelmed by the generosity God had shown him that as soon as the fighting was over he began a new religion, and became the founder of Islam.”

The tourist looked at the mosque with new respect, but before Hodja could quietly slip into the passing crowd, another problem occurred to him. “But wasn’t the founder of Islam named Mohammed? I mean, that’s what it said in the newspaper; at least I’m sure it wasn’t Alexander.”

“I can see that you are a scholar of some learning,” said Hodja, “I was just getting to that. Alexander felt that he could properly dedicate himself to his new life as a prophet only by adopting a new identity. So, he gave up his old name and for the rest of his life called himself Mohammed.”

“Really? wondered the tourist, That’s amazing! But…but I thought that Alexander the Great lived a long time before Mohammed? Is that right?” “Certainly not!” answered Hodja, “You’re thinking of a different Alexander the Great. I’m talking about the one named Mohammed.”

Mulla Nasrudin got arrested for stealing a hog. The trial was short and sweet. There was no concrete evidence against the Mulla, so the judge dismissed the case against him.

But for some reason the Mulla seemed not to understand. “The case is dismissed,” the judge said, “It is over. You are acquitted. You can go.” “Well, thanks, judge,” said Nasrudin. “But do I have to give him back his hog?”

Mulla Nasrudin and one of his friends were sitting under the bridge, listening to the holiday traffic passing overhead. “I hate holidays,” said the friend.

“Yes,” said Nasrudin, “It makes you feel so common when nobody’s working. ”

The new man in town told Mulla Nasrudin, “I have come out here to make an honest living.” “Well,” said the Mulla, “there’s not much competition.”

Mulla Nasrudin was watching youngsters put on a horse show. He said to a bystander, “It’s terrible the way they dress today. Just look at that young boy with the cigarette, sloppy haircut, and tight breeches.”

“That is not a boy,” said the other. “It’s a girl and she’s my daughter.” “Oh, excuse me, Sir,” said the Mulla. “I meant no offence. I didn’t know you were her father.”

“I am not,” said the other. “I am her mother.”

The local imam invited Nasrudin over for dinner one night.

Nasrudin, not having eaten much that day, was famished when he got there, and eager to eat as soon as possible.

After two hours, sermonizing about a variety of spiritual topics the imam had yet to offer his starving guest any food.

As Nasrudin grew more impatient with each passing minute, he finally interrupted the man and said, “May I ask a question?”

“What?” the imam replied, eager to hear some doctrinal question that would inspire him to keep talking.

“I was just wondering,” Nasrudin said, “did any of the people in your stories ever eat?”

“Darling,” said the young woman, ”I could die for your sake.” “You are always promising that,” said Mulla Nasrudin, “but you never do it.”

The PTA meeting became rather spirited as the question of male versus female teachers was discussed. “I say women make the best teachers,” said one large and noisy woman. “Where would man be if it were not for women?”

“In the garden of Eden eating watermelon and taking it easy,” shouted Mulla Nasrudin from the back.

Mulla Nasrudin used to say: “If you want your wife to pay close attention to what you are saying, whisper it to another woman in a low voice.”

Mulla Nasrudin visited his psychiatrist. Among the many questions the doctor asked was, “Are you bothered by improper thoughts?” “Not at all,” replied Nasrudin. “The truth is I rather enjoy them.”

Mulla Nasrudin and his wife were arguing. “I was a fool when I married you,” said the wife. “I guess you were,” replied Nasrudin, “but I was so infatuated at the time, I didn’t notice it.”

A college freshman was talking about girls with Mulla Nasrudin. “Which would you advise me to do? Marry a sensible girl or a beautiful girl, Mulla?” he asked. “I don’t think you will be able to marry either,” said the Mulla. “Why not?” asked the freshman.

“It’s logical,” said Nasrudin. “A beautiful girl could do better and a sensible girl would know better.”

Mulla Nasrudin’s wife was upset and confided to her maid. “Do you know,” she said, “I suspect my husband is having an affair with the cook.”

“Oh,” cried the maid. “You can’t believe that. You are just saying that to make me jealous.”

A neighbor gave the starving Mulla Nasrudin a sandwich, then asked him, “Haven’t you been able to find work?” “Yes, there is plenty of work,” said the Mulla, “but everybody wants a reference from my last employer.” “Can’t you get one?” she asked. “No,” said Nasrudin. “He has been dead twenty years.”

Mulla Nasrudin was being considered as a juror in a murder trial. The attorney for the defense was challenging prospective jurors. He questioned Mulla Nasrudin, “Are you married or single?” “Married for ten years,” said the Mulla. “Have you formed or expressed an opinion?” asked the attorney. “Not for ten years,” replied Nasrudin.

Mulla Nasrudin was stabbed by burglars. But before dying he wrote a note to his wife from the hospital. The last paragraph read, “I have been very lucky because only yesterday I put all of my money and negotiable bonds in my safety deposit box at the bank, so that I am losing practically nothing but my life.”

Mulla Nasrudin was in an accident and sued the insurance company for $1,000, and won his case. When he received his check; he called on his lawyer to settle up. “How much do I owe you?” he asked the lawyer. “Well,” said the lawyer, “I will tell you how it is. Since I am an old friend of yours, and your father before you, my fee will be only $900.” “I am sure glad,” said Nasrudin as he made out his check for $900, “That you weren’t a friend of my grandfather’s too.”

Mulla Nasrudin and his wife were gossiping about the recent wedding scandal. “Just think,” said the wife, “it was just as the bride was coming down the aisle that the groom suddenly turned and ran from the church and skipped town. I guess he lost his nerve.” “Oh, I don’t think so,” said the Mulla. “I figure he found it.”

A man climbed up a tall tree then discovered the trip down wasn’t as easy as the trip up. In fact, try as he might, he just couldn’t figure a way to get down safely.

He asked a few passers-by for help, but no one knew what to do, so he was stuck.

Then Nasrudin walked by and devised a plan. He threw a rope up to the man and said, “Tie this around your waist.” People nearby wondered what Nasrudin was doing, and asked him what his plan was. The Mulla calmly replied, “Just trust me – this works.”

When the man had the rope tied around his waist, Nasrudin pulled the rope. As a result, the man fell from the tree and hurt himself. Bystanders were horrified to see this, and remarked, “What kind of a plan was that?”

“Well,” Nasrudin replied, “I once saved someone’s life doing the exact same thing.”

“Are you sure,” one man asked.

“Yes,” Nasrudin replied. “The only thing I’m not sure about is whether I saved him from a well or from a tree.”

A local man was proclaiming that no one could trick him. Nasrudin heard this, and said to him one day, “Just wait here for a while, and I’ll figure out how to trick you.”

The man waited and waited and waited. A merchant from across the street noticed him, and asked, “What are you waiting here for?”

The man replied, “I’ve been waiting here for an hour, just to see if Nasrudin can trick me. He still hasn’t come back yet.”

“Well then,” the merchant said, “it appears that you needn’t wait here any longer, for you’ve already been tricked.”

One day someone asked Mullah, “What are the best qualities of mankind?” “Well,” he replied, “a philosopher once told me that there are two. He had forgotten the one, but he told me the other. But to tell you the truth, I’ve since forgotten that one, too.”

A young lady went to old Mulla Nasrudin for advice. She asked, “Should I marry a fellow who lies to me?” “Yes, unless you want to remain unmarried forever,” said Nasrudin.

Mulla Nasrudin was complaining about the slowness of the bus to the driver. After he couldn’t stand the complaining any longer, the driver said, “If you don’t like it, why don’t you get out and walk?” “I would,” said the Mulla, “But my wife is going to meet me and she doesn’t expect me until this bus gets there.”

Mulla always said, “Oh, well, it might have been worse.” One day an friend stopped him and said, “I dreamed last night that I died, went to hell, and was doomed to everlasting torment.” “Oh, well,” said Nasrudin, “it might have been worse.”

“What do you mean, Mulla!” cried the man. “How could it have been worse?”
“It might not have been a dream!” said Nasrudin.

Mulla Nasrudin came home and was told by his wife that the cook had quit. “Again?” moaned the Mulla. “What was the matter this time?” “You were!” said his wife. “She said you used insulting language to her over the phone this morning.” “Good grief! ” said Nasrudin. “I am sorry, I thought I was talking to you. ”

The editor tried hard to read Mulla Nasrudin’s handwriting. “Mulla, this handwriting is so bad I can hardly read it,” he said. “Why didn’t you type out these poems before you brought them in?”

“Type them!” cried Nasrudin. “Do you think for a moment that if I could type, I would be wasting my time trying to write poetry?”

When Mulla Nasrudin died, his wife decided to have him cremated. The attendant at the crematory showed his widow a display of beautifully decorated urns for his ashes. “No,” she said. “I don’t want any of those things. I want you to put his ashes in an hour glass. I am going to put it on the mantelpiece. Mulla Nasrudin never did a day’s work in his life, but believe me, he will be busy all day long from now on.”

One day the Nasr-Eddin was having tea at a local chaikhana, where he found himself chatting with, of all people, an astro-physicist. He invited the scholar to dinner that evening.

The Mullah prepared a delicious tagine, for which he had quite a reputation. While enjoying the meal the astro-physicist rhapsodized over the Big Bang Theory, explaining that billions of years ago a tiny, dense, extremely hot point smaller than a flea had exploded to create matter, space, time, the entire universe, and you and me…

Having enjoyed the Mullah’s hospitality, the scholar insisted the Mullah reveal his special recipe for tagine. The Mullah listed all the ingredients, and explained that you simply spread them out on top of the table, and they will arrange themselves, and do all the work.

The astro-physicist exclaimed, “What sort of story are you telling me, Mullah?”
Mullah replied, “What sort of story were you telling me!”

Mulla Nasrudin’s family was upset because the girl he was planning to marry was an atheist.

“We’ll not have you marrying an atheist,” his mother said.

“What can I do? I love her,” the young Nasrudin said.

“Well,” said his mother, “if she loves you, she will do anything you ask. You should talk religion to her. If you are persistent, you can win her over.”

Several weeks went by, then one morning at breakfast the young Mulla seemed absolutely brokenhearted. “What’s the matter?” his mother asked. “I thought you were making such good progress in your talks about religion to your young girlfriend.”

“That’s the trouble,” said Nasrudin. I over did it. last night she told me she was so convinced that she is going to study to be a nun.”

1. The young lady’s hopes had been high for two years while Mulla Nasrudin remained silent on the question of marriage. Then one evening he said to her, “I had a most unusual dream last night. I dreamed that I asked to marry you. I wonder what that means.” “That means,” said his girlfriend, “that you have more sense asleep than you have awake.”
2. “Well, young man, I understand you want to become my son-in-law,” said the father to his daughter’s boyfriend, Mulla Nasrudin. “No, sir, not exactly,” replied Nasrudin. “but if I marry your daughter, I don’t see how i can get out of it.”
3. Mulla Nasrudin was talking to a friend about his recently broken romance. “Do you mean,” asked the friend, “that at her request, you gave up drinking, and smoking, and gambling, and dancing, and playing pool?” “Yes, just because she insisted,” said the Mulla. “Then why didn’t you marry her?” the fellow asked. “Well, after all that reforming,” said Nasrudin, “I decided i could do better.”
4. A girlfriend at a cocktail party said to Mulla Nasrudin, “I keep hearing you use the word ‘idiot;’ I hope you are not referring to me.” “Don’t be so conceited,” said the Mulla. “as if there were no other idiots in the world!”

Mulla Nasrudin’s mule kicked his wife in the head and she died. A huge crowd turned out for the funeral, most of them men. The minister following the ceremonies, said, “This lady must have been very popular. Look at the large number of people who have left their work to come to her funeral.” “They are not here for the funeral,” said Nasrudin. “They are here to bid on the mule.”

Nasrudin called at a large house to collect for charity. The servant said “My master is out.” Nasrudin replied, “Tell your master that next time he goes out, he should not leave his face at the window. Someone might steal it.”

One day, Nasrudin slipped and nearly fell into a lake, but was caught, and saved from a soaking, by his friend walking next to him.

From then on, every time Nasrudin saw that friend, the latter brought up the incident, and make a big deal about it.

After months of this Nasrudin couldn’t take it any more. He led the friend to the same spot, and fully dressed—turban and all—jumped right into the lake!

Bobbing in the waves, he chided his friend, “Now I’m as wet as I would have been if you hadn’t save me that day, so for goodness sake, please stop reminding me about it!”

A very old Nasrudin was lying on his bed, about to die at any moment. He said to his wife, “Why are you dressed in black and looking so sorrowful? Go put on your finest clothes, fix up your hair, and smile!”

“Nasrudin,” she tearfully responded, “how can you ask me to do such a thing? You are ill, and I am dressed like this out of respect for you.”

“Yes,” Nasrudin said, “and that’s why I made my request. The Angel of Death will be here soon, and if he sees you all dressed up and beautiful, maybe he’ll leave me and take you instead.”

And after giving a little laugh, Nasrudin died.

Nasrudin sat near a grave in the cemetery, grieving and lamenting. “Oh, why, why did he have to leave me so soon!”

A man noticed Nasrudin crying, and wanted to comfort him. He asked, “Is this your son’s grave that you are crying over?”

Nasrudin replied, “No, this is the grave of my wife’s first husband. He is the one who died, and left me the woman who has made my life so miserable!”

Boarding a train, Nasrudin was asked for his ticket by the conductor. Nasrudin looked through his pants pockets, but he couldn’t find it. “One moment,” he said. “I know I brought it.”

He searched his bag, and still couldn’t find it. He searched the floor around him, and the missing ticket still eluded him. He even looked in his socks, but alas, the ticket was not found.

Watching this the conductor asked, “Why don’t you check that pocket on your shirt? That’s usually where people put their ticket.”

“Oh, I can’t look there,” Nasrudin replied. “Why not?” the conductor asked.

Nasrudin explained, “Because if I do, and find out it’s not there, then I’d have no hope at all of finding it!”

Nasrudin was in a rush one day, and quickly went to the Mosque for an evening prayer session. The religious leader saw his rushed prayer, and angrily said to him, “This is not right—you offering such hurried prayers. Start over again.”

So Nasrudin complied, and when he finished, the religious leader said, “Now, don’t you think that God appreciated this second round of prayers more than the hurried ones you did.”

“Not really,” Nasrudin replied. “Although the first ones were hurried, they were done for God. But the ones that you made me do were done for you.”

A conqueror headquartered in Nasrudin’s city was looking for how to end a rebellion that had begun in one of the nearby towns he ruled.

“The people have risen against the governor,” one of his officials explained. “They say they have had enough of his oppressive rule.”

“We should send troops and weapons to quell the disorder,” added a military general. “Once we make your Highness’s presence felt, the revolt will surely come to an end.”

Nasrudin, who was in court at the time, then remarked to the conqueror, “Actually, all of that is not necessary. In fact, I know how you can end the revolt with just one special weapon.”

“What’s that?” asked the conqueror with great curiosity.

Nasrudin replied, “One person who will be attentive to the people, and replace the oppressive governor.”

Mulla Nasrudin bought one of those new hearing aids that is practically invisible. He was told that he could return it if it didn’t prove twice as good as the cumbersome device he had been using. He stopped by a few days later to express his satisfaction with the new device. “I bet your family likes it too,” said the clerk. “Oh, they don’t even know I have got it,” said Nasrudin. “And do you know what? I am having more fun with it! In the past two days, I have changed my will three times.”

A well-known dead-beat caught Mulla Nasrudin on the street one day before the Mulla could duck. “I am really in a jam and need money,” he said to the Mulla, “and I have not any idea where I am going to get some.”

“I am sure glad to hear that,” said Nasrudin. “I was afraid you might have the mistaken idea you could borrow some from me.”

The young lady became angry with her boyfriend, Mulla Nasrudin, and said, “You are a perfect dope!” “Don’t try flattery,” said Nasrudin. “None of us is perfect!”

“That pain in your leg is caused by old age,” the doctor told Mulla Nasrudin. “That can’t be,” replied the Mulla. “The other leg is the same age and doesn’t hurt a bit.”

Mulla Nasrudin was talking with his neighbor over the back fence. “Wasn’t that something,” said the neighbor, “the way Maria’s stove exploded last night? The explosion blew her and her husband right out of the front door into the street! ”

“Yes, ” said the Mulla. “That’s the first time they have gone out together in thirty years.”

As a fortune teller, Mulla was reading the palm of a friend. He said, “You will be poor and unhappy and miserable until you are sixty.” “Then what?” asked the man. “Hopefully, by that time,” said Nasrudin, “you will be used to it.”

Mulla Nasrudin’s wife played bridge wisely and according to the rules. Mulla Nasrudin boasted of knowing no rules. However, one evening, he bid and made a grand slam, doubled and redoubled. Excitedly he said to his wife, “See, you thought I couldn’t do it!” “Well, darling,” said his wife, “You couldn’t have, if you’d played it correctly.”

Mulla Nasrudin had just returned a sheaf of poems to the budding young poet. “Do you think it would help if I put more fire into my poetry, Sir?” the young man asked Nasrudin. “No,” said the Mulla. “I would recommend the reverse.”

A policeman stopped drunk Mulla Nasrudin, and said to him, “Do you know who I am?” “I can’t say that I do,” said Nasrudin, “But if you will tell me where you live, I will help you home.”

The bus was crowded when the little old lady got on, and Mulla Nasrudin stood up. She pushed the Mulla back gently and said, “No, thanks.” Nasrudin tried to rise again and she pushed him back a second time. Finally, Nasrudin said to her, “Please let me get up, lady, I am two blocks past my stop now.”

Mulla Nasrudin was coming to after a serious operation. He was just conscious enough to feel the softness of the comfortable bed, and the warmth of gentle hands on his forehead. “Where am I?” he asked. “In Heaven?” “No,” said his wife, “I am still right here with you.”

One day Mullah was asked, “How is it you always answer a question with another question?”

“Do I?” he replied.

“How old are you, Mullah?”
“Forty.”
“But you said that two years ago when I asked.”
“That’s right. I always stand by my word!”

Mulla Nasrudin kept begging the noted pianist to play. “Well, all right, since you insist,” he said. “What shall I play?” “Anything you like,” said Nasrudin. “It’s only to annoy the neighbors.”

Mulla’s wife received a beautiful skunk coat as a birthday gift from her husband. “Why,” she said with excitement, “I just can’t understand how a beautiful coat like that could possibly come from such a miserable evil-smelling little beast.”

“Well,” said Nasrudin, “I did not exactly expect any gratitude from you, but I do think I deserve a little bit more respect.”

Mulla Nasrudin was talking to his lawyer about having his will revised. The lawyer asked him: “What’s to be different about this will?” “Oh,” said Nasrudin, “I am leaving everything to my wife on the condition that she marries again. I want somebody to be sorry I died.”

1. One day Nasreddin Hodja was riding his donkey backwards, facing towards its tail. “Hodja,” the people said, “you are sitting on your donkey backwards!” “No,” he replied. “It’s not that I am sitting on the donkey backwards, the donkey’s facing the wrong way.”
2. One day Nasreddin Hodja was riding his donkey backwards, facing towards the back. “Hodja,” the people said, “you are sitting on your donkey backwards!” “No,” he replied. “My friend here wanted to go one way and I wanted to go the other, so we are compromising.”

Two burglars worked as a team. One stayed outside as lookout, while the other robbed the house. One night, when the inside man returned, his buddy said, “How much did you get?”

“Nothing,” the other said. “This is the house of Mulla Nasrudin.” “Then how much did you lose?” said his buddy.

The editor of the local newspaper was beside himself. He asked to Mulla, “What are we going to do for our front page tonight? Nothing scandalous has happened in town for almost twenty-four hours!” “Take it easy,” said Nasrudin. “Something will happen. You shouldn’t lose faith in human nature, sir.”

Mulla Nasrudin was on his first ocean voyage, and was deathly ill. Trying to comfort him, the steward said, “Don’t be so down-hearted, Sir, I have never heard of anyone dying of sea-sickness.” “Oh, don’t tell me that,” moaned Nasrudin. “It has only been the hope of dying that has kept me alive.”

One day Mullah was asked the secret to longevity. “Keep your feet warm, your head cool, be careful what you eat, and don’t think too much.”

One day the Hodja lost his ring down in the basement of his house, where it was very dark. There being no chance of his finding it in that darkness, he went out on the street and started looking for it there.

Somebody passing by stopped and enquired, “What are you looking for, Hodja Effendi? Have you lost something?”

“Yes, I’ve lost my ring down in the basement.”

“But Hodja Effendi, why don’t you look for it down in the basement, where you have lost it?” asked the man in surprise.

“Don’t be silly, man! How do you expect me to find anything in that darkness!”

Mulla Nasrudin and his friend were talking about their wives. “My wife is very touchy,” said the friend. “The least little thing I do sets her off.” “You are lucky,” said Nasrudin. “Mine is a self-starter.”

A preacher was being entertained at dinner, and the other guests were praising his sermon. One them turned to Mulla Nasrudin, who was at the talk, but had remained silent, and asked, “Mulla, what did you think of the sermon?” “Oh, it was all right,” said Nasrudin, “Only he passed up three real good places where he could have stopped.”

Nasreddin Hodja visited a town on some personal business. It was a frigid winter night when he arrived. On the way to the inn a vicious looking dog barked at him. Hodja bent down to pick up a stone from the street to throw at the animal. He could not lift it, for the stone was frozen to the earth. “What a strange town this is!” Hodja said to himself. “They tie up the stones and let the dogs go free.”

A man in the upstairs apartment yelled to Mulla Nasrudin downstairs, “If you don’t stop playing that clarinet, I will go crazy.”

“Too late now,” said Nasrudin. “I stopped an hour ago, sir.”

“Everybody has something to be thankful for,” the minister said to Mulla Nasrudin, who had just told his tales of his woe. “Look at the man across the room—he just lost his wife in an automobile accident.” “Yes,” said Nasrudin, “But everybody can’t be that lucky, sir.”

Mulla Nasrudin was sitting under a tree chatting with a neighbor, when his boy came up the road carrying a chicken. “Where did you get that chicken?” Nasrudin asked his boy. “Stole it,” said the boy. Mulla Nasrudin turned to his friend and said proudly, “That’s my boy. He may steal, but he won’t lie.”

The town’s new conqueror said to Nasrudin one day, “Hey Mulla, I have a challenge for you. Offend me in a way that your explanation will be a thousand times worse than the original offense.”

The next day, Nasrudin came to the palace, and kissed the conqueror right on the lips.

“What was that!” exclaimed the conqueror with great surprise.

“Oh,” Nasrudin replied, “excuse me! I got you confused with your wife.”

“You don’t love me any more,” said Mulla Nasrudin’s wife through her tears. “When you see me crying, you never ask why.”

“I am sorry, Darling,” said Nasrudin, “but that sort of question has already cost me an awful lot of money.”

Mulla Nasrudin was drinking too much. So much that it began to worry his friends. Finally, they figured out a plan to cure him. The plan was for one of them to dress up like a devil, with horns and a pitchfork. They planned to scare the Mulla into giving up drink. Late one night, as Nasrudin headed home drunk, his friend jumped from behind a tree and shouted, “You will have to stop drinking!” “Who are you?” asked the Mulla. “I am the devil,” said his friend.

“Oh, you are the devil,” said Nasrudin. “I am glad to meet you. I am the guy who married your sister.”

Once, while standing in for the village schoolmaster, Hodja was sent a large box of baklava by the parents of one of his students. His mouth watered at the thought of eating them, but he put them away in the drawer of his desk. Shortly afterwards he was called out on urgent business.

He left his students with a lot of work to do. “And I shall expect you to get everything right,” he said, “or there will be trouble.” He glared at them. “Big trouble.”

“One thing more,” he said as he made for the door. “I have enemies. Many enemies. I keep gettting sent poisoned meats and poisoned sweets. Even poisoned baklava. I have to test everything before I eat it. So be warned. If you hope for a long life, don’t touch anything that has been sent to me. Especially baklava.”

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As soon as he was gone, his nephew, who was one of his students, went to the desk and took out the baklava. “Don’t!” his friends shouted. “They may be poisoned!” The boy grinned at them. Of course they aren’t,” he said. “He just wants to keep them for himself.” And he started in on the baklava. “They really are very good,” he said. He ate another one. When his friends saw that he didn’t fall to the floor in a writhing heap, they gathered round the Hodja’s desk and shared out the baklava.

“But what will we tell him when he finds they’ve all gone?” one of them said, wiping the crumbs from his mouth. The Hodja’s nephew just smiled.

When the Hodja returned, he went straight to his desk and looked in his drawer. He glared at his students. “Someone,” he said, “someone has been at my desk.” There was silence. “Someone has been in my drawer.” Silence. “And someone has eaten the baklava.” “I have,” said his nephew. ” You have! After what I told you?” “Yes.” “Perhaps you have some explanation. If so I would like to hear it before you die.”

“Well,” said his nephew, “the work you set was far too hard for me. I couldn’t do any of it. Everything I’ve done is wrong. I knew you would be very angry and my parents would be very disappointed. I felt so ashamed I decided that the only thing to do was to…to…to put an end to my life. So I ate your poisoned baklava. It was the only way I could think of on the spur of the moment. But the funny thing is, nothing’s happened yet. I wonder why that is.”

The Hodja examined his nephew’s innocent expression minutely. “Perhaps,” he said, “it’s just a punishment postponed. In which case I ought to have a look at the work you have done.”

Nasrudin was digging outside, and his neighbor asked him, “What are you working on?”

“Well,” Nasrudin replied, “There’s a lot of excess dirt on the road, so I’m digging a hole to bury it in.”

“But what are you going to do with the dirt that you’re digging out of this new hole?” said the neighbor.

“Hey,” Nasrudin replied, “I can’t attend to every single little detail.”

“This sure is a lousy party,” a cocktail party guest said to Mulla, who was next to him. “I am going to finish this drink and then get out of here.” “I would too,” said Mulla, “but I have got to stay. I am the host.”

Nasreddin Hodja dreamed that someone had counted nine gold pieces into his hand, but Hodja insisted that he would not accept less than ten pieces. While he was arguing with the man over one gold piece, he was awakened by a sudden noise in the street. Seeing that his hand was empty Hodja quickly closed his eyes, extended his hand, as if he was ready to receive, and said, “Very well, my friend, have it your way. Give me nine.”

The village mayor wrote a poem and read it to Nasrudin. “Did you like the poem?” he asked.
“No, not really,” Nasrudin replied, “it wasn’t very good.”

The mayor was enraged, and he sentenced Nasrudin to three days in jail. The next week, the mayor called Nasrudin in his office to read him another poem he had written. When the mayor finished reading, he asked Nasrudin, “Well, what do you think of this one?”

Nasrudin did not say anything, and immediately began walking away. The mayor inquired, “Just where do you think you’re going?” “To jail!” Nasrudin replied.

A philosopher made an appointment with Nasrudin, to have a scholarly discussion. When the day came, the philosopher dropped by Nasrudin’s house as planned. However, Nasrudin wasn’t home. The philosopher angrily took his pencil out of his pocket, wrote “Asshole” on Nasrudin’s door, and then left.

When Nasrudin finally came home he saw this, and realized that he had missed his appointment. He dashed off to the philosopher’s house.

“Forgive my error,” Nasrudin told the philosopher when he got there. “I totally forgot about our appointment today. But when I got home and saw that you had written your name on my door, I immediately remembered, and came here as fast as I could.”

Mulla Nasrudin came home about midnight and threw himself on the couch in the living room. This woke his wife up, and she stuck her head out the bedroom door and said, “Well, you finally came home. I guess you found that your home is the best place to be this time of the night.”

“Not exactly,” said Nasrudin, “But it’s the only place that’s open after midnight.”

One night, a thief broke into Nasrudin’s house and began putting items in a sack. Nasrudin then joined him and added a few things. The thief was so bewildered he turned to Nasrudin and asked, “What in the world are you doing?”

“Well,” Nasrudin replied, “I thought we were moving, so I decided I’d help pack.”

As Nasrudin and a friend walked, it suddenly began raining hard. The friend noticed that Nasrudin was carrying an umbrella, and said, “Open your umbrella to prevent us from getting soaked.”

“No,” said Nasrudin, “that won’t do us much good. This umbrella is full of holes.”

“So then why did you bring it?” the friend curiously asked.

“Well,” explained Nasrudin, “I didn’t really think it would rain today.”

Mulla Nasrudin approached a genteel-appearing, elderly man with his tale of woe and a request for assistance. The old gentleman refused him, saying, “I am sorry, my friend, I have no money, but I can give you some good advice.”

The Mulla said in a disgusted tone, “No thanks, if you don’t have any money, I don’t guess your advice is worth anything, sir.”

A young playwright gave a special invitation to Mulla Nasrudin to watch his new play. The Mulla came to the play, but slept through the entire performance. The young playwright was indignant and said, “How could you sleep when you knew how much I wanted your opinion?” “Young man,” said Nasrudin, “sleep is an opinion.”

One day Hodja went to a hammam. In order, he took off his turban, fur coat, robe, scimitar, sash, baggy trousers, and his other clothes in the dressing room. He went into the bath. When he later returned to get dressed, he noticed his fur coat was gone. He put on his other clothes and told his problem to the hammam proprietor, who replied, “I’m sorry Hodja, but I think that you are a forgetful old man, and you’ve made a mistake. Stealing and such things never ever happen here!” Hodja was not satisfied with this explanation, and sadly went home.

One month later, Hodja visit the hammam again. He took off his clothes, took a bath and came back to clothing room. His new fur coat and other clothes were untouched, but his lovely turban was gone. He got the same excuse from the proprietor, and became both sorry and angry. But there was nothing to be done, so he went home.

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After each hammam visit Hodja missed a piece of clothing, until finally, he found only his sash and scimitar remaining. He dried off with a towel, tied his sash to his naked waist and hung his scimitar on the sash.

He marched in to the hammam proprietor, pointed to his sash and scimitar and said, “Dear mister proprietor, I may be an old man, and even forgetful, but for the love of Allah, can you tell me with a straight face that I actually came to the hammam like this?

His neighbor asked the Hodja, “Do you have any thirty-year old vinegar?”
“I have,’ answered the Hodja.
“Would you give me some? I need it to prepare a medication,” said the man.
“No, I won’t,” replied the Hodja.
“Why not?” asked the man.
“Well, it’s just the principal of the matter,” replied the Hodja.
“What principle?” asked the man.
“The principle that if I had given vinegar to everyone who asked me, I wouldn’t have any thirty-year-old vinegar.”

“Why don’t you stop picking on me?” said Mulla Nasrudin to his wife. “I try to do everything possible to make you happy.” “There’s one thing you haven’t done that my first husband did to make me happy,” she said. “What’s that?” asked the Mulla. “He dropped dead,” she said.

Mulla Nasrudin’s son, studying political science, asked his father, “Dad, in politics what’s a traitor?” “Any man who leaves our party, and goes over to the other party is a traitor,” he replied.

“Well, what about a man who leaves his party and comes over to yours?” asked the young man. “He’d be a convert, son,” said Nasrudin, “A real convert.”

“When I was broke,” Mulla Nasrudin told his neighbor, “Harry offered to lend me $1000.”

“Did you take it?” his neighbor asked. “No,” said Nasrudin. “That kind of friendship is too valuable to lose.”

A young man had just passed his examination for his private pilot’s license. He wanted to show off, and persuaded the Mulla Nasrudin to go up with him. When they landed, the Mulla said: “Thanks for the two rides.”

“What do you mean, two rides, Uncle?” asked the young man. “You had only one.” “Oh no,” said Nasrudin. “Two. My first and my last.”

“There is nothing which cannot be answered by means of my doctrine,” said a monk, coming into the teahouse where Nasrudin sat.

“And yet just a short time ago, I was challenged by a scholar with an unanswerable question,” said Nasrudin.

“I could have answered it if I had been there,”replied the monk.

“Very well,” said Nasrudin, ” He asked, ‘Why are you breaking into my house in the middle of the night?’”

Mulla Nasrudin called on the minister and told him a distressing story of poverty and misery in the neighborhood. “This poor widow,” said the Mulla, “with four starving children to feed, is sick in bed with no money for the doctor, and besides that she owes $100 rent for three months and is about to be evicted. I’m out trying to help raise the rent money. I wondered if you can help?” “I certainly can,” said the minister. “If you can give your time to this cause, so can I. By the way, who are you?” “I am the landlord,” said Nasrudin.

The election was being challenged by the defeated candidate, Mulla Nasrudin. “I know it was crooked,” said the Mulla. “A friend of mine voted for me fifteen times in the third precinct and I didn’t get but four votes there.”

Several of the town’s warriors were boasting about a recent battle. One of them exclaimed, “In the midst of the battle, several knives had stabbed me in my legs and arms, but I continued fighting and took out five of their men!”

“Well,” another warrior chimed in, “I had an axe go right into my leg, and several blades in my arms, yet I still continued fighting, and was able to overcome an ambush of over a dozen men. In fact, I ended up killing them all!”

“That’s really not that impressive,” replied Nasrudin. “Back in the day when I was in battle, a ten-foot-tall warrior sliced my head right off, but I picked it up, put it back on my shoulders, and kept on fighting as if nothing had happened!”

Mulla Nasrudin’s wife woke him up one morning and said, “Honey, wake up. Today is our 42nd wedding anniversary. I think we ought to celebrate. What do you say we kill a chicken?” The Mulla looked at her and said, “Why in the world do you want to punish a poor chicken for something that happened 42 years ago?”

One day, a barber was trimming the mayor’s beard at the village palace. After finishing he remarked, “Your beard is starting to turn gray.” The mayor, enraged to hear this, ordered that the barber be put in jail for one year.

He then turned to a court attendant and asked, “Do you see any gray in my beard?” “Almost none at all,” the man replied. “What do you mean ‘almost’?” the mayor yelled. “Guards, take this man to jail-and keep him there for two years!”

He then turned to another attendant and asked the same question. “Sir, your beard is exquisite, and is completely black,” the man replied. “You liar!” the mayor shouted. “Guards-give this man ten lashes on the back, and put him in jail for three years.”

Finally, he turned to Nasrudin and said, “Mulla, what color is my beard?” “You Excellency,” Nasrudin replied, “I am color blind, and cannot answer that question.”

Nasrudin’s friend was always worried and distressed over everything. One day he asked Nasrudin advice, “What should I do—I get up early every morning, and it is so dark that time after time I bump into something and hurt myself badly?”

Nasrudin replied, “Get up later in the morning.”

“What are you doing under the bed?” asked Mulla’s wife. “It’s all the lightning and thunder,” said the Mulla. “And I don’t want to get struck by lightning.”

“That’s silly,” said his wife. “If lightning is going to strike you, it will strike you no matter where you are.”

“But, if it is going to strike me, I want to be hard to find” said Mulla.

Nasrudin walked into a shop one day, and the owner came forward to serve him. Nasrudin said, “First things first. Did you see me walk into your shop?” “Of course.” “Have you ever seen me before?” “Never.” “Then how do you know it was me?”

Mulla Nasrudin was in the hospital because he had been injured in a fight. A visiting preacher said to him, “I am going to pray so you will forgive your enemy for hitting you with a brick,”

“It might be better,” said Nasrudin, “if you wait until I get out of here, and then pray for the other fellow, sir.”

“Stand up if you want to go to heaven,” shouted the preacher. Everybody stood up except old Mulla Nasrudin. “Don’t you want to go to heaven, brother?” asked the preacher. “Yes, sir,” said Nasrudin, “But I’m not going on any group excursion!”

“You ought to stand on your two feet and show your wife who is running things at your house,” a big, bossy fellow said to his friend, Mulla Nasrudin.

“There is no need to,” said Nasrudin, “She already knows.”

New neighbors moved in next door. “They seem like a most devoted couple,” said Mulla’s wife. “Every time he leaves for work she comes out on the porch, and he hugs and kisses her. Why don’t you do that?”

“Me?” said Mulla. “I should say not. I haven’t even been introduced to her yet.”

The doctor was giving some bad news to Mulla Nasrudin about his wife. “This is a serious case,” the doctor said. “I hate to tell you, but your wife’s mind is gone, completely gone.”

“Well, I’m not surprised,” said Nasrudin. “She’s been giving me a little piece of it every day for fifteen years.”

Mulla Nasrudin’s wife was in the hospital on her deathbed. Just before passing away, she said to her husband, “Darling, I have only one regret as I pass on. I hate to leave you behind in all your loneliness. I just want you to know if you ever wish to remarry, you have my consent. Only, if you do, I wonder if you would promise me one thing.” “Yes, Darling,” said the Mulla, “What is it?”

“Would you promise not to let your new wife wear my old clothes to remind you of me?” she asked. “Why, certainly I promise you that,” said Nasrudin. “I wouldn’t think of doing such a thing. Besides, all of your things are too small for Fatima anyway.”

A shopkeeper asked Mulla Nasrudin, “Have you ever been offered work?” “Only once Lady,” said Nasrudin. “Aside from that, I have met with nothing but kindness.”

As usual, Mulla Nasrudin showed up for supper with dirty hands and face. “Go wash up,” his wife screamed at him. “Night after night I tell you. And night after night you always come to the table without washing. Why don’t you ever do it without my shouting at you?”

“Well,” said the Mulla, “It’s always worth a try. Who knows? You might forget once.”

One day, Nasrudin went to the local doctor and told him, “Every night for the past month and a half, I’ve dreamt I have wrestling matches with donkeys.”

The doctor gave Nasrudin a herb and said, “Eat this, and your dreams will go away.”
“Can I start taking them tomorrow?” Nasrudin asked.
“Why?” the doctor inquired.
“Because I’m scheduled to wrestle in the championship match tonight,” Nasrudin replied.