Osho's Nasruddin

Mulla Nasruddin went to the psychiatrist and asked if the good doctor couldn’t split his personality.
”Split your personality?” asked the doctor. ”Why in heaven’s name do you want me to do a thing like that?”
”BECAUSE,” said Nasruddin! ”I AM SO LONESOME.”

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During a religious meeting an attractive young widow leaned too far over the balcony and fell, but her dress caught on a chandelier and held her impended in mid- air. The preacher, of course, immediately noticed the woman’s predicament and called out to his congregation: ”The first person who looks up there is in danger of being punished with blindness.”
Mulla Nasruddin, who was in the congregation whispered to the man next to him, ”I THINK I WILL RISK ONE EYE.”

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”What’s the idea of coming in here late every morning, Mulla?” asked the boss.
”IT’S YOUR FAULT, SIR,” said Mulla Nasruddin. ”YOU HAVE TRAINED ME SO THOROUGHLY NOT TO WATCH THE CLOCK IN THE OFFICE, NOW I AM IN THE HABIT OF NOT LOOKING AT IT AT HOME.”

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”What’s the idea,” asked the boss of his new employee, Mulla Nasruddin, ”of telling me you had five years’ experience, when now I find you never had a job before?”
”WELL,” said Nasruddin, ”DIDN’T YOU ADVERTISE FOR A MAN WITH IMAGINATION?”

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Applicants for a job on a dam had to take a written examination, the first question of which was,
”What does hydrodynamics mean?”
Mulla Nasruddin, one of the applicants for the job, looked at this, then wrote against it: ”IT MEANS I DON’T GET JOB.”

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The boss was asked to write a reference for Mulla Nasruddin whom he was dismissing after only one week’s work. He would not lie, and he did not want to hurt the Mulla unnecessarily. So he wrote: ”TO WHOM IT MAY CONCERN: MULLA Nasruddin WORKED FOR US FOR ONE WEEK, AND WE ARE SATISFIED.”

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A man who took his little girls to the amusement park noticed that Mulla Nasruddin kept riding the merry-go-round all afternoon. Once when the merry-go-round stopped, the Mulla rushed off, took a drink of water and headed back again. As he passed near the girls, their father said to him, ”Mulla, you certainly do like to ride on the merry-go-round, don’t you?”
”NO, I DON’T. RATHER I HATE IT ABSOLUTELY AND AM FEELING VERY SICK BECAUSE OF IT,” said Nasruddin. ”BUT,
THE FELLOW WHO OWNS THIS THING OWES ME AND THIS IS THE ONLY WAY I WILL EVER COLLECT FROM HIM.”

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”I will bet anyone here that I can fire thirty shots at 200 yards and call each shot correctly without waiting for the marker. Who will wager a ten spot on this?” challenged Mulla Nasruddin in the teahouse.
”I will take you,” cried a stranger.
They went immediately to the target range, and the Mulla fired his first shot. ”MISS,” he calmly and promptly announced.
A second shot, ”MISSED,” repeated the Mulla.
A third shot. ”MISSED,” snapped the Mulla.
”Hold on there!” said the stranger. ”What are you trying to do? You are not even aiming at the target.
And, you have missed three targets already.”
”SIR,” said Nasruddin, ”I AM SHOOTING FOR THAT TEN SPOT OF YOURS, AND I AM CALLING MY SHOT AS PROMISED.”

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A rich widow had lost all her money in a business deal and was flat broke. She told her lover, Mulla Nasruddin, about it and asked, ”Dear, in spite of the fact that I am not rich any more will you still love me?”
”CERTAINLY, HONEY,” said Nasruddin, ”I WILL. LOVE YOU ALWAYS – EVEN THOUGH I WILL PROBABLY NEVER SEE YOU AGAIN.”

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A patent medicine salesman at the fair was shouting his claims for his Rejuvenation Elixir. ”If you don’t believe the label, just look at me,” he shouted. ”I take it and I am 300 years old.”
”Is he really that old?” asked a farmer of the salesman’s young assistant, Mulla Nasruddin.
”I REALLY DON’T KNOW,” said Nasruddin. ”YOU SEE, I HAVE ONLY BEEN WITH HIM FOR 180 YEARS.”

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Mulla Nasruddin complained to the health department about his brothers.
”I have got six brothers,”he said. ”We all live in one room. They have too many pets. One has twelve monkeys and another has twelve dogs. There’s no air in the room and it’s terrible! You have got to do something about it.”
”Have you got windows?” asked the man at the health department.
”Yes,” said the Mulla.
”Why don’t you open them?” he suggested.
”WHAT?” yelled Nasruddin, ”AND LOSE ALL MY PIGEONS?”

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Mulla Nasruddin had just asked his newest girlfriend to marry him. But she seemed undecided.
”If I should say no to you” she said, ”would you commit suicide?”
”THAT,” said Nasruddin gallantly, ”HAS BEEN MY USUAL PROCEDURE.”

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The young lady had said she would marry him, and Mulla Nasruddin was holding her tenderly. ”I wonder what your folks will think,” he said. ”Do they know that I write poetry?”
”Not yet, Honey,” she said. ”I HAVE TOLD THEM ABOUT YOUR DRINKING AND GAMBLING, BUT I THOUGHT I’D BETTER NOT TELL THEM EVERYTHING AT ONCE.”

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Mulla Nasruddin was looking over greeting cards.
The salesman said, ”Here’s a nice one – ”TO THE ONLY GIRL I EVER LOVED.”
”WONDERFUL,” said Nasruddin. ”I WILL TAKE SIX.”

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”Well, Nasruddin, my boy,” said his uncle, ”my congratulations! I hear you are engaged to one of the pretty Noyes twins.”
”Rather!” replied Mulla Nasruddin, heartily.
”But,” said his uncle, ”how on earth do you manage to tell them apart?”
”OH,” said Nasruddin. ”I DON’T TRY!”

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”And are mine the only lips, Mulla, you have kissed?” asked she.
”YES,” said Nasruddin, ”AND THEY ARE THE SWEETEST OF ALL.”

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”What made you quarrel with Mulla Nasruddin?”
”Well, he proposed to me again last night.”
”Where was the harm in it?”
”MY DEAR, I HAD ACCEPTED HIM THE NIGHT BEFORE.”

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”What do you want with your old letters?” the girl asked her ex-boyfriend, Mulla Nasruddin. ”I have given you back your ring. Do you think I am going to use your letters to sue you or something?”
”OH, NO,” said Nasruddin, ”IT’S NOT THAT. I PAID A FELLOW TWENTY-FIVE DOLLARS TO WRITE THEM FOR ME AND I MAY WANT TO USE THEM OVER AGAIN.”

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Mulla Nasruddin said to his girlfriend. ”What do you say we do something different tonight, for a change?”
”O.K.,” she said. ”What do you suggest?”
”YOU TRY TO KISS ME,” said Nasruddin, ”AND I WILL SLAP YOUR FACE!”

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”What’s the best way to teach a girl to swim?” a friend asked Mulla Nasruddin.
”First you put your left arm around her waist,” said the Mulla. ”Then you gently take her left hand and...”
”She’s my sister,” interrupted the friend.
”OH, THEN PUSH HER OFF THE DOCK,” said Nasruddin.

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”There just is not any justice in this world,” said Mulla Nasruddin to a friend. ”I used to be a 97-pound weakling, and whenever I went to the beach with my girl, this big 197-pound bully came over and kicked sand in my face. I decided to do something about it, so I took a weight-lifting course and after a while I weighed 197
pounds.”
”So what happened?” his friend asked.
”WELL, AFTER THAT,” said Nasruddin, ”WHENEVER I WENT TO THE BEACH WITH MY GIRL, A 257-POUND BULLY KICKED SAND IN MY FACE.”

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”Dorothy, your boyfriend, Mulla Nasruddin, seems very bashful,” said Mama to her daughter.
”Bashful!” echoed the daughter, ”bashful is no name for it.”
”Why don’t you encourage him a little more? Some men have to be taught how to do their courting. He’s a good catch.”
”Encourage him!” said the daughter, ”he cannot take the most palpable hint. Why, only last night when I sat all alone on the sofa, he perched up in a chair as far away as he could get. I asked him if he didn’t think it strange that a man’s arm and a woman’s waist seemed always to be the same length, and what do you think he did?”
”Why, just what any sensible man would have done – tried it.”
”NO,” said the daughter. ”HE ASKED ME IF I COULD FIND A PIECE OF STRING SO WE COULD MEASURE AND SEE IF IT WAS SO.”

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”Did you know I am a hero?” said Mulla Nasruddin to his friends in the teahouse.
”How come you’re a hero?” asked someone.
”Well, it was my girlfriend’s birthday,” said the Mulla, ”and she said if I ever brought her a gift she would just drop dead in sheer joy. So, I DIDN’T BUY HER ANY AND SAVED HER LIFE.”

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Mulla Nasruddin finally spoke to his girlfriend’s father about marrying his daughter.
”It’s a mere formality, I know,” said the Mulla, ”but we thought you would be pleased if I asked.”
”And where did you get the idea,” her father asked, ”that asking my consent to the marriage was a mere formality?”
”NATURALLY, FROM YOUR WIFE, SIR,” said Nasruddin.

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Mulla Nasruddin, a party to a suit, was obliged to return home before the jury had brought in its verdict.
When the case was decided in Nasruddin’s favour, his lawyer wired him: ”RIGHT AND JUSTICE WON.”
To which the Mulla replied immediately: ”APPEAL AT ONCE.”

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Mulla Nasruddin had knocked down a woman pedes-trian, and the traffic cop on the corner began to bawl him out, yelling, ”You must be blind!”
”What’s the matter with you,” Nasruddin yelled back.
”I HIT HER, DIDN’T I?”

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Mulla Nasruddin, disturbed by the way his taxi driver was whizzing around corners, finally said to him, ”WHY DON’T YOU DO WHAT I DO WHEN I TURN CORNERS – I JUST SHUT MY EYES.”

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Mulla Nasruddin stood quietly at the bedside of his dying father. ”Please, my boy,” whispered the old man, ”always remember that wealth does not bring happiness.”
”YES,FATHER,”said Nasruddin,”I REALIZE THAT BUT ATLEAST IT WILL ALLOW ME TO CHOOSE THE KIND OF MISERY I FIND MOST AGREEABLE.”

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One philosopher said in the teahouse one day: ”If you will give me Aristotle’s system of logic, I will force my enemy to a conclusion; give me the syllogism, and that is all I ask.”
Another philosopher replied: ”If you give me the Socratic system of interrogatory, I will run my adversary into a corner.”
Mulla Nasruddin hearing all this said: ”MY BRETHREN, IF YOU WILL GIVE ME A LITTLE READY CASH, I WILL ALWAYS GAIN MY POINT. I WILL ALWAYS DRIVE MY ADVERSARY TO A CONCLUSION. BECAUSE A LITTLE READY CASH IS A WONDERFUL CLEARER OF THE INTELLECT.”

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Mulla Nasruddin, hard of hearing, went to the doctor.
”Do you smoke?”
”Yes.”
”Much?”
”Sure, all the time.”
”Drink?”
”Yes, just about anything at all. Any time, too.”
”What about late hours? And girls, do you chase them?”
”Sure thing; I live it up whenever I get the chance.” ”Well, you will have to cut out all that.”
”JUST TO HEAR BETTER? NO THANKS,” said Nasruddin, as he walked out of the doctor’s office.

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The hypochondriac, Mulla Nasruddin, called on his doctor and said, ”THERE IS SOMETHING WRONG WITH MY WIFE. SHE NEVER HAS THE DOCTOR IN.”
Mulla Nasruddin complained to the doctor about the size of his bill.
”But, Mulla,” said the doctor, ”You must remember that I made eleven visits to your home for you.”
”YES,” said Nasruddin, ”BUT YOU SEEM TO BE FORGETTING THAT I INFECTED THE WHOLE NEIGHBOURHOOD.”

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A wandering beggar received so warm a welcome from Mulla Nasruddin that he was astonished and touched.
”Your welcome warms the heart of one who is often rebuffed,” said the beggar. ”But how did you know, Sir, that I come from another town?”
”JUST THE FACT THAT YOU CAME TO ME,” said Nasruddin,”PROVES YOU ARE FROM ANOTHER TOWN. HERE EVERYONE KNOWS BETTER THAN TO CALL ON ME.”

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A psychiatrist once asked his patient, Mulla Nasruddin, if the latter suffered from fantasies of selfimportance. ”NO,” replied the Mulla, ”ON THE CONTRARY, I THINK OF MYSELF AS MUCH LESS THAN I REALLY AM.”

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Mulla Nasruddin, visiting India, was told he should by all means go on a tiger hunt before returning to his country.
”It’s easy,” he was assured. ”You simply tie a bleating goat in a thicket as night comes on. The cries of the animal will attract a tiger. You are up in a nearby tree. When the tiger arrives, aim your gun between his eyes and blast away.”
When the Mulla returned from the hunt he was asked how he made out. ”No luck at all,” said Nasruddin.
”Those tigers are altogether too clever for me. THEY TRAVEL IN PAIRS,AND EACH ONE CLOSES AN EYE. SO, OF COURSE, I MISSED THEM EVERY TIME.”

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Mulla Nasruddin and his wife went to visit a church that had over the portal the inscription: ”This is the house of God – This is the gate of Heaven.”
Nasruddin glanced at these words, tried the door and found it locked, turned to his wife and said: ”IN OTHER WORDS GO TO HELL!”

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”We want a responsible man for this job,” said the employer to the applicant, Mulla Nasruddin.
”Well, I guess I am just your man,” said Nasruddin.
”NO MATTER WHERE I WORKED, WHENEVER ANYTHING WENT WRONG, THEY TOLD ME I WAS RESPONSIBLE, Sir.”

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Two fellows at a cocktail party were talking about Mulla Nasruddin, a friend of theirs, who also was there.
”Look at him,” the first friend said, ”over there in the corner with all those girls standing around listening to him tell big stories and bragging. I thought he was supposed to be a woman hater.”
”HE IS,” said the second friend, ”ONLY HE LEFT HER AT HOME TONIGHT.”

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”I see you keep copies of all the letters you write to your wife. Do you do that to avoid repeating yourself?” one friend asked Mulla Nasruddin.
”NO,” said Nasruddin, ”TO AVOID CONTRADICTING MYSELF.”

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Mulla Nasruddin told his little boy to climb to the top of the step-ladder. He then held his arms open and told the little fellow to jump. As the little boy jumped, the Mulla stepped back and the boy fell flat on his face.
”THAT’S TO TEACH YOU A LESSON,” said Nasruddin. ”DON’T EVER TRUST ANYBODY, EVEN IF IT IS YOUR OWN FATHER.”

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Mulla Nasruddin used to say:
”It is easy to understand the truth of the recent report that says that the children of today cry more and behave worse than the children of a generation ago.
BECAUSE THOSE WERE NOT CHILDREN – THEY WERE US.”

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”You sold me a car two weeks ago,” Mulla Nasruddin said to the used-car salesman.
”Yes, Sir, I remember,” the salesman said.
”WELL, TELL ME AGAIN ALL YOU SAID ABOUT IT THEN,” said Nasruddin. ”I AM GETTING DISCOURAGED.”

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An artist was hunting a spot where he could spend a week or two and do some work in peace and quiet. He had stopped at the village tavern and was talking to one of the customers, Mulla Nasruddin, about staying at his farm.
”I think I’d like to stay up at your farm,” the artist said, ”provided there is some good scenery. Is there very much to see up there?”
”I am afraid not ” said Nasruddin. ”OF COURSE, IF YOU LOOK OUT THE FRONT DOOR YOU CAN SEE THE BARN ACROSS THE ROAD, BUT IF YOU LOOK OUT THE BACK DOOR, YOU CAN’T SEE ANYTHING BUT MOUNTAINS FOR THE NEXT FORTY MILES.”

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Mulla Nasruddin and his wife were sitting on a bench in the park one evening just at dusk. Without knowing that they were close by, a young man and his girl friend sat down at a bench on the other side of a hedge.
Almost immediately, the young man began to talk in the most loving manner imaginable.
”He does not know we are sitting here,” Mulla Nasruddin’s wife whispered to her husband. ”It sounds like he is going to propose to her. I think you should cough or something and warn him.”
”WHY SHOULD I WARN HIM?” asked Nasruddin. ”NOBODY WARNED ME.”

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Mulla Nasruddin was testifying in Court. He noticed that everything he was being taken down by the court reporter. As he went along, he began talking faster and still faster. Finally, the reporter was frantic to keep up with him.
Suddenly, the Mulla said, ”GOOD GRACIOUS, MISTER, DON’T WRITE SO FAST, I CAN’T KEEP UP WITH YOU!”

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Mulla Nasruddin’s servant rushed into the room and cried, ”Hurry your husband is lying unconscious in the hall beside a large round box with a piece of paper clutched in his hand.”
”HOW EXCITING,” said Mulla Nasruddin’s wife, ”MY FUR COAT HAS COME.”

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Mulla Nasruddin trying to pull his car out of a parking space banged into the car ahead. Then he backed into the car behind. Finally, after pulling into the street, he hit a beer truck. When the police arrived, the patrolman said, ”Let’s see your licence, Sir.”
”DON’T BE SILLY,” said Nasruddin. ”WHO DO YOU THINK WOULD GIVE ME A LICENCE?”

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The preacher was chatting with Mulla Nasruddin on the street one day.
”I felt so sorry for your wife in the mosque last Friday,” he said, ”when she had that terrible spell of coughing and everyone turned to look at her.”
”DON’T WORRY ABOUT THAT,” said the Mulla. ”SHE HAD ON HER NEW SPRING HAT.”

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The barber asked Mulla Nasruddin, ”How did you lose your hair, Mulla?”
”Worry,” said Nasruddin.
”What did you worry about?” asked the barber.
”ABOUT LOSING MY HAIR,” said Nasruddin.

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”You sure look depressed,” a fellow said to Mulla Nasruddin. ”What’s the trouble?”
”Well,” said the Mulla, ”you remember my aunt who just died. I was the one who had her confined to the mental hospital for the last five years of her life.
When she died, she left me all her money. NOW I HAVE GOT TO PROVE THAT SHE WAS OF SOUND MIND WHEN SHE MADE HER WILL SIX WEEKS AGO.”

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”My grandfather,” bragged one fellow in the teahouse, ’lived to be ninety-nine and never used glasses.”
”WELL,” said Mulla Nasruddin, ”LOTS OF PEOPLE WOULD RATHER DRINK FROM THE BOTTLE.”

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It was after the intermission at the theater, and Mulla Nasruddin and his wife were returning to their seats.
”Did I step on your feet as I went out?” the Mulla asked a man at the end of the row.
”You certainly did,” said the man awaiting an apology.
Mulla Nasruddin turned to his wife, ”IT’S ALL RIGHT, DARLING,” he said. ”THIS IS OUR ROW.”

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A patrolman was about to write a speeding ticket, when a woman in the back seat began shouting at Mulla Nasruddin, ”There! I told you to watch out. But you kept right on. Getting out of line, not blowing your horn, passing stop streets, speeding, and everything else. Didn’t I tell you, you’d get caught? Didn’t I? Didn’t I?”
”Who is that woman?” the patrolman asked.
”My wife,” said the Mulla.
”DRIVE ON,” the patrolman said. ”YOU HAVE BEEN PUNISHED ENOUGH.”

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Mulla Nasruddin was visiting the town dentist to get some advance prices on his work.
”The price for pulling a tooth is four dollars each,” the dentist told him. ”But in order to make it painless we will have to give gas and that will be three dollars extra.”
”Oh, don’t worry about giving gas,” said the Mulla.
”That won’t be necessary. We can save the three dollars.”
”That’s all right with me,” said the dentist. ”I have heard that you mountain people are strong and tough. All I can say is that you are a brave man.”
”IT ISN’T ME THAT’S HAVING MY TOOTH PULLED,” said Nasruddin. ”IT’S MY WIFE.”

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The professional money raiser called upon Mulla Nasruddin. ”I am seeking contributions for a worthy charity,” he said. ”Our goal is 100,000 and a well−known philanthropist has already donated a quarter of that.”
”WONDERFUL,” said Nasruddin. ”AND I WILL GIVE YOU ANOTHER QUARTER. HAVE YOU GOT CHANGE FOR A DOLLAR?”

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”Come and have a drink, boys ”
Mulla Nasruddin came up and took a drink of whisky.
”How is this, Mulla?” asked a bystander. ”How can you drink whisky? Sure it was only yesterday ye told me ye was a teetotaller.”
”WELL,” said Nasruddin. ”YOU ARE RIGHT, I AM A TEETOTALLER IT IS TRUE, BUT I AM NOT A BIGOTED ONE!”

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One Thursday night, Mulla Nasruddin came home to supper. His wife served him baked beans. He threw his plate of beans against the wall and shouted, ”I hate baked beans.”
’Mulla, I can’t figure you out,” his wife said,
”MONDAY NIGHT YOU LIKED BAKED BEANS, TUESDAY NIGHT YOU LIKED BAKED BEANS, WEDNESDAY NIGHT YOU LIKED BAKED BEANS AND NOW, ALL OF A SUDDEN, ON THURSDAY NIGHT, YOU SAY YOU HATE BAKED BEANS.”

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The prosecutor began his cross-examination of the witness, Mulla Nasruddin.
”Do you know this man?”
”How should I know him?”
”Did he borrow money from you?”
”Why should he borrow money from me?”
Annoyed, the judge asked the Mulla ”Why do you persist in answering every question with another question?”
”WHY NOT?” said Mulla Nasruddin

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Mulla Nasruddin had taken one too many when he walked upto the police sargeant’s desk.
”Officer you’d better lock me up,” he said. ”I just hit my wife on the head with a beer bottle.”
”Did you kill her:” asked the officer.
”Don’t think so,” said Nasruddin. ”THAT’S WHY I WANT YOU TO LOCK ME UP.”

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Mulla Nasruddin’s family was on a picnic. The wife was standing near the edge of a high cliff,admiring the sea dashing on the rocks below. Her young son came up and said, ”DAD SAYS IT’S NOT SAFE HERE. EITHER YOU STAND BACK FARTHER OR GIVE ME THE SANDWICHES.”

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The boss was complaining to Mulla Nasruddin about his constant tardiness. ”It’s funny,” he said. ”You are always late in the morning and you live right across the street. Now, Billy Wilson, who lives two miles away, is always on time.”
”There is nothing funny about it,” said Nasruddin.
”IF BILLY IS LATE IN THE MORNING, HE CAN HURRY, BUT IF I AM LATE, I AM HERE.”

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The boss told Mulla Nasruddin that if he could not get to work on time, he would be fired. So the Mulla went to the doctor, who gave him a pill. The Mulla took the pill, slept well, and was awake before he heard the alarm clock. He dressed and ate breakfast leisurely.
Later he strolled into the office, arriving half an hour before his boss. When the boss came in, the Mulla said:
”Well, I didn’t have any trouble getting up this morning.”
”THAT’S GOOD,” said Mulla Nasruddin’s boss, ”BUT WHERE WERE YOU YESTERDAY?”

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Mulla Nasruddin had a house on the United States-Canadian border. No one knew whether the house was in the United States or Canada. It was decided to appoint a committee to solve the problem.
After deciding it was in the United States, Mulla Nasruddin leaped with joy. ”HURRAH!” he shouted, ”NOW I DON’T HAVE TO SUFFER FROM THOSE TERRIBLE CANADIAN WINTERS!”

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”Mulla,” said a friend, ”I have been reading all those reports about cigarettes. Do you really think that cigarette smoking will shorten your days?”
”I CERTAINLY DO,”said Mulla Nasruddin. I TRIED TO STOP SMOKING LAST SUMMER AND EACH OF MY DAYS SEEMED AS LONG AS A MONTH.”

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Mulla Nasruddin had been pulled from the river in what the police suspected was a suicide attempt. When they were questioning him at headquarters, he admitted that he had tried to kill himself. This is the story he told:
”Yes, I tried to kill myself. The world is against me and I wanted to end it all. I was determined not to do a halfway job of it, so I bought a piece of rope, some matches, some kerosene, and a pistol. Just in case none of those worked, I went down by the river. I threw the rope over a limb hanging out over the water, tied that rope around my neck, poured kerosene all over myself and lit that match. I jumped off the river and put that pistol to my head and pulled the trigger. And guess what happened? I missed. The bullet hit the rope before I could hang myself and I fell in the river and the water put out the fire before I could burn myself.
AND YOU KNOW, IF I HAD NOT BEEN A GOOD SWIMMER, I WOULD HAVE ENDED UP DROWNING MY FOOL SELF.”

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Mulla Nasruddin and his wife had just been fighting. The wife felt a bit ashamed and was standing looking out of the window. Suddenly, something caught her attention.
”Honey,” she called. ”Come here, I want to show you something.”
As the Mulla came to the window to see, she said. ”Look at those two horses pulling that load of hay up the hill. Why can’t we pull together like that, up the hill of life?”
”THE REASON WE CAN’T PULL UP THE HILL LIKE A COUPLE OF HORSES,” said Nasruddin, ”IS BECAUSE ONE OF US IS A JACKASS!”

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Mulla Nasruddin had finished his political speech and answering questions.
”One question, Sir, if I may,” said a man down front you ever drink alcoholic beverages?”
”BEFORE I ANSWER THAT,” said Nasruddin, ”I’D LIKE TO KNOW IF IT’S IN THE NATURE OF AN INQUIRY OR AN INVITATION.”

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Mulla Nasruddin’s wife was always after him to stop drinking. This time, she waved a newspaper in his face and said, ”Here is another powerful temperance moral.
’Young Wilson got into a boat and shoved out into the river, and as he was intoxicated, he upset the boat, fell into the river and was drowned.’ See, that’s the way it is, if he had not drunk whisky he would not have lost his life.”
”Let me see,” said the Mulla. ”He fell into the river, didn’t he?”

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”That’s right,” his wife said.
”He didn’t die until he fell in, is that right? ” he asked.
”That’s true,” his wife said.
”THEN IT WAS THE WATER THAT KILLED HIM,” said Nasruddin, ”NOT WHISKY.”

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Mulla Nasruddin stormed into the Postmaster General’s office and shouted, ”I am being pestered by threatening letters, and I want somebody to do something about it.”
”I am sure we can help,” said the Postmaster General. ”That’s a federal offence. Do you have any idea who is sending you these letters?”
”I CERTAINLY DO,” said Nasruddin. ”IT’S THOSE INCOME TAX PEOPLE.”

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Mulla Nasruddin let out a burst of profanity which shocked a lady social worker who was passing by. She looked at him critically and said: ”My, where did you learn such awful language?”
”WHERE DID I LEARN IT?” said Nasruddin. ”LADY, I DIDN’T LEARN IT, IT’S A GIFT.”

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Mulla Nasruddin was talking to his friends in the teahouse about the new preacher.
”That man, ’ said the Mulla, ”is the talkingest person in the world. And he can’t be telling the truth all the time. THERE JUST IS NOT THAT MUCH TRUTH.”

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”My wife talks to herself,” the friend told Mulla Nasruddin.
”SO DOES MINE,” said the Mulla, ”BUT SHE DOESN’T REALISE IT. SHE THINKS I AM LISTENING.”

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The man climbed on the stool at a little lunch counter for breakfast. ”Quite a rainy spell, isn’t it?” he said to Mulla Nasruddin, the man next to him. ”Almost like the flood.”
”Flood? What flood?” said the Mulla.
”Why, the flood,” the first man said, ”you know Noah and the Ark and Mount Ararat.”
”NOPE,” said Mulla Nasruddin, ”I HAVE NOT READ THE MORNING PAPER, YET, SIR.”

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A preacher approached Mulla Nasruddin lying in the gutter.
”And so,” he asked, ”this is the work of whisky, isn’t it?”
”NO,” said Nasruddin. ”THIS IS THE WORK OF A BANANA PEEL, SIR.”

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Mulla Nasruddin came up to a preacher and said that he wanted to be transformed to the religious life totally. ”That’s fine,” said the preacher, ”but are you sure you are going to put aside all sin?”
”Yes Sir, I am through with sin,” said the Mulla.
”And are you going to pay up all your debts?” asked the preacher.
”NOW WAIT A MINUTE, PREACHER,” said Nasruddin, ”YOU AIN’T TALKING RELIGION NOW, YOU ARE TALKING BUSINESS.”

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”It is being rumoured around town,” a friend said to Mulla Nasruddin, ”that you and your wife are not getting along too well. Is there anything to it?”
”NONSENSE,” said Nasruddin. ”WE DID HAVE A FEW WORDS AND I SHOT HER. BUT THAT’S AS FAR AS IT WENT.”

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The word had passed around that Mulla Nasruddin’s wife had left him. While the news was still fresh, an old friend ran into him.
”I have just heard the bad news that your wife has left you,” said the old friend. ”I suppose you go home every night now and drown your sorrow in drink?”
”No, I have found that to be impossible,” said the Mulla.
”Why is that?” asked his friend ”No drink?”
”NO,” said Nasruddin, ”NO SORROW.”

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After the speech Mulla Nasruddin shook hands with the speaker and said he never had a more enjoyable evening.
”You found my remarks interesting, I trust,” said the speaker.
”NOT EXACTLY,” said Nasruddin, ”BUT YOU DID CURE MY INSOMNIA.”

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Mulla Nasruddin who had worked hard on his speech was introduced and given his place at the microphone.
He stood there for half a minute completely speechless and then said, ”The human mind is the most wonderful device in the world. It starts working the instant you are born and never stops working night or day for your entire life – UNTIL THE MOMENT YOU STAND UP TO MAKE A SPEECH.”

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Mulla Nasruddin’s wife was a candidate for the state legislature And this was the last day of campaigning.
”My, I am tired,” said Mulla Nasruddin as they returned to their house after the whole day’s work. ”I am almost ready to drop.”
”You tired!” cried his wife. ”I am the one to be tired. I made fourteen speeches today.”
”I KNOW,” said Nasruddin, ”BUT I HAD TO LISTEN TO THEM.”

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”Mulla, you look sad,” said a friend. ”What is the matter?”
”I had an argument with my wife,” said the Mulla ”and she swore she would not talk to me for 30 days.”
”Well, you should be very happy,” said the first.
”HAPPY?” said Mulla Nasruddin. ”THIS IS THE 30TH DAY.”

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Mulla Nasruddin was sitting in a station smoking, when a woman came in, and sitting beside him, remarked: ”Sir, if you were a gentleman, you would not smoke here!”
”Mum,” said the Mulla, ”if ye was a lady ye’d sit farther away.”
Pretty soon the woman burst out again:
”If you were my husband, I’d given you poison!”
”WELL, MUM,” returned Nasruddin, as he puffed away at his pipe, ”IF YOU WERE ME WIFE, I’D TAKE IT.”

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Somebody asked Mulla Nasruddin why he lived on the top floor, in his small, dusty old rooms, and suggested that he move.
”NO,” said Nasruddin, ”NO, I SHALL ALWAYS LIVE ON THE TOP FLOOR. IT IS THE ONLY PLACE WHERE GOD ALONE IS ABOVE ME.” Then after a pause, ”HE’S BUSY – BUT HE’S QUIET.”

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Mulla Nasruddin was in tears when he opened the door for his wife. ”I have been insulted,”he sobbed. ”Your mother insulted me.”
”My mother,” she exclaimed. ”But she is a hundred miles away.”
”I know, but a letter came for you this morning and I opened it.”
She looked stern. ”I see, but where does the insult come in?”
”IN THE POSTSCRIPT,” said Nasruddin. ”IT SAID ’DEAR Nasruddin, PLEASE, DON’T FORGET TO GIVE THIS LETTER TO MY DAUGHTER.’”

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The richest man of the town fell into the river.
He was rescued by Mulla Nasruddin. The fellow asked the Mulla how he could reward him.
”The best way, Sir,” said Nasruddin. ”is to say nothing about it. IF THE OTHER FELLOWS KNEW I’D PULLED YOU OUT, THEY’D CHUCK ME IN.”

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Mulla Nasruddin arrived late at the country club dance, and discovered that in slipping on the icy pavement outside, he had torn one knee of his trousers.
”Come into the ladies’ dressing room, Mulla,” said his wife – ”There’s no one there and I will pin it up for you.”
Examination showed that the rip was too large to be pinned. A maid furnished a needle and thread and was stationed at the door to keep out intruders, while Nasruddin removed his trousers. His wife went busily to work.
Presently at the door sounded excited voices.
”We must come in, maid,” a woman was saying. ”Mrs. Jones is ill. Quick, let us in.”
”Here,” said the resourceful Mrs. Mulla Nasruddin to her terrified husband, ”get into this closest for a minute.”

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She opened the door and pushed the Mulla through it just in time. But instantly, from the opposite side of the door, came loud thumps and the agonized voice of the Mulla demanding that his wife open it at once.
”But the women are here,” Mrs. Nasruddin objected.
”OH, DAMN THE WOMEN!” yelled Nasruddin. ”I AM OUT IN THE BALLROOM.”

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”I can’t find anything organically wrong with you,” the doctor said to Mulla Nasruddin. ”As you know, many illnesses come from worry. You probably have some business or social problem that you should talk over with a good psychiatrist. A case very similar to yours came to me only a few weeks ago. The man had a 5,000 note due and could not pay it. Because of his money problem,he had worried himself into a state of nervous exhaustion.
”And did you cure him?” asked Mulla Nasruddin.
”Yes,” said the doctor, ”I just told him to stop worrying; that life was too short to make himself sick over a scrap of paper. Now he is back to normal. He has stopped worrying entirely.”
”YES; I KNOW,” said Nasruddin, sadly. ”I AM THE ONE HE OWES THE 5,000 TO.”

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It was the final hand of the night. The cards were dealt. The pot was opened. Plenty of raising went on.
Finally, the hands were called.
”I win,” said one fellow. ”I have three aces and a pair of queens.”
”No, I win, ’ said the second fellow. ”I have three aces and a pair of kings.”
”NONE OF YOU-ALL WIN,” said Mulla Nasruddin, the third one. ”I DO. I HAVE TWO DEUCES AND A THIRTY-EIGHT SPECIAL.”

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Mulla Nasruddin and his two friends were arguing over whose profession was first established on earth.
”Mine was,” said the surgeon. ”The Bible says that Eve was made by carving a rib out of Adam.”
”Not at all,” said the engineer. ”An engineering job came before that. In six days the earth was created out of chaos. That was an engineer’s job.”
”YES,” said Mulla Nasruddin, the politician, ”BUT WHO CREATED THE CHAOS?”

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Mulla Nasruddin, as a candidate, was working the rural precincts and getting his fences mended and votes lined up. On this particular day, he had his young son with him to mark down on index cards whether the voter was for or against him. In this way, he could get an idea of how things were going.As they were getting out of the car in front of one farmhouse, the farmer came out the front door with a shotgun in his hand and screamed at the top of his voice,
”I know you – you dirty filthy crook of a politician. You are no good. You ought to be put in jail. Don’t you dare set foot inside that gate or I’ll blow your head off. Now, you get back in your car and get down the road before I lose my temper and do something I’ll be sorry for.”
Mulla Nasruddin did as he was told. A moment later he and his son were speeding down the road away from that farm.
”Well,” said the boy to the Mulla, ”I might as well tear that man’s card up, hadn’t I?”
”TEAR IT UP?” cried Nasruddin. ”CERTAINLY NOT. JUST MARK HIM DOWN AS DOUBTFUL.”

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Mulla Nasruddin who prided himself on being something of a good Samaritan was passing an apartment house in the small hours of the morning when he noticed a man leaning limply against the door way.
”What is the matter,” asked the Mulla, ”Drunk?”
”Yup.”
”Do you live in this house?”
”Yup.”
”Do you want me to help you upstairs?”
”Yup.”
With much difficulty the Mulla half dragged, half carried the dropping figure up the stairway to the second floor.
”What floor do you live on?” asked the Mulla. ”Is this it?”
”Yup.”
Rather than face an irate wife who might, perhaps take him for a companion more at fault than her spouse, the Mulla opened the first door he came to and pushed the limp figure in.
The good Samaritan groped his way downstairs again.
As he was passing through the vestibule he was able to make out the dim outlines of another man, apparently in a worse condition than the first one.
”What’s the matter?” asked the Mulla. ”Are you drunk too?”
”Yep,” was the feeble reply.
”Do you live in this house too?”
”Yep.”
”Shall I help you upstairs?”
”Yep.”
Mulla Nasruddin pushed, pulled, and carried him to the second floor, where this second man also said he lived. The Mulla opened the same door and pushed him in.
But as he reached the front door, the Mulla discerned the shadow of a third man, evidently worse off than either of the other two. Mulla Nasruddin was about to approach him when the object of his solicitude lurched out into the street and threw himself into the arms of a passing policeman.
”Off’shur! Off’shur! For Heaven’s sake, Off’shur,” he gasped, ”protect me from that man. He has done nothing all night long but carry me upstairs and throw me down the elevator shaft.”

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The wife of Mulla Nasruddin told him that he had not been sufficiently explicit with the boss when he asked for raise.
”Tell him,” said the wife, ”that you have seven children, that you have a sick mother you have to sit up with many nights, and that you have to wash dishes because you can’t afford a maid.”
Several days later Mulla Nasruddin came home and announced he had been fired.
”THE BOSS,” explained Nasruddin, ”SAID I HAVE TOO MANY OUTSIDE ACTIVITIES.”

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”I knew an artist once who painted a cobweb on the ceiling so realistically that the maid spent hours trying to get it down,” said Mulla Nasruddin’s wife.
”Sorry, Dear,” replied Nasruddin. ”I just don’t believe it.”
”Why not? Artists have been known to do such things.”
”YES.” said Nasruddin, ”BUT NOT MAIDS!”

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”And now I want you boys to tell me who wrote ’Hamlet’?” asked the superintendent.
”P-p-please, Sir,” replied a frightened boy, ”it – it was not me.”
That same evening the superintendent was talking to his host, Mulla Nasruddin. The superintendent said:
”A most amusing thing happened today. I was questioning the class over at the school, and I asked a boy who wrote ’Hamlet’ He answered tearfully, ’P-p-please, Sir,
it – it was not me!”
After loud and prolonged laughter, Mulla Nasruddin said:
”THAT’S PRETTY GOOD, AND I SUPPOSE THE LITTLE RASCAL HAD DONE IT ALL THE TIME!”

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Mulla Nasruddin was chatting with an acquaintance at a cocktail party.
”Whenever I see you,” said the Mulla, ”I always think of Joe Wilson.”
”That’s funny,” his acquaintance said, ”I am not at all like Joe Wilson.”
”OH, YES, YOU ARE,” said Nasruddin. ”YOU BOTH OWE ME 100.

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Once Mulla Nasruddin was asked what he considered to be a perfect audience.
”Oh, to me,” said Nasruddin, ”the perfect audience is one that is well educated, highly intelligent – AND JUST A LITTLE BIT DRUNK.”

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One night Mulla Nasruddin came home to his wife with lipstick on his collar.
”Where did you get that?” she asked. ”From my maid?”
”No,” said the Mulla.
”From my dressmaker?” snapped his wife.
”NO,” said Nasruddin indignantly. ”DON’T YOU THINK I HAVE ANY FRIENDS OF MY OWN?”

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A man was seated at a lunch counter when a pretty girl, followed by young Mulla Nasruddin came in. They took the only vacant stools, which happened to be on either side of the side. Wanting to be gracious, he offered to change seats with Mulla Nasruddin so they might sit together.
”Oh, that’s not necessary,” said the Mulla.
But the man insisted, and they changed seats.
Mulla Nasruddin then said to the pretty girl, ”SINCE THE SEATING ARRANGEMENTS SUIT THIS POLITE GENTLEMAN, WE MIGHT AS WELL MAKE HIM REAL HAPPY AND GET ACQUAINTED.”

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A man at a seaside resort said to his new acquaintance, Mulla Nasruddin, ”I see two cocktails carried to your room every morning, as if you had someone to drink with.”
”YES, SIR,” said the Mulla, ”I DO. ONE COCKTAIL MAKES ME FEEL LIKE ANOTHER MAN, AND, OF COURSE, I HAVE TO BUY A DRINK FOR THE OTHER MAN.”

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The wedding had begun, the bride was walking down the aisle. A lady whispered to Mulla Nasruddin who was next to her, ”Can you imagine, they have known each other only three weeks, and they are getting married!”
”WELL,” said Mulla Nasruddin, ”IT’S ONE WAY OF GETTING ACQUAINTED.”

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Mulla Nasruddin and his two friends were discussing what they would do if they awoke one morning to discover that they were millionaires.
The Spaniard friend said he would build a bull ring.
The American friend said he would go to Paris to have a good time.
And, Mulla Nasruddin said HE WOULD GO TO SLEEP AGAIN TO SEE IF HE COULD MAKE ANOTHER MILLION.”

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A middle-aged woman lost her balance and fell out of a window into a garbage can. Mulla Nasruddin, passing remarked: ”Americans are very wasteful. THAT WOMAN WAS
GOOD FOR TEN YEARS YET.”

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Mulla Nasruddin was told he would lose his phone if he did not retract what he had said to the General Manager of the phone company in the course of a conversation over the wire.
”Very well, Mulla Nasruddin will apologize,” he said.
He called Main 7777.
”Is that you, Mr. Doolittle?”
”It is.”
”This is Mulla Nasruddin.
”Well?”
”This morning in the heat of discussion I told you to go to hell!”
”Yes?”
”WELL,” said Nasruddin, ”DON’T GO!”

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A political leader was visiting the mental hospital. Mulla Nasruddin sitting in the yard said, ”You are a politician, are you not?”
”Yes,” said the leader. ”I live just down the road.”
”I used to be a politician myself once,” said the Mulla, ”but now I am crazy. Have you ever been crazy?”
”No,” said the politician as he started to go away.
”WELL, YOU OUGHT TRY IT,” said Nasruddin ”IT BEATS POLITICS ANY DAY.”

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The editor of the town weekly received this letter from Mulla Nasruddin:
”Dear Sir: Last week I lost my watch which I valued highly. The next day I ran an ad in your paper.
Yesterday, I went home and found the watch in the pocket of my brown suit. YOUR PAPER IS WONDERFUL!”

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Mulla Nasruddin had been out speaking all day and returned home late at night, tired and weary.
”How did your speeches go today?” his wife asked.
”All right, I guess,” the Mulla said. ”But I am afraid some of the people in the audience didn’t understand some of the things I was saying.”

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”What makes you think that?” his wife asked.
”BECAUSE,” whispered Mulla Nasruddin, ”I DON’T UNDERSTAND THEM MYSELF.”

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Mulla Nasruddin, a distraught father, visiting his son in a prison waiting room, turned on him and said:
”I am fed up with you. Look at your record: attempted robbery, attempted robbery, attempted burglary, attempted murder. WHAT A FAILURE YOU HAVE TURNED OUT TO BE;
YOU CAN’T SUCCEED IN ANYTHING YOU TRY.”

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Mulla Nasruddin and some of his friends pooled their money and bought a tavern. They immediately closed it and began to paint and fix it up inside and out. A few days after all the repairs had been completed and there was no sign of its opening, a thirsty crowd gathered outside. One of the crowd yelled out, ”Say, Nasruddin, when you gonna open up?”
”OPEN UP? WE ARE NOT GOING TO OPEN UP,” said the Mulla. ”WE BOUGHT THIS PLACE FOR OURSELVES!”

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A man who has been married for ten years complained one day to his friend Mulla Nasruddin. ”When we were first married,” he said, ”I was very happy. I would come home from a hard day at the office. My little dog would race around barking, and my wife would bring me my slippers. Now after ten years, everything has changed.
When I come home, my dog brings me my slippers, and my wife barks at me!”
”I DON’T KNOW WHAT YOU ARE COMPLAINING ABOUT,” said Nasruddin. ”YOU ARE STILL GETTING THE SAME SERVICE, ARE YOU NOT?”

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Mulla Nasruddin’s wife limped past the teahouse.
”There goes a woman who is willing to suffer for her beliefs,” said the Mulla to his friends there.
”Why, what belief is that?” asked someone.
”OH, SHE BELIEVES SHE CAN WEAR A NUMBER FOUR SHOE ON A NUMBER SIX FOOT,” said Nasruddin.

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The lawyer was working on their divorce case.
After a preliminary conference with Mulla Nasruddin, the lawyer reported back to the Mulla’s wife.
”I have succeeded,” he told her, ”in reaching a settlement with your husband that’s fair to both of you.”
”FAIR TO BOTH?” cried the wife. ”I COULD HAVE DONE THAT MYSELF. WHY DO YOU THINK I HIRED A LAWYER?”

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Mulla Nasruddin was suffering from what appeared to be a case of shattered nerves. After a long spell of failing health, he finally called a doctor.
”You are in serious trouble,” the doctor said. ”You are living with some terrible evil thing; something that is possessing you from morning to night. We must find what it is and destroy it.”
”SSSH, DOCTOR,” said Nasruddin, ”YOU ARE ABSOLUTELY RIGHT, BUT DON’T SAY IT SO LOUD – SHE IS SITTING IN THE NEXT ROOM AND SHE MIGHT HEAR YOU.”

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Mulla Nasruddin and one of his friends had been drinking all evening in a bar. The friend finally passed out and fell to the floor. The Mulla called a doctor who rushed him to a hospital. When he came to, the doctor asked him, ”Do you see any pink elephants or little green men?”
”Nope,” groaned the patient.
”No snakes or alligators?” the doctor asked.
”Nope,” the drunk said.
”Then just sleep it off and you will be all right in the morning,” said the doctor.
But Mulla Nasruddin was worried. ”LOOK, DOCTOR.” he said, ”THAT BOY’S IN BAD SHAPE. HE SAID HE COULDN’T SEE ANY OF THE ANIMALS, AND YOU AND I KNOW THE ROOM IS FULL OF THEM.”

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Mulla Nasruddin and one of his friends were attending a garden party for charity which featured games of chance.
”I just took a one-dollar chance for charity,” said the friend, ”and a beautiful blonde gave me a kiss. I hate to say it, but she kissed better than my wife!”
The Mulla said he was going to try it. Afterwards the friend asked: ”How was it, Mulla?”
”SWELL,” said Nasruddin, ”BUT NO BETTER THAN YOUR WIFE.”

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Mulla Nasruddin’s teenager son had dented a fender on the family car.
”What did your father say when you told him?” the boy’s mother asked.
”Should I leave out the cuss words?” he said.
”Yes, of course,” said his mother.
”IN THAT CASE,” said the boy, ”HE DIDN’T SAY A WORD.”

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The woman lecturer was going strong. ”For centuries women have been misjudged and mistreated,” she shouted. ”They have suffered in a thousand ways. Is there any way that women have not suffered?”
As she paused to let that question sink in, it was answered by Mulla Nasruddin,who was presiding the meeting. ”YES, THERE IS ONE WAY,” he said. ”THEY HAVE NEVER SUFFERED IN SILENCE.”

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The man at the poultry counter had sold everything except one fryer. Mulla Nasruddin, a customer, said he was entertaining at dinner and wanted a nice-sized fryer.
The clerk threw the fryer on the scales and said, ”This one will be 1.35.”
”Well,” said the Mulla, ”I really wanted a larger one.”
The clerk, thinking fast, put the fryer back in the box and stirred it around a bit. Then he brought it out again and put it on the scales. ”This one,” he said, ”will be S1.95.”
”WONDERFUL,” said Nasruddin. ”I WILL TAKE BOTH OF THEM!”

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A highway patrolman pulled alongside Mulla Nasruddin’s car and waved him to the side of the road.
”Sir your wife fell out of the car three miles back,” he said.
”SO THAT’S IT,” said the Mulla. ”I THOUGHT I HAD GONE STONE DEAF.”

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The young doctor seemed pleased after looking over his patient, Mulla Nasruddin.
”You are getting along just fine,” he said. ”Of course. your shoulder is still badly swollen, but that does not bother me in the least.”

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”I DON’T GUESS IT DOES,” said Nasruddin. ”IF YOUR SHOULDER WERE SWOLLEN, IT WOULDN’T BOTHER ME EITHER.”
121.
Mulla Nasruddin had been placed in a mental hospital, for treatment. After a few weeks, a friend visited him. ”How are you going on?” he asked.
”Oh, just fine,” said the Mulla.
”That’s good,” his friend said. ”Guess you will be coming back to your home soon?”
”WHAT!” said Nasruddin. ”I SHOULD LEAVE A FINE COMFORTABLE HOUSE LIKE THIS WITH A SWIMMING POOL AND FREE MEALS TO COME TO MY OWN DIRTY HOUSE WITH A MAD WIFE TO LIVE
WITH? YOU MUST THINK I AM CRAZY!”

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Mulla Nasruddin visiting a mental hospital stood chatting at great length to one man in particular. He asked all sorts of questions about how he was treated, and how long he had been there and what hobbies he was interested in.
As the Mulla left him and walked on with the attendant, he noticed he was grinning broadly. The Mulla asked what was amusing and the attendant told the visitor that he had been talking to the medical superintendent. Embarrassed, Nasruddin rushed back to make apologies. ”I AM SORRY DOCTOR,” he said. ”I WILL NEVER GO BY APPEARANCES AGAIN.”

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A famous surgeon had developed the technique of removing the brain from a person, examining it, and putting it back. One day, some friends brought him Mulla Nasruddin to be examined The surgeon operated on the Mulla and took his brain out. When the surgeon went to the laboratory to examine the brain, he discovered the patient had mysteriously disappeared. Six years later Mulla Nasruddin returned to the hospital.
”Where have you been for six years?” asked the amazed surgeon.
”OH, AFTER I LEFT HERE,” said Mulla Nasruddin, ”I GOT ELECTED TO CONGRESS AND I HAVE BEEN IN THE CAPITAL EVER SINCE, SIR.”

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Mulla Nasruddin was telling a friend how he got started in the bank business.
”I was out of work,” he said, ”so to keep busy, I rented an empty store, and painted the word ’BANK’ on the window. The same day, a man came in and deposited 300.
Next day,an other fellow came in and put in 250.
WELL, SIR, BY THE THIRD DAY I’D GOT SO MUCH CONFIDENCE IN THE VENTURE THAT I PUT IN 50 OF MY OWN MONEY.”

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Mulla Nasruddin, ship wrecked, was finally washed ashore on a strange island. He was glad to be on land, but afraid he might be among wild and unfriendly natives, so he explored cautiously, and at last saw smoke from a fire rising from the jungle. As he made his way slowly through the woods, scared half to death, he heard a voice say, ”Pass that bottle and deal those cards.”
”THANK GOD!” cried Nasruddin. ”I AM AMONG CIVILISED PEOPLE!”

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”What was the argument between you and your father-in-law, Nasruddin?” asked a friend.
”I didn’t mind, when he wore my hat, coat, shoes and suit, BUT WHEN HE SAT DOWN AT THE DINNER TABLE AND LAUGHED AT ME WITH MY OWN TEETH – THAT WAS TOO MUCH,” said Mulla Nasruddin.

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Mulla Nasruddin’s wife was forever trying to curb his habit of swearing. One day, while shaving, the Mulla nicked his chin, and promptly launched into his most colourful array of cuss words. His wife thereupon repeated it all after him, hoping that her action in doing so would shame him into reforming at last.
But instead, the Mulla waited for her to finish them with a familiar twinkle in his eyes said: ”YOU HAVE THE WORDS ALL RIGHT, MY DEAR, BUT YOU DON’T KNOW THE TUNE.”

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A young bachelor, frequenting the pub quite often, was in the habit of singing laurels of his bachelorhood to all within hearing distance.
He was quite cured of his self-centered, eccentric ideals, when once, Mulla Nasruddin got up calmly from the table, gave the hero a paternal thump on the back and remarked, ”I SUPPOSE, YOUNG CHAP, YOUR FATHER MUST HAVE BEEN A BACHELOR TOO.”

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At a breakfast one morning, Mulla Nasruddin was telling his wife about the meeting of his civic club the night before. ”The president of the club,” he said, ”offered a silk hat to the member who would truthfully say that during his married life hehad never kissed any woman but his wife. And not aman stood up.”
”Why,” his wife asked, ”didn’t you stand up?”
”WELL,” said Nasruddin, ”I WAS GOING TO, BUT YOU KNOW HOW SILLY I LOOK IN A SILK HAT.”

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The minister was congratulating Mulla Nasruddin on his 40th wedding anniversary. ”It requires a lot of patience, tolerance, and understanding to live with the same woman for 40 years,” he said.
”THANK YOU,”said Nasruddin,”BUT SHE’S NOT THE SAME WOMAN SHE WAS WHEN WE WERE FIRST MARRIED.”

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Mulla Nasruddin was talking to his little girl about being brave.
”But ain’t you afraid of cows and horses?” she asked.
”Of course not.” said the Mulla
”And ain’t you afraid of bees and thunder and lightening?” asked the child.
”Certainly not.” said the Mulla again.
”GEE, DADDY,” she said ”GUESS YOU AIN’T AFRAID OF NOTHING IN THE WORLD BUT MAMA.”

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The audience was questioning Mulla Nasruddin who had just spoken on big game hunting in Africa.
”Is it true,” asked one, ”that wild beasts in the jungle won’t harm you if you carry a torch?”
”THAT ALL DEPENDS,” said Nasruddin ”ON HOW FAST YOU CARRY IT.”

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A father was bragging about his daughter who had studied painting in Paris.
”This is the sunset my daughter painted,” he said to Mulla Nasruddin. ”She studied painting abroad, you know.”
”THAT ACCOUNTS FOR IT,” said Nasruddin. ”I NEVER SAW A SUNSET LIKE THAT IN THIS COUNTRY.”

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Mulla Nasruddin and one of his friends rented a boat and went fishing. In a remote part of the like they found a spot where the fish were really biting.
”We’d better mark this spot so we can come back tomorrow,” said the Mulla.
”O.k., I’ll do it,” replied his friend.
When they got back to the dock, the Mulla asked, ”Did you mark that spot?”
”Sure,” said the second, ”I put a chalk mark on the side of the boat.”
”YOU NITWIT,” said Nasruddin. ”HOW DO YOU KNOW WE WILL GET THE SAME BOAT TOMORROW?”

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One evening when a banquet was all set to begin,the chairman realized that no minister was present to return thanks. He turned to Mulla Nasruddin, the main speaker and said, ”Sir, since there is no minister here, will you ask the blessing, please?”
Mulla Nasruddin stood up, bowed his head, and with deep feeling said, ”THERE BEING NO MINISTER PRESENT, LET US THANK GOD.”

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”Have I not shaved you before, Sir?” the barber asked Mulla Nasruddin.
”NO,” said Nasruddin, ”I GOT THAT SCAR DURING THE WAR.”

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A barber was surprised to get a tip from Mulla Nasruddin, a customer, before he even climbed into the chair.
”You are the first customer, Mulla,” he said, ”ever to give me a tip before I cut the hair.”
”THAT’S NOT A TIP,” said Nasruddin. ”THAT’S HUSH MONEY.

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”Thankful! What do I have to be thankful for? I can’t pay my bills,” said one fellow to Mulla Nasruddin.
”WELL, THEN,” said Nasruddin, ”BE THANKFUL YOU AREN’T ONE OF YOUR CREDITORS.”

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The pilot at the air show was taking passengers up for a spin around town for five dollars a ride. As he circled city with Mulla Nasruddin, the only customer aboard, he his engine and began to glide toward the airport.
”I will bet those people down there think my engine couped out,” he laughed. ”I will bet half of them are scared to death.”
”THAT’S NOTHING.” said Mulla Nasruddin, ”HALF OF US UP HERE ARE TOO.”

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Mulla Nasruddin who was reeling drunk was getting into his automobile when a policeman came up and asked
”You’re not going to drive that car, are you?”
”CERTAINLY I AM GOING TO DRIVE,” said Nasruddin. ”ANYBODY CAN SEE I AM IN NO CONDITION TO WALK.”

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Mulla Nasruddin and his wife on a safari cornered a lion. But the lion fooled them; instead of standing his ground and fighting, the lion took to his heels and escaped into the underbush.
Mulla Nasruddin terrified very much, was finally asked to stammer out to his wife, ”YOU GO AHEAD AND SEE WHERE THE LION HAS GONE, AND I WILL TRACE BACK AND SEE WHERE HE CAME FROM.”

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Mulla Nasruddin and a friend were chatting at a bar.
”Do you have the same trouble with your wife that I have with mine?” asked the Mulla.
”What trouble?”
”Why, money trouble. She keeps nagging me for money, money, money, and then more money,” said the Mulla.
”What does she want with all the money you give her? What does she do with it?”
”I DON’T KNOW,” said Nasruddin. ”I NEVER GIVE HER ANY.”

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Mulla Nasruddin’s weekend guest was being driven to the station by the family chauffeur.
”I hope you won’t let me miss my train,” he said.
”NO, SIR,” said the chauffeur. ”THE MULLA SAID IF DID, I’D LOSE MY JOB.”

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Mulla Nasruddin: ”My wife has a chronic habit of sitting up every night until two and three o’clock in the morning and I can’t break her of it.”
Sympathetic friend: ”Why does she sit up that late?”
Nasruddin: ”WAITING FOR ME TO COME HOME.”

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”Mulla, did your father leave much money when he died?”
”NO,” said Mulla Nasruddin, ”NOT A CENT. IT WAS THIS WAY. HE LOST HIS HEALTH GETTING WEALTHY, THEN HE LOST HIS WEALTH TRYING TO GET HEALTHY.”

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Mulla Nasruddin, a mental patient, was chatting with the new superintendent at the state hospital. ”We like you a lot better than we did the last doctor,” he said.
The new superintendent was obviously pleased. ”And would you mind telling me why?” he asked.
”OH, SOMEHOW YOU JUST SEEM SO MUCH MORE LIKE ONE OF US,” said Nasruddin.

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Mulla Nasruddin: ”How much did you pay for that weird-looking hat?”
Wife: ”It was on sale, and I got it for a song.”
Nasruddin ”WELL, IF I HADN’T HEARD YOU SING. I’D SWEAR YOU HAD BEEN CHEATED.”

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Mulla Nasruddin was a hypochondriac He has been pestering the doctors of his town to death for years.
Then one day, a young doctor, just out of the medical school moved to town. Mulla Nasruddin was one of his first patients.
”I have heart trouble,” the Mulla told him. And then he proceeded to describe in detail a hundred and one symptoms of all sorts of varied ailments. When he was through he said, ”It is heart trouble, isn’t it?”
”Not necessarily,” the young doctor said. ”You have described so many symptoms that you might well have something else wrong with you.”
”HUH,” snorted Mulla Nasruddin ”YOU HAVE YOUR NERVE. A YOUNG DOCTOR, JUST OUT OF SCHOOL, DISAGREEING WITH AN EXPERIENCED INVALID LIKE ME.”

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Mulla Nasruddin called his wife from the office and said he would like to bring a friend home for dinner that night.
”What?” screamed his wife. ”You know better than that You know the cook quit yesterday, the baby’s got the measles, the hot water heater is broken, the painters are redecorating the living room and I don’t even have any way to get to the supermarket to get our groceries.”
”I know all that,” said Nasruddin. ”THAT’S WHY I WANT TO BRING HIM HOME FOR DINNER. HE IS A NICE YOUNG MAN AND I LIKE HIM. BUT HE’S THINKING OF GETTING MARRIED.”

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Mulla Nasruddin and his wife were guests at an English country home – an atmosphere new and uncomfortable to them. In addition, they were exceptionally awkward when it came to hunting; so clumsy in fact that the Mulla narrowly missed shooting the wife of their host. When the Englishman sputtered his rage at such dangerous ineptness, Mulla Nasruddin handed his gun to the Englishman and said, ”WELL,HERE,TAKE MY GUN; IT’S ONLY FAIR THAT YOU HAVE A SHOT AT MY WIFE.”

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Mulla Nasruddin and his friend, out hunting, were stopped by a game warden. The Mulla took off, and the game warden went after him and caught him, and then the Mulla showed the warden his hunting licence.
”Why did you run when you had a licence?” asked the warden.
”BECAUSE,” said Nasruddin, ”THE OTHER FELLOW DIDN’T HAVE ONE.”

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The great specialist had just completed his medical examination of Mulla Nasruddin and told him the fee was 25.
”The fee is too high I ain’t got that much.” said the Mulla.
”Well make it 15,then.”
”It’s still too much. I haven’t got it,” said the Mulla.
”All right,” said the doctor, ”give me 5andbeatit.”
”Who has 5?Not me,”said the Mulla.
”Well give me whatever you have, and get out,” said the doctor.
”Doctor, I have nothing,” said the Mulla.
By this time the doctor was in a rage and said, ”If you have no money you have some nerve to call on a specialist of my standing and my fees.”
Mulla Nasruddin, too, now got mad and shouted back at the doctor: ”LET ME TELL YOU, DOCTOR, WHEN MY HEALTH IS CONCERNED NOTHING IS TOO EXPENSIVE FOR ME.”

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Mulla Nasruddin was talking in the tea house on the lack of GOOD SAMARITAN SPIRIT in the world today. To illustrate he recited an episode: ”During the lunch hour I walked with a friend toward a nearby restaurant when we saw laying on the street a helpless fellow human who had collapsed.”
After a solemn pause the Mulla added, ”Not only had nobody bothered to stop and help this poor fellow, BUT ON OUR WAY BACK AFTER LUNCH WE SAW HIM STILL LYING IN THE SAME SPOT.”

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Mulla Nasruddin sitting in the street car addressed the woman standing before him: ”You must excuse my not giving you my seat – I am a member of The Sit Still Club.”
”Certainly, Sir,” the woman replied. ”And please excuse my staring – I belong to The Stand and Stare Club.”
She proved it so well that Mulla Nasruddin at last got to his feet.
”I GUESS, MA’AM,” he mumbled, ”I WILL RESIGN FROM MY CLUB AND JOIN YOURS.”

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”I am terribly worried,” said Mulla Nasruddin to the psychiatrist. ”My wife thinks she’s a horse.”
”We should be able to cure her,” said the psychiatrist ”But it will take a long time and quite a lot of money.”
”OH, MONEY IS NO PROBLEM,” said Nasruddin. ”SHE HAS WON SO MANY HORSE RACES.”

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The caravan was marching through the desert. It was hot and dry with not a drop of water anywhere.
Mulla Nasruddin fell to the ground and moaned.
”What’s the matter with him?” asked the leader of the caravan.
”He is just homesick,” said Nasruddin’s companion.
”Homesick? We are all homesick,” said the leader.
”YES,” said Mulla Nasruddin’s companion ”BUT HE IS WORSE. HE OWNS A TAVERN.”

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Mulla Nasruddin’s son was studying homework and said his father, ”Dad, what is a monologue?”
”A MONOLOGUE,” said Nasruddin, ”IS A CONVERSATION BEING CARRIED ON BY YOUR MOTHER WITH ME.”

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Mulla Nasruddin stormed out of his office and yelled, ”SOME THING HAS GOT TO BE DONE ABOUT THOSE SIX PHONES ON MY DESK. FOR THE PAST FIVE MINUTES I HAVE BEEN TALKING TO MYSELF.”

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Mulla Nasruddin was complaining to a friend.
”My wife is a nagger,” he said.
”What is she fussing about this time?” his friend asked.
”Now,” said the Mulla, ”she has begun to nag me about what I eat. This morning she asked me if I knew how many pancakes I had eaten. I told her I don’t count
pancakes and she had the nerve to tell me I had eaten 19 already.”
”And what did you say?” asked his friend.
”I didn’t say anything,” said Nasruddin. ”I WAS SO MAD, I JUST GOT UP FROM THE TABLE AND WENT TO WORK WITHOUT MY BREAKFAST.”

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Mulla Nasruddin had been arrested for being drunk and was being questioned at the police station.
”So you say, you are a poet,” demanded the desk sargeant.
”Yes, Sir,” said the Mulla.
”That’s not so, Sargeant,” said the arresting officer.
”I SEARCHED HIM AND FOUND 500 IN HIS POCKET.”

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Mulla Nasruddin was bragging about his rich friends. ”I have one friend who saves five hundred dollars a day,” he said.
”What does he do, Mulla?” asked a listener. ”How does he save five hundred dollars a day?”
”Every morning when he goes to work, he goes in the subway,” said Nasruddin. ”You know in the subway, there is a five-hundred dollar fine if you spit, SO, HE DOESN’T SPIT!”

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Mulla Nasruddin looked at the drug clerk doubtfully. ”I take it for granted,” he said, ”that you are a qualified druggist.”
”Oh, yes, Sir” he said.
”Have you passed all the required examinations?” asked the Mulla.
”Yes,” he said again.
”You have never poisoned anybody by mistake, have you?” the Mulla asked.
”Why, no!” he said.
”IN THAT CASE,” said Nasruddin, ”PLEASE GIVE ME TEN CENTS’ WORTH OF EPSOM SALTS.”

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Mulla Nasruddin went to get a physical examination.
He was so full of alcohol that the doctor said to him,
”You will have to come back the day after tomorrow. Any examination we might make today would not mean anything – that’s what whisky does, you know.”
”YES, I KNOW,” said Nasruddin. ”I SOMETIMES HAVE THAT TROUBLE MYSELF. I WILL DO AS YOU SAY AND COME BACK THE DAY AFTER TOMORROW – WHEN YOU ARE SOBER, SIR.”

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Mulla Nasruddin had been to see the doctor. When he came home, his wife asked him: ”Well, did the doctor find out what you had?”
”ALMOST,” said Nasruddin. ”I HAD 40 AND HE CHARGED ME 49.”

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Mulla Nasruddin, elected to the Congress, was being interviewed by the press. One reporter asked: ”Do you feel that you have influenced public opinion, Sir?”
”NO,” answered Nasruddin. ”PUBLIC OPINION IS SOMETHING LIKE A MULE I ONCE OWNED. IN ORDER TO KEEP UP THE APPEARANCE OF BEING THE DRIVER, I HAD TO WATCH THE WAY IT
WAS GOING AND THEN FOLLOWED AS CLOSELY AS I COULD.”

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An insurance salesman had been talking for hours try-ing to sell Mulla Nasruddin on the idea of insuring his barn. At last he seemed to have the prospect interested because he had begun to ask questions.
”Do you mean to tell me,” asked the Mulla, ”that if I give you a check for 75andifmybarnburnsdown,youwillpayme50,000?’
”That’s exactly right,” said the salesman. ”Now, you are beginning to get the idea.”
”Does it matter how the fire starts?” asked the Mulla.
”Oh, yes,” said the salesman. ”After each fire we made a careful investigation to make sure the fire was started accidentally. Otherwise, we don’t pay the claim.”
”HUH,” grunted Nasruddin, ”I KNEW IT WAS TOO GOOD TO BE TRUE.”

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The blacksheep of the family had applied to his brother, Mulla Nasruddin, for a loan, which he agreed to grant him at an interest rate of 9 per cent.
The never-do-well complained about the interest rate ”What will our poor father say when he looks down from his eternal home and sees one of his sons charging another son 9 per cent on a loan?”
”FROM WHERE HE IS,” said Nasruddin, ”IT WILL LOOK LIKE 6 PER CENT.”

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”Mulla, how about lending me 50?”askedafriend.
”Sorry,” said Mulla Nasruddin, ”I can only let you have 25.”
”But why not the entire 50,MULLA?”
”NO,” said Nasruddin, ”THAT WAY IT’S EVEN – EACH ONE OF US LOSES 25.”

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Mulla Nasruddin and one of his merchant friends on their way to New York were travelling in a carriage and chatting. Suddenly a band of armed bandits appeared and ordered them to halt.
”Your money or your life,” boomed the leader of the bandits.
’Just a moment please,” said Mulla Nasruddin. ”I owe my friend here 500, and I would like to pay him first.
”YOSEL,” said Nasruddin, ”HERE IS YOUR DEBT. REMEMBER, WE ARE SQUARE NOW.”

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In asking Mulla Nasruddin for a loan of 10, a woman said to him,”If I don't get the loan I will be ruined.”
”Madam,” replied Nasruddin, ”IF A WOMAN CAN BE RUINED FOR 10,THEN SHE IS N0T WORTH SAVING.”

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Mulla Nasruddin met a man on a London street. They had known each other slightly in America. ”How are things with you?” asked the Mulla.
”Pretty fair,” said the other. ”I have been doing quite well in this country.”
”How about lending me 100,then?”saidNasruddin.
”Why I hardly know you, and you are asking me to lend you 100!”
”I can’t understand it,” said Nasruddin. ”IN THE OLD COUNTRY PEOPLE WOULD NOT LEND ME MONEY BECAUSE THEY KNEW ME, AND HERE I CAN’T GET A LOAN BECAUSE THEY DON’T KNOW ME.”

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”I have found the road to success no easy matter,” said Mulla Nasruddin. ”I started at the bottom. I worked twelve hours a day. I sweated. I fought. I took abuse. I did things I did not approve of. But I kept right on climbing the ladder.”
”And now, of course, you are a success, Mulla?” prompted the interviewer.
”No, I would not say that,” replied Nasruddin with a laugh. ”JUST QUOTE ME AS SAYING THAT I HAVE BECOME AN EXPERT AT CLIMBING LADDERS.”

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Mulla Nasruddin, asked if he believed in luck, replied ”CERTAINLY: HOW ELSE DO YOU EXPLAIN THE SUCCESS OF THOSE YOU DON’T LIKE?”

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Mulla Nasruddin was the witness in a railroad accident case.
”You saw this accident while riding the freight train?”
”Where were you when the accident happened?”
”Oh, about forty cars from the crossing.”
”Forty car lengths at 2 a. m.! Your eyesight is remarkable! How far can you see at night, anyway?”
”I CAN’T EXACTLY SAY,” said Nasruddin. ”JUST HOW FAR AWAY IS THE MOON?”

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Mulla Nasruddin’s wife seeking a divorce charged that her husband ”thinks only of horse racing. He talks horse racing: he sleeps horse racing and the racetrack is the only place he goes. It is horses, horses, horses all day long and most of the night. He does not even know the date of our wedding.
”That’s not true, Your Honour,” cried Nasruddin. ”WE WERE MARRIED THE DAY DARK STAR WON THE KENTUCKY DERBY.”

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There was a play in which an important courtroom scene included Mulla Nasruddin as a hurriedly recruited judge. All that he had to do was sit quietly until asked for his verdict and give it as instructed by the play’s director.
But Mulla Nasruddin was by no means apathetic, he became utterly absorbed in the drama being played before him. So absorbed, in fact, that instead of following instructions and saying ”Guilty,” the Mulla arose and firmly said, ”NOT GUILTY.”

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Two graduates of the Harvard School of Business decided to start their own business and put into practice what they had learned in their studies. But they soon went into bankruptcy and Mulla Nasruddin took over their business. The two educated men felt sorry for the Mulla and taught him what they knew about economic theory. Some time later the two former proprietors called on their successor when they heard he was doing a booming business. ”What’s the secret of your success?”they asked Mulla Nasruddin.
”T’ain’t really no secret,” said Nasruddin. ”As you know, schooling and theory is not in my line. I just buy an article for 1 and sell it for 2. ONE PER CENT PROFIT IS ENOUGH FOR ME.”

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Mulla Nasruddin’s testimony in a shooting affair was unsatisfactory. When asked, ”Did you see the shot fired?” the Mulla replied, ”No, Sir, I only heard it.”
”Stand down,” said the judge sharply. ”Your testimony is of no value.”
Nasruddin turned around in the box to leave and when his back was turned to the judge he laughed loud and derisively. Irate at this exhibition of contempt, the judge called the Mulla back to the chair and demanded to know how he dared to laugh in the court.
”Did you see me laugh, Judge?” asked Nasruddin.
”No, but I heard you,” retorted the judge.
”THAT EVIDENCE IS NOT SATISFACTORY, YOUR HONOUR.” said Nasruddin respectfully.

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Mulla Nasruddin and a friend went to the racetrack.
The Mulla decided to place a hunch bet on Chopped Meat.
On his way to the betting window he encountered a tout who talked him into betting on Tug of War since, said the tout, ”Chopped Meat does not have a chance.”
The next race the friend decided to play a hunch and bet on a horse named Overcoat. On his way to the window he met the same tout, who convinced him Overcoat did not have a chance and talked him into betting on Flying Feet. So Overcoat won, and Flyiny Feet came in last. On their way to the parking lot for the return trip, winnerless, the two friends decided to buy some peanuts. The Mulla said he’d get them. He came back with popcorn.
”What’s the idea?” said his friend ”I thought we agreed to buy peanuts.”
”YES, I KNOW,” said Mulla Nasruddin. ”BUT I MET THAT MAN AGAIN.”

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Mulla Nasruddin was telling a friend that he was starting a business in partnership with another fellow.
”How much capital are you putting in it, Mulla?” the friend asked.
”None. The other man is putting up the capital, and I am putting in the experience,” said the Mulla.
”So, it’s a fifty-fifty agreement.”
”Yes, that’s the way we are starting out,” said Nasruddin, ”BUT I FIGURE IN ABOUT FIVE YEARS I WILL HAVE THE CAPITAL AND HE WILL HAVE THE EXPERIENCE.”

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A blind man went with Mulla Nasruddin to the race-track to bet on a horse named Bolivar. The Mulla stood next to him and related Bolivar’s progress in the race.
”How is Bolivar at the quarter?”
”Coming good.”
”And how is Bolivar at the half?”
”Running strong!”
After a few seconds, ”How is Bolivar at the three-quarter?”
”Holding his own.”
”How is Bolivar in the stretch?”
”In there running like hell!” said Nasruddin. ”HE IS HEADING FOR THE LINE, DRIVING ALL THE OTHER HORSES IN FRONT OF HIM.”

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”Why do you call your mule ”POLITICIAN,” Mulla?” a neighbor asked.
”BECAUSE,” said Mulla Nasruddin, ”THIS MULE GETS MORE BLAME AND ABUSE THAN ANYTHING ELSE AROUND HERE, BUT HE STILL GOES AHEAD AND DOES JUST WHAT HE DAMN PLEASES.”

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”You look mighty dressed up, Mulla,” a friend said to Mulla Nasruddin. ”What’s going on, something special?”
”Yes,” said the Mulla, ”I am celebrating tonight with my wife. I am taking her to dinner in honor of seven years of perfect married happiness.”
”Seven years of married happiness,” the friend said. ”Why man, I think that’s wonderful.”
”I THINK IT’S PRETTY GOOD MYSELF,” said Nasruddin. ”SEVEN OUT OF SEVENTY.”

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A newspaper reporter was interviewing Mulla Nasruddin on the occasion of his 105th birthday.
”Tell me,” he said, ”do you believe the younger generation is on the road to perdition?”
”YES, SIR,” said old Nasruddin. ”AND I HAVE BELIEVED IT FOR MORE THAN NINETY YEARS.”

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”Why didn’t you answer the letter I sent you?” demanded Mulla Nasruddin’s wife.
”Why, I didn’t get any letter from you,” said Nasruddin. ”AND BESIDES, I DIDN’T LIKE THE THINGS YOU SAID IN IT!”

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After giving his speech, the guest of the evening was standing at the door with Mulla Nasruddin, the president of the group, shaking hands with the folks as they left the hall.
Compliments were coming right and left, until one fellow shook hands and said, ”I thought it stunk.”
”What did you say?” asked the surprised speaker.
”I said it stunk. That’s the worst speech anybody ever gave around here. Whoever invited you to speak tonight ought to be but out of the club.” With that he turned and walked away.
”DON’T PAY ANY ATTENTION TO THAT MAN,” said Mulla Nasruddin to the speaker. ”HE’S A NITWIT. WHY, THAT MAN NEVER HAD AN ORIGINAL, THOUGHT IN HIS LIFE. ALL HE DOES IS
LISTEN TO WHAT OTHER PEOPLE SAY, THEN HE GOES AROUND REPEATING IT.”

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”Well, Mulla,” said the priest, ”’I am glad to see you out again after your long illness. You have had a bad time of it.”
”Indeed, Sir,” said Mulla Nasruddin.
”And, when you were so near Death’s door, did you feel afraid to meet God?” asked the priest.
”NO, SIR,” said Nasruddin. ”IT WAS THE OTHER GENTLEMAN.”

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In a street a small truck loaded with glassware collided with a large truck laden with bricks, and practically all of the glassware was smashed.
Considerable sympathy was felt for the driver as he gazed ruefully at the shattered fragments. A benevolent looking old gentleman eyed him compassionately.
”My poor man,” he said, ”I suppose you will have to make good this loss out of your own pocket?”
”Yep,” was the melancholy reply.
”Well, well,” said the philanthropic old gentleman, ”hold out your hat – here’s fifty cents for you; and I dare say some of these other people will give you a helping hand too.”
The driver held out his hat and over a hundred persons hastened to drop coins in it. At last, when the contributions had ceased, he emptied the contents of his hat into his pocket. Then, pointing to the retreating figure of the philanthropist who had started the collection, he observed ”SAY, MAYBE HE AIN’T THE WISE GUY! THAT’S ME BOSS, MULLA Nasruddin!”

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Mulla Nasruddin, whose barn burned down, was told by the insurance company that his policy provided that the company build a new barn, rather than paying him the cash value of it. The Mulla was incensed by this.
”If that’s the way you fellows operate,” he said, ”THEN CANCEL THE INSURANCE I HAVE ON MY WIFE’S LIFE.”

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Mulla Nasruddin had spent eighteen months on deserted island, the lone survivor when his yacht sank.
He had managed so well, he thought less and less of his business and his many investments. But he was nonetheless delighted to see a ship anchor off shore and launch a small boat that headed toward the island.
When the boat crew reached the shore the officer in charge came forward with a bundle of current newspapers and magazines. ”The captain,” explained the officer, ”thought you would want to look over these papers to see what has been happening in the world, before you decide that you want to be rescued.”
”It’s very thoughtful of him,” replied Nasruddin. ”BUT I THINK I NEED AN ACCOUNTANT MOST OF ALL. I HAVEN’T FILED AN INCOME TAX RETURN FOR TWO YEARS, AND WHAT WITH THE PENALTIES AND ALL, I AM NOT SURE I CAN NOW AFFORD TO RETURN.”

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The weekly poker group was in the midst of an exceptionally exciting hand when one of the group fell dead of a heart attack. He was laid on a couch in the room, and one of the three remaining members asked,
”What shall we do now?”
”I SUGGEST,” said Mulla Nasruddin, the most new member of the group, ”THAT OUT OF RESPECT FOR OUR DEAR DEPARTED FRIEND, WE FINISH THIS HAND STANDING UP.”

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”With all of the evidence to the contrary,” the district attorney said to the defendant, ”do you still maintain Nasruddin, that your wife died of a broken heart?”
”I CERTAINLY DO,” said Mulla Nasruddin. ”IF SHE HAD NOT BROKEN MY HEART, I WOULDN’T HAVE SHOT HER.”

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Mulla Nasruddin and his partner closed the business early one Friday afternoon and went off together for a long weekend in the country. Seated playing canasta under the shade of trees, the partner looked up with a start and said. ”Good Lord, Mulla, we forgot to lock the safe.”
”SO WHAT,” replied Nasruddin. ”THERE’S NOTHING TO WORRY ABOUT. WE ARE BOTH HERE.”

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Mulla Nasruddin was tired, weary, bored. He called for his limousine, got in and said to the chauffeur: ”JAMES, DRIVE FULL SPEED OVER THE CLIFF. I HAVE DECIDED TO COMMIT SUICIDE.”

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Mulla Nasruddin was stopped one day by a collector of charity and urged to give till it hurts.”Nasruddin shook his head and said, ”WHY THE VERY IDEA HURTS.”

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The young doctor stood gravely at the bedside, looking down at the sick Mulla Nasruddin, and said to him: ”I am sorry to tell you, but you have scarlet fever. This is an extremely contagious disease.”
Mulla Nasruddin turned to his wife and said, ”My dear, if any of my creditors call, tell them I AM AT LAST IN A POSITION TO GIVE THEM SOMETHING.”

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Mulla Nasruddin was scheduled to die in a gas chamber. On the morning of the day of his execution he was asked by the warden if there was anything special he would like for breakfast.
”YES,” said Nasruddin, ”MUSHROOMS. I HAVE ALWAYS BEEN AFRAID TO EAT THEM FOR FEAR OF BEING POISONED.”

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The new politician was chatting with old Mulla Nasruddin, who asked him how he was doing.
”Not so good,” said the new man. ”Every place I go, I get insulted.”
”THAT’S FUNNY,” said the Mulla. ”I HAVE BEEN IN POLITICS FOR MORE THAN SIXTY YEARS MYSELF AND I HAVE HAD MY PROPAGANDA LITERATURE PITCHED OUT THE DOOR, BEEN THROWN
OUT MYSELF, KICKED DOWN STAIRS; AND WAS EVEN PUNCHED IN THE NOSE ONCE BUT, I WAS NEVER INSULTED.”

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The old man was ninety years old and his son, Mulla Nasruddin, who himself was now seventy years old, was trying to get him placed in a nursing home. The place was crowded and Nasruddin was having difficulty.
”Please,” he said to the doctor. ”You must take him in.
He is getting feeble minded. Why, all day long he sits in the bathtub, playing with a rubber Donald Duck!”
”Well,” said the psychiatrist, ”he may be a bit senile but he is not doing any harm, is he?”
”BUT,” said Mulla Nasruddin in tears, ”IT’S MY DONALD DUCK.”

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It was the day of the hanging, and as Mulla Nasruddin was led to the foot of the steps of the scaffold. he suddenly stopped and refused to walk another step.
”Let’s go,” the guard said impatiently. ”What’s the matter?”
”SOMEHOW,” said Nasruddin, ”THOSE STEPS LOOK MIGHTY RICKETY – THEY JUST DON’T LOOK SAFE ENOUGH TO WALK UP.”

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In earlier days in America it was not unusual for politicians to take advantage of a public hanging to address the crowd of spectators. When Mulla Nasruddin, the condemned, was told a politician was going to speak on the grim occasion. ”HAVE ME FIRST, PLEASE,” screamed Mulla Nasruddin. But it was not possible. So Mulla Nasruddin thanked the speaker for making it easier to die”.

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Mulla Nasruddin was tired, weary, bored. He called for his limousine, got in and said to the chauffeur: ”JAMES. DRIVE FULL SPEED OVER THE CLIFF. I HAVE DECIDED TO COMMIT SUICIDE.”

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The mother told her little boy, Nasruddin, that if he stayed home and behaved himself, she would bring him something from the store. When she returned home, she asked him: "Well, were you a good little boy, Nasruddin?" "Oh," said Nasruddin, "I was gooder than good. Why, I was so good I could hardly stand myself."

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"Please, mister, will you ring that doorbell for me?" asked little Nasruddin. The gentleman obliged with a beaming smile. "Now, sonny, what else should I do?"
"Run like hell!" said Nasruddin.

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A very voluble preacher was working himself into a frenzy during a sermon on hell and damnation. Little four-year-old Nasruddin in the congregation couldn't take his eyes off the wild figure in the pulpit. Finally he whispered to his mother: "What will we do if he ever gets loose?"

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The four-year-old Nasruddin's birthday party was well organized the neighbourhood ladies, with games, races, and treasure hunts. In the midst of the confusion, little Nasruddin asked: "When this is all over, can we play?"

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Father: "Remember, son, beauty is only skin deep." Mulla Nasruddin: "'S' deep enough for me. I'm no cannibal."

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The father was reading the school report which had just been handed to him by his hopeful son, Nasruddin. His brow was wrathful as he read: "English, poor;French, weak; Mathematics, poor; History, weak;" and he gave a glance of disgust at the quaking lad.
"Well, Dad," said Nasruddin, "It is not as good as it might be, but have you seen that?" And he pointed to the next line, which read: "Health, excellent."

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A teacher attempting to broaden the outlook of her narrow-horizoned class, asked each student to write an essay on his views of foreigners. All turned more or less acceptable pieces except for hard-bitten young Nasruddin, whose essay in full was: "All foreigners are bastards." The shocked teacher made us direct comment but devoted her next lecture to a description of Greek architecture, Roman law, English drama, German music, Italian poetry, Russian novels, Chinese philosophy, and African sculpture. She then asked the class tow rite another essay on foreigners. With beating heart, she reached Nasruddin's paper. It said, in full: "All foreigners are bastards. Some are cunning bastards."

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Nasruddin (who has eaten his apple): "Let us play Adam and Eve." Small sister: "How do you play that, Nasruddin. Nasruddin: "Well, you tempt me to eat your apple and I will give in."

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Nasruddin, aged seven, asked to count in school, responded promptly: "1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, jack, queen, king."

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Little Nasruddin pulled a very weed from the garden. "You must be pretty strong, Nasruddin, to pull out such a big weed," remarked a neighbour. "Yes," agreed Nasruddin. "Do not forget that the whole world was pulling on the other side."

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"What a boy you are for asking questions," said Nasruddin's father. "I'd like to know what would have happened if I'd asked as many questions when I was a boy?"
"Perhaps," suggested young Nasruddin, "You would have been able to answer some of mine."

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The little boy, Nasruddin, would not take his medicine. His father was trying to persuade him. "Come on, Nasruddin," said his father. "I don't like medicine any better than you, but I just make up my mind that I'll take it, and I do. It's just a question of will power." "Well, when I have got medicine to take," said Nasruddin, "I just make up my mind that I won't take it, and I don't."

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It seemed to the father of Mulla Nasruddin that, now that his son had turned thirteen, it was important to discuss these matters which an adolescent ought to know about life. So he called Nasruddin into the study one evening, shut the door careful, and said with impressive dignity: "Son, I would like to discuss the facts of life with you." "Sure thing, Dad," said Nasruddin. "What do you want to know?"

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"Will you marry me, darling?" asked Mulla Nasruddin. "Before I give you my answer," the young lady said, "I'd like to ask you one question: Do you ever drink anything?" "Yes," said the young Nasruddin rather proudly, "Anything."

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Gruff father to Nasruddin: "Why don't you get out and find a job? When I was your age I was working for Rs.3 a week in a store, and at the end of five years I owned the store." Nasruddin: "You can't do that nowadays. They have cash registers."

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"Kiss me," said the young lady urgently. "Mulla, please kiss me." But Mulla Nasruddin turned his head away, saying: "of course not. How can I? I am your own brother-in-law. Heck, we shouldn't even be lying here making love."

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The first morning after the honeymoon, Mulla Nasruddin got up early, went down to the kitchen, and brought his wife her breakfast in bed. Naturally she was delighted. then he spoke: "Have you noticed just what I have done?" "Of course, dear; every single detail," said his wife. "Good," said Nasruddin. "That is how I want my breakfast served every morning after this."

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Mulla Nasruddin had been back from his honeymoon only a week when a friend asked him how he liked married life. "Why, it's wonderful," was his enthusiastic reply. "It's almost like being in love."

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"I should never have got married," said Mulla Nasruddin, the newly wed, to his pal at work. "My wife does not like me when I am drunk, and I can't stand the sight of her when I am sober."

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Mrs. Mulla Nasruddin: "Just think, we have been married twenty-four hours." Mulla Nasruddin: "Yes, and it seems like it was only yesterday."

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"These spoons which your aunt gave us as a wedding present are not real silver," announced Mulla Nasruddin. "Do you know anything about silver, Mulla?" asked his wife. "No," replied Nasruddin, "but I know a lot about your aunt."

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The little old lady had watched the tender parting of the young couple at the loading ramp. As the plane taxied down the runaway, the young man, Mulla Nasruddin, burst into tears. "There, there, my boy, don't cry," said the lady, who was sitting next to him. "Are you crying so because you have to leave your wife?" "No," said Nasruddin, "because I have to go back to her."

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"We've been married a year and we never quarrel," explained Mulla Nasruddin. "If a difference of opinion arises and my wife is right, I give in right away." "But what if you are right, Mulla?" asked his friend. "Well," said Nasruddin, "that situation has never come up."

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It was their first quarrel. "And you tell me that several women proposed marriage to you?" asked the wife. "Yes, several," replied the Mulla. "Well, I wish you had married the first fool who proposed." "I did," said Nasruddin.

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"Now that you are married, Mulla, I suppose you will take out an insurance policy?" Mulla Nasruddin's friend told him at work. "Oh, no," answered Nasruddin. "I don't think she's going to be so dangerous."

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"Do you think that you have as good a sense of judgement as I have?" asked the wife during a quarrel. "Well, no," replied Mulla Nasruddin slowly. "Our choice of partners for life shows that you have better judgement than me."

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"How is it that, after only three months of marriage, you manage to stay out so late every night?" asked Mulla Nasruddin's wife. "It;s easy," said Nasruddin. "I got into the habit while we were courting."

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Mulla Nasruddin left his young wife alone on the beach for a few minutes. When he came back, he saw a crowd of excited people gathered at the water's edge.
"What's the matter?" he asked a cop. "They just pulled some dame out of the water," was the reply. The Mulla investigated and found that the rescued party was his wife. "What are you doing to her?" he cried. "We are giving her artificial respiration," was the answer. "Artificial, hell," screamed Nasruddin. "Give her the real thing. I will pay for it."

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"Darling," she whispered to Mulla Nasruddin after the last quest had left the wedding reception, "for the rest of your life you will have to put up with my ugly face." "Never mind," said Nasruddin. "I will be out at work all day."
30. He was so sick that his doctor ordered him to take a long rest cure in Florida. But after two months he died anyway. Shipped back home, the corpse was viewed by the widow and her brother, Mulla Nasruddin. "Mulla," she sighed, "he does look nice, doesn't he?" "He sure does," replied Nasruddin. "Who wouldn't after two months in Florida?"

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Mulla Nasruddin went in to see his dentist, and when asked which tooth was bothering him, replied: "Oh, just drill anywhere, doc. I feel lucky today."

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At a political meeting addressed by one of the dignified statesmen, Mulla Nasruddin insisted on shouting: "Who is the woman you're living with in the capital?"
He was ignored and once more yelled: "Who is the woman you're living with in the capital?" His friend pulled his arm anxiously: "Shut up. That's his wife." "I know.
I know," said Mulla Nasruddin. "but I am going to make him admit it."

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"Mulla Nasruddin, do you plead guilty?" "I couldn't say, your Honour," said Nasruddin. "I haven't heard the evidence yet."

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Mulla Nasruddin boasted how he kept his money in a sock under the mattress. "Sure," advised his friend, "you lose interest that way." "Indeed I don't," said Nasruddin. "I put a bit aside for that as well."

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The visitor complained of the long muddy avenue to Mulla Nasruddin's house. "Well, now," soothed the Mulla, "If it was any shorter it would not reach the house."

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"I intend to put together a volume of my collected sermons to be published posthumously," said the preacher to Mulla Nasruddin. "Oh, really -- I shall look forward to that," said Nasruddin.

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"What are you giving up for Ramadan?" "Smoking, drinking and chasing women. What are you giving up, Nasruddin?" "Telling lies," said Mulla Nasruddin.

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"You are lucky you don't have to get up and go to mosque on these dark morning, Mulla." "No -- I am an atheist now-a-days -- Thank God!" said Mulla Nasruddin.

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Doctor: "You look much better this week, Mulla." Mulla Nasruddin: "I certainly am, doctor. I reckon it's because I followed the directions on the bottle of medicine you prescribed for me last time." Doctor: "Splendid. Er -- what directions?" Nasruddin: "It said: 'Keep this bottle tightly corked'."

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Mulla Nasruddin said to the bartender: "Have you seen Sheikh Abdulla around here in the last hour and a half?" "Yes, he was here," said the bartender. "Good," said Mulla Nasruddin. "Did you notice whether I was with him?"

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Mulla Nasruddin walked out of a hall where a politician was addressing a meeting. Someone in the corridor asked him of the speaker had finished his speech.
"Yes," said Nasruddin. "He finished his speech shortly after he started, but he has not stopped yet."

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Mulla Nasruddin, a candidate for the police force, was being verbally examined. "If you were by yourself in a police car and were pursued by a desperate gang of criminals in another car doing forty miles an hour along a lonely road, what would you do?"
The Mulla looked puzzled for a moment and then replied: "Fifty."

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An exasperated politician was being heckled. "There seems to be a great many fools here tonight," he exclaimed. "I wonder if it would be advisable to hear one at a time." "That's fair enough," shouted Mulla Nasruddin in the audience. "Finish your speech."

download_1.pngMulla Nasruddin left the gas turned on in his little shop one night and upon arriving in the morning struck a match to light it. There was a terrific explosion, and the Mulla was blown out through the door. A passer-by rushed to his assistance, and inquired if he was injured. Nasruddin gazed at his place of business, which was now burning quite briskly, and said: "No, I ain't hurt. But I got out just in time, eh?"

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"I sent my little boy for two pounds of plums and you only sent a pound and a half. Are you scales correct, Mulla?" "My scales are all right, madam," said Mulla Nasruddin. "Have you weighed your little boy?"

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A man entered Mulla Nasruddin's shop, which he found empty except for the Mulla, who was playing chess with a dog. The dog, watching the board intently, made his moves by grasping the particular chessman in his teeth. He wagged his tail wildly when he made a good move and, on occasion, would bark sharply to indicate "Check!"
The customer, finally recovered from his stupefaction, gasped out, "Hey, that's a smart dog you have got there." And Mulla Nasruddin answered: "Not so smart! I have beat him three times out of five so far."

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"If you will give me your telephone number, I will call you up some time." Mulla Nasruddin: "It's in the book." "fine! And what's your name, sir?" Mulla Nasruddin: "That's in the book, too!"

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Friend: "How do you spend your income, Mulla?" Mulla Nasruddin: "About 30 per cent for shelter, 30 per cent for clothing, 40 per cent for food, and 20 per cent for amusement." Friend: "But that adds up to 120 per cent." Nasruddin: "That's right."

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Mulla Nasruddin and his friend sat silently over their beers, each sunk in misery. Finally, the friend heaved a sigh and said: "I wish I were dead." Nasruddin sighed in his turn and said: "If only I felt that good."

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Mulla Nasruddin used to say: "I grew so disturbed with everything I read about the connection between smoking and cancer that I finally simply forced myself to give up reading."

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Once Mulla Nasruddin was stopped by a thief who said: "Your money or your life." The Mulla closed his eyes and there followed a lengthening silence. Finally, the thief said again: "Come on, your money or your life." Mulla Nasruddin opened his eyes and said querulously: "I am thinking! I am thinking!"

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A friend met Mulla Nasruddin for the first time in five years.
"Tell me, Mulla," said he, "did you marry that girl, or do you still darn your own socks and do your cooking?" "Yes," was Mulla Nasruddin's reply.

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Mulla Nasruddin and his friend Sheikh Abdulla approached each other one night in the tavern. "Good morning, Nasruddin. How are you?" "I am fine, Abdulla, but my name is not Nasruddin." "Mine's not Abdulla, either." "Not to worry," said Mulla Nasruddin. "we are probably not ourselves today."

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Mulla Nasruddin: "I suppose you could say I have an uncanny knack of getting my own way. I am terribly ambitious, and somehow I always seem to achieve my selfish goals -- women, money, power -- I just brook no opposition, but forge ahead, regardless of others." Psychiatrist: "And how long have you had this complaint?"
Nasruddin: "who's complaining?"

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A psychiatrist was called in to examine Mulla Nasruddin who was suing his employers for compensation after an industrial injury. "Now, Mulla, perhaps you could show me just how high you can raise your arms..." The Mulla complied painfully raising his arms only to shoulder level. "And how high could you raise them before?
Can you show me?" asked the psychiatrist blandly. "Come off it, Doctor -- you don't catch me that way," sneered Nasruddin. "I could only raise them this high before the accident as well!"

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The landlord sent a stiff letter to his tenant, Mulla Nasruddin: "My rent is considerably overdue and I must ask you to send on some money." Mulla Nasruddin's reply was swift: "I don't see why I should pay your rent -- I can't pay my own."

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Mulla Nasruddin bumped into Issacs who was looking terribly dejected. "What's the matter?" asked the Mulla. "I am bankrupt," said a quiet Issacs; "my business failed." "Oh, well," said Nasruddin, "what about the property in your wife's name?" "There is no property in my wife's name." "Well, then, what about the property in your children's names?" "There is no property in my children's names." Mulla Nasruddin put his hand on Issacs' shoulder: "Issacs, you are very mistaken, you are not bankrupt -- you are ruined."

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Saleem was in a quandry. What to do? -- marry the wealthy widow that he didn't love, or the poor lassie that he loved overmuch? "Listen to your heart, man," urged his best friend, Mulla Nasruddin. "Marry the one you love." "Aye, you are right as usual, Mulla," he nodded, "money is not everything." "In that case, Saleem, would you mind giving me the widow's address?" asked Nasruddin.

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Mulla Nasruddin called on a doctor to ask his advice. The doctor told him he must stop drinking and smoking. Nasruddin said nothing and quietly rose to depart.
"Friend," the doctor reminded him gently, "you have not paid for my advice." "No," said Nasruddin, "and what's more, I am not taking it either."

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It was after midnight and Solly Ginsberg was sleeping roundly in his bedroom above his pawnshop, when he heard a loud hammering on the door below. Angrily, he got out of bed and put his head out of the window. "Get yourself down here," demanded Mulla Nasruddin, the caller. "What, at this time of night?" replied Ginsberg.
"Come down, or I will smash your door in." Muttering to himself, the pawnbroker staggered down the stairs and opened the door. "What you want?" he asked. "I want to know the time," said the Mulla. "What!" said Ginsberg, "you wake me up in the middle of the night to ask me the time?" "Well, you have got my watch, haven't you?" said Mulla Nasruddin.

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"Everything God made is perfect," said Mulla Nasruddin one day in the tavern. A hunchback rose from the rear of his audience and asked: "What about me?" "Why," said Nasruddin, "you're the most perfect hunchback I ever saw!"

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Mulla Nasruddin was in bed with a cold and a high temperature. "How high is it, Doctor?" he wanted to know. "A hundred and five, Nasruddin," said the doctor. The Mulla contemplated for a while and then asked again: "What's the world's record?"

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"Got a cigarette, Mulla?" "Here, take the pack." "Thanks. Got a match?" "You can keep this lighter." "Thanks again. Say, have you got an oil well or something?"
"No," said Mulla Nasruddin. "only lung cancer."

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Mulla Nasruddin one day noticed a parrot perched atop a farmhouse gable. Attracted by the bright plumage, he ran to fetch a ladder, climbed on the roof, and was about to clap his cap over the bird when the parrot fixed on him with a beady eye and asked: "What the hell do you think you're doing?" "Gosh, I didn't mean nothin'," said Mulla Nasruddin. "I thought you was a bird, sir."

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The bandage-covered patient who lay in the hospital bed spoke dazedly to his visiting pal, Mulla Nasruddin: "Wh-what happened?" "You absorbed one too many last night, and then you made a bet that you could jump out of the window and fly around the block." "Why," screamed the beat-up human, "didn't you stop me?" "Stop you, hell -- I had Rupees 25 on you," said Mulla Nasruddin.

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The eccentric Sultan once sent Mulla Nasruddin as a henchman around the country. He was to interview the house-holders, and to every man who was boss in his house, he was to give a horse. To every man who was henpecked, he would give a chicken. Everywhere the Mulla went, he handed out chickens with never an occasion to give anyone a horse. At last, though, he arrived at the house of a burly farmer, with a bristly, unshaven face, a deep bass voice, and muscles like an ox. In the background was his thin and wizened wife. The Mulla said: "Are you boss in your family, sir?" The farmer leaned his head back and bellowed with laughter. "You bet, little man," he said. "What I say around here goes." And he opened and closed fists the size of hams. The Mulla was convinced. "You get a horse," he said. "Do you want a brown horse or a gray horse?" The farmer leaned his head and shouted: "Tilda, do we get a brown horse or a gray horse?" Tilda called back: "You get a brown horse." And Mulla Nasruddin said: "You get a chicken."

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The neighbourhood grocer was weary to death of Mulla Nasruddin and his habit of stretching his credit as far as it could possibly be stretched. Finally, he decided to have it out with him. "Mulla Nasruddin," he said, when the Mulla arrived on his next shopping expedition, "I am sorry, but before you make another purchase, I would like to have you settle your bill. All of it. Let's start fresh." Nasruddin drew himself up and allowed a haughty expression to cross his face and said, distinctly, "Go halfway to hell," turned on his heel, and began to stalk out. The grocer called out: One moment, Mulla. Just out of curiosity -- why just halfway to hell? Why not all the way?" Mulla Nasruddin sighed. "The trouble is," he said, "I have an equally large bill with the baker?"

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Mulla Nasruddin's face lit up as he recognized the man who was walking ahead of him down the subway stairs. He slapped the man so heartily on the back that the man nearly collapsed, and cried: "Goldberg, I hardly recognized you. Why, you have gained thirty pounds since I saw you last, and you have had your nose fixed, and I swear you are about two feet taller." The man looked at him angrily. "I beg your pardon," he said in icy tones, "but I do not happen to be Goldberg." "Aha," said Mulla Nasruddin. "you have even changed your name."

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Mulla Nasruddin, who went to a large city to see the sights, engaged a room at a hotel and before retiring asked the clerk about the hours for meals. "We have breakfast 7 to 11, dinner from 12 to 3, and supper from 6 to 8," explained the clerk. "Look here," inquired the Mulla in surprise, "what time am I going to see the town?"

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Psychiatrist: "your wife is suffering from a severe mental illness, Mulla. You should have arranged for her to see me long ago!" Mulla Nasruddin: "But, doctor, when she was in her right mind she wouldn't see a psychiatrist at any price!"

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The prosperous and time-honoured partnership of Nasruddin and Kutbudin threatened to go on the rocks when Kutbudin fell madly in love with Mulla Nasruddin's wife.
The Mulla was very understanding about the whole thing, but finally told his partner: "This thing cannot go any longer. The situation must be resolved one way or another." "We have always been sporting men," said Kutbudin. "what do you think of the idea of playing one game of backgammon to see who gets the girl." Mulla Nasruddin thought this proposition over for a few moments and then agreed. "let us play for a quarter a point," he added, "just to make it interesting."

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Mulla Nasruddin and his friend were adrift in an open boat in the middle of the Atlantic, and things looked very bad for them. After five days without food or water, the friend began to pray: "Oh, Lord, I have not been very good during my life. I have not been good to my wife and I have often spent all my wages on gambling and beer. But, if you spare me life now, I promise...." "Hang on a minute," interrupted Nasruddin. "don't go too far. I think I can see a boat."

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Mulla Nasruddin's old friend Haider Ali died. He was the only atheist in the whole town but the people came to his wake just the same. Mulla Nasruddin, looking at the corpse laid out in his best suit, said: "What a waste! All dressed up and nowhere to go!"
The prosecuting counsel was having a little trouble with a rather difficult witness, Mulla Nasruddin. Exasperated by the Mulla's evasive answers, he asked him if he was acquainted with any of the jury. ]"Yes, sir, more than half of them," replied the Mulla. "Are you willing to swear that you know more than half of them?" asked the counsel. "If it comes to that, I am willing to swear that I know more than all of them put together," said Mulla Nasruddin.

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Mulla Nasruddin, in a tailor shop, was viewing his new suit in a three way mirror. The tailor asked: "Well, what do you think, Mulla?" "Great," said Nasruddin. "I will take all three of them."

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A local bak failed and there was a wildly cursing, milling mob of frantic depositors pounding on the doors. In the centre of this half-crazed, shouting crowd was Mulla Nasruddin running his mouth louder than the rest. "They should string up the president of this bank to a lamp post... also the board of the trustees! To take the poor depositors' hard earned cash.... the poor depositors now left without homes or bread.... we should send the bank officials to Siberia to the salt mines..... the dirty crooks!" Finally a policeman walked over to the Mulla and asked, "Look, mister, have you got any money in this bank, may i ask....?" "Listen, officer," came Mulla Nasruddin's answer, "If I had nay money in this bank, would I be taking it so lightly?"

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Mulla Nasruddin had his suspicions. One day he left work early, and sure enough, when he arrived home, he found a strange hat and umbrella in the hallway and his wife on the couch in the arms of another man. Wild for revenge, the Mulla picked up the man's umbrella and snapped it in two across his knee. "There now I hope it rains."

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Mulla Nasruddin got a job in a bank. The cashier tossed him a packet of one-rupee notes and said: "Check them to make sure there are one hundred." The Mulla started counting. Finally he got up to "56", "57", "58". Then he threw the package in the drawer. "If it is right this far," remarked Nasruddin to the man next to him, "it is probably right all the way."

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Mulla Nasruddin burst into a police court one day. "Your Honour," he snorted, "some disgusting urchins have chalked a lot of filthy four-letter words on the fence surrounding my house. And what's more, they haven't even spelled the words right!"

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Abdul Rehman was a very sick man indeed and his friends took turns visiting him to keep up his spirits. The night Mulla Nasruddin came, he was warned in advance that Abdul Rehman was very low and he must be extremely careful to say nothing discouraging. Nasruddin was doing beautifully and actually had Rehman chuckling over a number of funny stories. But, suddenly, however, the Mulla stopped and began to shake his head. "What's the matter?" said Rehman anxiously. "I was just thinking," said Nasruddin. "how in the name of the Holy Prophet are they going to get a coffin down the crooked stairs in this house?"

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Mulla Nasruddin was taking a stroll through a cemetery and reading the inscriptions on tombstones. He came to one which declared: "Not dead, but sleeping." After contemplating the phrase for a moment, and scratching his head, the Mulla exclaimed: "He sure ain't foolin' nobody but himself."

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"In view of the present world situation," said Mulla Nasruddin one day in the tavern, "the best thing that can happen to a man is not to be born at all in the first place. But I doubt that even one man in a hundred thousand is that lucky."

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A young mother was looking at a toy for her small child. "Isn't this awfully complicated for him?" she asked Mulla Nasruddin, the salesman. "That, madam," replied the Mulla, "is an educational toy, designed to prepare the child for life in today's world. Any way he puts it together is wrong."

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Mulla Nasruddin, having spent considerable time tramping the corridors of the museum, paused for a refreshing cigar. He had not been smoking long when a museum guard approached him angrily and said: "Do you see that?" He was pointing to a sign on the wall which said in glaring red letters: NO SMOKING. Mulla Nasruddin regarded it for a moment, then said to the guard: "It does not say 'positively'."

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Mulla Nasruddin sat moodily over his drink, and his friend said: "You look pretty down in the mouth, Mulla. What's the matter?" Nasruddin said: "My psychiatrist says I am in love with my umbrella and that that's the source of my troubles." "In love with your umbrella!" "Yes. Isn't that ridiculous? Oh, I like and respect my umbrella and enjoy its company, but love?"

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Once Mulla Nasruddin said, addressing a big gathering: "It is with some trepidation that I address an audience of people, all of whom are smarter than I am. All of whom put together, that is."

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Mulla Nasruddin became ill and called in a specialist. The specialist, as he stood by the bedside, said: "Yes, I can cure you." "What will it cost?" asked the Mulla faintly. "Five thousand rupees." "You will have to shave your price a little," replied Nasruddin. "I have a better bid from the undertaker, sir."

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Mulla Nasruddin was working as a city-reporter in a local daily. One night as he was passing along the ways on the banks of the river, he heard the sound of someone struggling in the water. "Are you drowning?" shouted the Mulla. "I am," replied a feeble voice from the water. "What a pity!" said Nasruddin consolingly.
"You are just too late for the last edition tonight. But cheer up; you'll have a nice little paragraph all to yourself in the morning."

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"Now look me right in the face." "Doctor," said Mulla Nasruddin, "I got my own problems."

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Mulla Nasruddin, who was invited to a house party he didn't wish to attend, telegraphed to the hostess: "Regret I can't come. Complete lie follows by letter."

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An American, staying with Mulla Nasruddin, received a telegram, and his face broke out in smiles. Said his friend, Mulla Nasruddin: "Good news, Robert?" "You bet, Mulla. My grandfather and grandmother just celebrated a golden wedding." "Golden wedding? What is that?" asked the Mulla. "Well, you see, they've been together for fifty years -- " Whereupon Nasruddin broke in: "And now he's married her? Oh, bravo!"

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"And at her request you gave up drinking, Mulla?" "Yes." "And you stopped smoking, for the same reason?" "I did." "And it was for her that you gave up dancing,card parties, and billiards?" "Absolutely." "Then why didn't you marry her?"
"Well," said Mulla Nasruddin, "After all this reforming I realized I could do better."

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One friend of Mulla Nasruddin was amazed to see that the Mulla had hitched his prizewinning possession, his prize-winning bull, to the plow and was guiding it across his fields. He said: "Mulla have you gone crazy? That bull is worth twenty-five thousand rupees. Why are you letting him pull a plow?" "That bull," said the Mulla grimly, "has got to learn that life isn't all play."

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Mulla Nasruddin crept into the psychiatrist's office, looked furtively around, then pressed his ear to the desk. "Listen!" he hissed. The psychiatrist pressed his ear to the desk. "I can't hear anything," he said. "Exactly what I mean," said Nasruddin. "worrying, isn't it?"

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Mulla Nasruddin was defeated ignominiously when he ran for the office of sheriff. He got only one vote out of a total of 3,5000, and the next day he walked down Main Street with two guns hanging from his belt. "You were not elected, and you have no right to carry guns, Mulla," fellow citizens told him. "Listen, folks," replied Nasruddin, "a man with no more friends than I have got in this country needs to carry guns."

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"Yes," said Mulla Nasruddin, "my family can trace its ancestry back to Muhammed the Prophet." "I suppose," remarked his friend, "you will be telling us that your ancestors were in the Ark with Noah?" "Certainly not," said Nasruddin. "my people had a boat of their own."

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"What do you think, Mulla, of our two candidates for presidency?" "Well, I am glad," said Mulla Nasruddin, "that only one can be elected."

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Mulla Nasruddin and a friend met in the garment district one day. The friend's voice was heavy with woe. He said to the Mulla: "Did you hear about Mahmood?"
Nasruddin, startled, said: "No; what about Mahmood?" "He dropped dead with a heart attack yesterday." "What!" said Mulla Nasruddin. "in the middle of the season?"

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Mulla Nasruddin was driving along a country road when he noticed a couple of repairmen climbing telephone poles. "Fools!" he exclaimed to his companion, "they must think I never drove a car before."

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Mulla Nasruddin rushed into a barber shop. "Cut everything short," he said, "hair, whiskers, and conversation."

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Mulla Nasruddin lost his faith once and became a hard-bitten atheist. His new credo was: "There is no God, and Muhammad is his prophet."

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Friend: "So your new job makes you independent, Mulla?" Mulla Nasruddin: "Absolutely. I get here any time I want before eight, and leave just when I please after five."

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As Mulla Nasruddin was leaving, he murmured to the hostess: "The meal was delicious, what there was of it." Noting the hurt expression on his hostess's face, the Mulla blushed and hastened to say: "Oh, oh, and there was plenty of food, such as it was."

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"I turned the way I signaled," said the lady, indignantly, after the crash. "I know it," retorted Mulla Nasruddin. "that's what fooled me."

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A young swain, on an automobile drive in the country with his loved one, left the car long enough to venture into a field where he might pick a bouquet of wild flowers for his lady fair. He had barely plucked the blossoms, when he became aware of a bull present in the same field. The bull, a large specimen, was facing him with head lowered. It made distinct snorting sounds and with one leg scrapped the ground. Far away, on the other side of the fence stood the owner, Mulla Nasruddin,who was taking in the situation with a serene eye. The young man yelled out to him: "Hey, is that bull safe?" Mulla Nasruddin shouted back: "Safe as anything." Then he considered a moment more and shouted again: "I can't say the same about you, though."

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Mulla Nasruddin was worried by a vicious-looking dog. "Don't be afraid of him," the owner reassured. "you know the old proverb: A barking dog never bites."
"Yes," replied Mulla Nasruddin. "you know the proverb, I know the proverb, but does the dog know the proverb?"

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Mulla Nasruddin and his two friends were considering the problem of what each would do if the doctor told him he had only six months to live. Said Robinson:
"The first thing I would do would be to liquidate my business, withdraw my savings and have the biggest fling on the French Riviera you ever saw. I'd play roulette,I'd eat like a king, and most of all, I'd have girls, girls and more girls." Said Sheikh Abdulla: "The first thing I would do would be to visit a travel agency and plot out an itinerary. There are a thousand places on earthy I have not seen, and I would like to see them before I die: the Grand Canyon, the Taj Mahal, Angkor Wat, all of them." Said Mulla Nasruddin: "If my doctor said I had only six months to live, the first thing I would do would be to consult another doctor."

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Mulla Nasruddin was aboard a ship, but unfortunately, about halfway across, a storm struck the vessel. It grew rapidly worse, and the cry to abandon ship was given. There followed a scene of unbelievable confusion. Children screamed, women wailed, men shouted and rushed wildly to and fro, while the crew struggled to impose order and place as many as possible in the lifeboats. The sheets of rain and the heavy seas added the last touch of nightmare to the situation. And through it all, watching everything with interest, was Mulla Nasruddin. He sat on a coil of rope, utterly calm, and hummed to himself. A friend rushed to him, crying:
"Mulla, Mulla, how can you sit there so calmly? The ship is sinking. It is being completely destroyed!" "So?" said Nasruddin. "The ship is not my property."

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Mulla Nasruddin was seriously ill in a foreign country. He said to his friend: "Listen, Fareed, just in case you return and I don't, here's a letter to give
Sultana when you get back to the old neighbourhood. Tell her my last thought was of her and her name was the last word I spoke. And here's a letter for Fatima. Tell her the same thing."

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The genius of Mulla Nasruddin had carried him to big success in business without much aid of education. He was asked to distribute the prizes at a school, and made the usual speech of good counsel. "Now boys," he said, "Always remember that education is a great thing. There's nothing like education. Take arithmetic. Through education we learn that twice two make four, that twice six make twelve, that seven sevens make -- and then there is geography."

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"I saw a feller trying to kiss your lass in the park last night, Mulla." "Did he succeed?" asked Mulla Nasruddin. "No."
"Then she was not my lass," said Nasruddin.

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Mulla Nasruddin advised his son on his marriage day: "Son, a successful marriage is often based on what a husband and wife don't know about each other."

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The gentleman was on his way home when he passed Mulla Nasruddin's house and saw through the window Mulla Nasruddin hitting his small boy over the head with a loaf of bread. Next day he passed, and the next, and the next, and each time the Mulla was hitting the boy on the head with a loaf of bread. Finally one Tuesday when he passed, he saw the Mulla hitting the boy on the head with a cake. "Hellow," he said putting his head in through the window," run out of bread today?" "Of course not," replied Mulla Nasruddin, "It's his birthday."

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Mulla Nasruddin: "I can't eat this stuff." Mrs. Mulla Nasruddin: "Never mind, dear. I have some lovely recipes for making use of left-overs." Nasruddin: "In that case I'll eat it now."

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The young bride was telling her father how wonderful marriage was. "Do you know Dad," she said, "Ali gives me everything I ask for." "Which merely shows," replied her father, Mulla Nasruddin, "that you are not asking for enough."

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Mulla Nasruddin's advice to newlyweds: "No family should have less than three children. If there is one genius in the family, then there should be two to support him."

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"Nice to see you are attending mosque again, Nasruddin," said the preacher. "Is it because of my sermons?" "Not yours," said Mulla Nasruddin. "my wife's!"

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Mulla Nasruddin was obviously enjoying his holiday in the hills. When he returned to his hotel each evening he was full of the wonders of the place. another guest, infected, so to speak, by Mulla Nasruddin's delight asked him: "Is this your first time in these hills?" "Aye, it is that," said the Mulla. "You seem to be having such fun that I presume you haven't had a holiday for a considerable time," said the chatty gent. "It's not only that," smiled the Mulla, "but it's my honeymoon as well."
"In that case," asked the guest, taken aback, "where is your wife?" "Oh, she's been here before!" said Mulla Nasruddin.

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"Well," said Hameed, "we have been friends for the last thirty years and never fallen out." "No, never a word between us," said Mulla Nasruddin. "But there is just one thing I never liked to bring up in case we would quarrel," remarked Hameed. "And what was that?" queried the Mulla. "Oh, I still don't like to mention it, but I can't stand your wife!" "Well," said Nasruddin, "we will not quarrel about that. To tell you the truth, I can't stand her myself."

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Mrs. Mulla Nasruddin was reading about birth and death statistics. Suddenly she turned to the Mulla and said: "Do you know that every time I breathe a man dies?" "Very interesting," returned Mulla Nasruddin. "have you tried toothpaste?"

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The judge looked very severe. "Mulla," he said, "your wife says you hit her over the head with a baseball bat and threw her down a flight of stairs. What have you got to say for yourself?" Mulla Nasruddin rubbed the side of his nose with his hand and meditated. Finally he said: "Your Honour, I guess there are three sides to this case: my wife's story, my story and the truth."

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Mulla Nasruddin awoke his wife in a great state of excitement. "Quick," he cried, "give me my spectacles before I wake up." When his wife brought them to him, he explained, "I am having a beautiful dream, but there are one or two things in it I can't make out."

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Mulla Nasruddin received a note that read: "Leave a thousand rupees under the cottonwood tree in Pizitz Square Tuesday night, or we will kidnap your wife and you will never see her again." The Mulla answered: "I haven't got any thousand rupees, and I am counting on you boys to keep your promise."

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Mulla Nasruddin, a race track habitue, told his wife: "The darndest thing happened to me this afternoon. I was bending down to tie my shoe-lace and some near- sighted goon strapped a saddle on me." "What did you do?" asked his wife. "What the hell could I do?" complained Nasruddin. "I came in third."

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Mulla Nasruddin rushed up to a farmer on the road and said: "I am looking for an escaped lunatic, my wife. Did she pass this way?" The farmer puffed thoughtfully on his corn cob pipe and asked: "What does she look like?" "She is very short," said Nasruddin, "and she is very thin and she weighs about 350 pounds."
The farmer looked at him in amazement. "How can a woman be short and thin and still weigh 350 pounds?" he asked. "Don't act so surprised," said Nasruddin angrily. "I told you she was crazy."

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Mrs. Mulla Nasruddin: "I suppose all geniuses are conceited." Mulla Nasruddin: "Some of them -- but I am not."

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Mulla Nasruddin's wife had fallen headlong down a steep incline and lay motionless at the bottom. Nasruddin, fearful of the consequence, leaned over the tip of the incline and called out: "Fatima, are you dead?" The wife groaned and called back: "I am badly bruised, but quite alive." Nasruddin shook his head dolefully and said: "I hope you are, but you are such a liar, I don't know whether to believe you."

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The Mulla Nasruddin family was planning a daughter's wedding and the guest list was being made out. There was no use in being foolishly extravagant, so only the minimum number of invitations was sent out. That is, one to: every member of the family, to the tenth cousins, and all their relations by marriage; all the bride's friends back to kindergarten, and their relatives; all the neighbours, and their relatives; and of course, such strangers as happened to be in the vicinity. When that was done, Mrs. Mulla Nasruddin looked at the list ruefully and said: "There are still the guests on the groom's side to consider." Mulla Nasruddin nodded.
"Well," he said, "it has to be. And it will only be fair to give him free choice. Whichever he wants -- either his mother or his father."

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A gentleman at a social function remarked to Mulla Nasruddin, the stranger at his side, "Heavens, what an ugly woman that one is." "That woman," said Nasruddin, "is my wife." The first man flushed painfully and could only stammer, "I am sorry." "Not as sorry as I am," said Mulla Nasruddin.

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Mulla Nasruddin had managed to make his way into a closet, just one step ahead of the pursuing Mrs. Nasruddin.
Mrs. Nasruddin banged peremptorily on the door. "Come out of there, you coward!" "I will not," shouted the Mulla from within. "Do as I say," thundered Mrs. Nasruddin.
"I won't," yelled the Mulla. "I'll show you who's master of the house."

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Mulla Nasruddin (in early morning): "It must be time to get up." Wife: "Why?" Nasruddin: "Baby's fallen asleep."

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A snorer in a movie house was disturbing the audience. When patrons yelled to cut it out, the snorer snapped: "I paid for the seat and I will do as I please!"
"Sure," howled Mulla Nasruddin from the back row, "but you are keeping everybody awake!"

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One day Mahmood met Mulla Nasruddin and said: "Nasruddin, I have got a bargain for you! An elephant! A whole living elephant! And for just one thousand rupees."
Nasruddin said: "Are you crazy? What do I want with an elephant?" "It's a beautiful elephant. All gray. Ten feet tall with a complete trunk." "But I have nothing to feed it. I have no place to put it; I live in a three-room apartment." "Two beautiful tusks, maybe two feet long each. It's a magnificent beast. They don't make them like that any more." "Mahmood," said the Mulla, almost screaming. "I have a three-room walkup apartment on the sixth floor. Where will I keep an elephant?"
"You are a hard man, Nasruddin," said Mahmood. "I will tell you what. I will throw a second whole elephant for only hundred rupees extra." And Mulla Nasruddin said:
"Now you are talking."

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Doctor Abrams was called to Mulla Nasruddin's shop where the Mulla was lying unconscious. Dr. Abrams worked on him for a long time, and finally revived him.
"How did you happen to drink that stuff, Nasruddin?" he asked the Mulla. "Didn't you see the label on the bottle? It said: POISON." Nasruddin: "Yes, Doctor, but I didn't believe it." Dr. Abrams: "Why not?" Nasruddin: "Because whenever I believe someone I am deceived."

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"How is your wife?" Mulla Nasruddin asked the old friend he had not seen in years. "She's in heaven," replied the friend. "Oh, I am sorry," said the Mulla. But then he realized that was not the thing to say, so he added: "I mean, I am glad." And that was even worse. So Mulla Nasruddin came out with: "Well, I am surprised."

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The scene was a court-martial. Mulla Nasruddin was giving evidence against a private who was accused of calling a lieutenant an idiot. "Now, Nasruddin," said the president of the court, "how can you be sure that the accused was in fact referring to Lieutenant Jones when he called him an idiot?" "Well, sir," replied Mulla Nasruddin, "Lieutenant Jones was the only idiot there at the time."

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Mulla Nasruddin was subject to insomnia. His wife was, on the contrary, a very heavy sleeper. It was Nasruddin's amiable habit, when he was having a particularly bad night, to go into his wife's room, shake her into reluctant wakefulness, and say: "What's the matter, dear? Can't you sleep either?"

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"Oh, poor Mr. Jones," mourned Mulla Nasruddin. "Did you hear what happened to him? He tripped at the top of the stairs, fell down the whole flight, banged his head and died." "Died?" said Mrs. Nasruddin, shocked. "Died!" repeated the Mulla with emphasis. "Broke his glasses too."

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Mulla Nasruddin: "If a man steals, no matter what, he will live to regret it." Wife (coyly): "You used to steal kisses from me before we were married."
Nasruddin: "Well, you heard what I said."

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Mulla Nasruddin came into the house, dripping wet and looking incredibly bedraggled. Outside the window, the pelting rain was all too visible. His sympathetic wife said: "Oh, it's raining cats and dogs outside." "You are telling me," said Nasruddin. "I just stepped in a poodle."

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"Who was that sweet young thing, Mulla, I saw you with last night?" asked a friend. "That was no sweet young thing, boy -- that was my wife," replied Mulla Nasruddin.

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Mulla Nasruddin and his wife stopped on the street to watch a funeral procession pass. It was done in elaborate style, from the long, gleaming hearse, through the cars packed with flowers, to the impressive line of automobiles following. Said Mulla Nasruddin's wife: "It's a rich guy. I have watched funerals like that before. There's a solid mahogany casket, polished so you can see your face in it, with satin lining and gold carved handles. They put it in a big mausoleum, with stone doors, statues, flowers, praying and singing." "Wow," said Mulla Nasruddin, eyes shining. "Now that's what I call living."

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Salesman: "Sir, is your wife at home?" Mulla Nasruddin: "Yes, sir." Salesman (after knocking in vain): "I thought you said she was at home, sir?" Nasruddin: "yes, sir, but I don't live here."

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Mulla Nasruddin came home from a hard day's work, sat down at the kitchen table, and said to his equally harried wife: "Dear, for once in your life don't start with your own troubles. Ask, instead, what happened to me at business. Ask, already, what kind of a day I had. Go ahead, ask. Just ask." Whereupon Mrs. Mulla Nasruddin said apprehensively: "So what happened, Mulla?" and Mulla Nasruddin buried his head in his hands, groaned, and said: "What happened? Oh, dear, better you should not ask."

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"Do you believe in love at first sight, Mulla?" a friend asked Mulla Nasruddin. "Well," said Nasruddin, "I think it saves a lot of time."

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"don't you think, Mulla, that a man has more sense after he is married?" asked Mulla Nasruddin's wife. "Yes," said Nasruddin. "but it's too late then."

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Son: "Isn't it wonderful how little chicks get out of their shells dad?" Mulla Nasruddin: "What get's me is how they get in, son."

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Mulla Nasruddin lived only for the day when the social system could be overturned by violence and remolded closer to his heart's desire. "Come the revolution,"
he said fervently to his wife, "you won't have to live on bread and potatoes. You will eat strawberries and cream." "Actually," said his wife, "I don't like strawberries and cream." "Come the revolution," said Mulla Nasruddin violently, "you will eat strawberries and cream and you will like it."

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Mrs. Mulla Nasruddin: "I suppose you think I am a perfect idiot?" Mulla Nasruddin: "Oh, dear, non of us is perfect."

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Boss: "Mulla, you're a liar. You took a day off to bury your wife, and I met her in the park this morning." Mulla Nasruddin: "Oh, I did not say she was dead,sir. I just said I would like to go to her funeral."

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Mulla Nasruddin, an expectant father, was pacing up and down the hospital corridor. "I hope it's a girl! I hope it's a girl!" he kept repeating. "What do you mean, you hope it's a girl?" asked a nurse. "Then," replied Nasruddin, "she will never have to go through what I am going through."

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"Has this dog a good pedigree, Mulla?" asked Mulla Nasruddin's wife. "Has he? Say, if that dog could talk, he wouldn't speak to either of us," said Mulla Nasruddin.

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Mrs. Mulla Nasruddin: "Why, she is the loudest-mouthed woman I ever heard." Mulla Nasruddin: "Shush, dear, you forget yourself."

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"Mulla, dear," said Mrs. Mulla Nasruddin, "such an odd thing happened today. The clock fell off the wall, and if it had fallen a moment sooner, it would have hit mother." "I always said that clock was slow," said Mulla Nasruddin.

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Mulla Nasruddin was engaged in a most affectionate embrace with his secretary when there came the sound of a key in the font door. The Mulla broke away at once, eyes wide with alarm. "Heavens," he cried, "it's my wife! Quick, jump out the window." The young woman, equally alarmed, made a quick step towards the window, then demurred. "I can't," she said, "we're on the thirteenth floor." "For heaven's sake," cried Mulla Nasruddin in exasperation, "is this a time to be superstitious, baby?"

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Mulla Nasruddin and his neighbour were discussing the weather. Said the neighbour: "Man, that shower will do a lot of good; it will bring things out of the ground." "God forbid," said Mulla Nasruddin, "I have three wives there!"

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A cameraman, working for the educational department of a film company, met Mulla Nasruddin in town and said: "I have just been taking some moving pictures of life out on your farm." "Did you catch any of my men in motion?" asked the Mulla curiously. "Sure I did." The Mulla shook his head reflectively, then commented:
"Science is a wonderful thing!"

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"So you are undertaking to keep bees, Mulla?" asked a neighbour.
"Yes," answered Mulla Nasruddin. "I don't want to miss anything in life, and I have been stung every other way there is."

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Mulla Nasruddin: "My wife asked me to take our old cat off somewhere and lose it. So I put it in a basket and tramped out into the country for about eight miles." Friend: "Did you lose the cat, Mulla?" Nasruddin: "Lose it! If I had not followed it, I'd never have gotten back home."

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School was out and little Maksood came bursting into the house crying bitterly. "The kids beat me up, Dad. They said I have a big head." "Now, Maksood, don't you listen to them," soothed his father, Mulla Nasruddin. "It's not true." So, partly convinced, Maksood returned to school the next day. That afternoon the scene was repeated, and again Mulla Nasruddin repeated his words of reassurance. "So now calm down," said Nasruddin, "because I would like you to run down to the store and get nine pounds of potatoes." "Okay, Dad. Give me a bag to put them in," replied Maksood. "A bag! What do you need a bag for?" asked the Mulla. "Carry them in your cap."

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"Oh, Mulla, do you realize it's almost a year since our honeymoon, and that glorious day we spent on the sands? I wonder how we'll spend this one?" "On the rocks, dear," said Mulla Nasruddin.

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Mulla Nasruddin walked into a bakery and said: "I want a birthday cake baked for me in the shape of the letter N>" The baker nodded. "I will have it ready for you by two this afternoon. But it will cost money." "Money is no object," said the Mulla. At two o'clock the Mulla was back. The cake was proudly presented in all its glory, and the Mulla flew into a passion. "Not an ordinary N, you idiot," he shouted. "I want a beautiful flowing N in script." The baker said: "But you didn't say so. If you can come back at eight in the evening, I will have it for you." The Mulla was back at eight. Another cake was presented. He looked at it critically and said: "I don't like the frosting. Could you make it with a pinker cast? I will pay for the extra trouble." "I can fix that in no time, if you will wait," said the baker. By eight-thirty he was back, and the cake was perfect. With a sigh of relief, the baker pulled a box down and prepared to package the cake.

"Hold it," said Mulla Nasruddin. "I am eating it here."

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Mulla Nasruddin, very agitated, took his son to a child guidance clinic; the child was noisy and aggressive. The psychiatrist, having observed that the child was hyper-active, made out a prescription for a sedative but forgot to specify who was to take it. The next appointment was a week later.
"How has your little boy been behaving this week, Mulla?" enquired the psychiatrist. Mulla Nasruddin shrugged. "Who cares?" he drawled.

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Mrs. Mulla Nasruddin (as Mulla enters house): "What time is it?" Nasruddin: "Just one o'clock." But this very moment the clock strikes three. Mulla Nasruddin:
"Dear me, how that clock stutters."

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"Did I ever tell you how I tried jujitsu on a burglar?" asked Mulla Nasruddin. "No," said his wife. "Well, I got hold of his leg and twisted it over his
shoulder. Then I got hold of his arm and twisted it round his neck, and before he knew where he was I was flat on my back."

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"That fellow must live in a very small flat," said Mulla Nasruddin. "How can you tell?" asked his wife. "Why, haven't you noticed that his dog wags his tail up and down, instead of sideways?"

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"So your wife is a reckless driver?" asked a friend. "Say, when the road turns the same way as she does, it's just a coincidence," replied Mulla Nasruddin.

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Mulla Nasruddin discovered his wife again and again in the arms of her lover. Finally, he shot her dead. The jury brought in a verdict of justifiable homicide.
Just as Nasruddin was to leave the courtroom a free man, the judge stopped him and asked: "Why did you shoot your wife instead of her lover, Nasruddin?" "Suh," he replied, "I decided it was better to shoot a woman once than a different man each week."

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Doctor (after examining patient): "I don't like the looks of your wife, Mulla." Mulla Nasruddin: "Neither do I, Doctor, but she's good to our children."

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Mulla Nasruddin, deeply troubled, was consulting a psychiatrist. "My wife," said the Mulla, "is convinced she's a chicken. She goes around squawking constantly and sleeps on a large bar of wood she has fixed up as a perch." "I see," said the psychiatrist thoughtfully. "And how long has your wife been suffering from this fixation?" "For nearly two years."
The psychiatrist frowned slightly and said: "But why have you waited till now to seek help?" Mulla Nasruddin blushed and said: "Oh, well, -- it was so nice having a steady supply of eggs."

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Mulla Nasruddin, having been away on a business trip, returned home unexpectedly and found his wife in the arms of his best friend. He staggered back and said:
"Fareed! I am married to the lady, so I have got to. But you?"

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Mrs. Mulla Nasruddin: "I can't decide whether to go to a palmist or to a mind-reader." Mulla Nasruddin: "Go to a palmist. It's obvious that you have a palm."

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Wife: "Mulla, what is the most difficult thing for a young mother to learn?" Mulla Nasruddin: "That other people have perfect children too."

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Mulla Nasruddin came home in the small hours and gave his wife the glorious news: "Darling, I have been elected." She was delighted. "Honestly?" she said. Mulla Nasruddin laughed in an embarrassed way. "Oh, why bring that up?"

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"You know, dear, your wife doesn't seem to be as well dressed as she was when you married her," a friend said to Mulla Nasruddin. "That's funny," replied Nasruddin. "I am sure it's the same suit."

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Mrs. Mulla Nasruddin: "Wake up, Mulla, there's a burglar going through your pants pockets." Mulla Nasruddin (turning over): "Oh, you two just fight it out between yourselves."

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Mulla Nasruddin, the father of a very obstreperous youngster was listening to his wife reading from a child psychology book. "It says here," she announced excitedly, "that we must give him a completely free hand!" "Does it indeed?" replied Mulla Nasruddin grimly. "And does it say where?"

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Sunday was to be the day of Saleem's wedding, and he and his father, Mulla Nasruddin, were enjoying a nightcap together. Lifting his glass in a toast to his father, Saleem asked: "Any advice before I take the big step, dad?" "Yes," said Mulla Nasruddin. "Two things. first: insist on having one night out a week with the boys.
Second: don't waste it on the boys."

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Passer-by: "Kinda cold sitting on your front porch in this weather, isn't it, Mulla?" Mulla Nasruddin: "Well, yes, a little, but you see my wife is taking her singing lesson, and I don't want the neighbours to think that I am beating her up."

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Mulla Nasruddin awoke early one morning and shook his wife until she awoke with a start. "What's the matter, darling?" she inquired hazily. "Fatima," said Nasruddin firmly, "if I dream once more that you have kissed another man, I will never talk to you again as long as I live."

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Mulla Nasruddin: "On your way to Abdulla and sons you will pass a football ground." Office Boy (hopefully): "Yes, sir!" Nasruddin: "Well, pass it!"

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Three girls and Mulla Nasruddin were brought before the presiding judge. The girls had been arrested for soliciting and the Mulla was arrested for peddling without a license. "What do you do for a living?" the judge asked, pointing to the first girl. "Your honor, I am a model," she answered. "Thirty days," was the sentence.
Then he turned to the second. "What do you do for a living?" he asked. "Your honor, I am a T.V. actress." "Thirty days." Then he turned to the third girl. 

"What do you do for a living?" he demanded. "To tell you the truth," she answered, "I am a prostitute." "For telling the truth," he said, "I am going to suspend sentence."

Then he turned to Mulla Nasruddin. "And you," he said, "what do you do for a living?" "To tell you the truth," said Nasruddin, twirling his hat in his
hands, "I am a prostitute also, your honor."

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During a play, the curtain fell suddenly and the manager of the theater stepped out before the audience in the last degree of agitation. "Ladies and
gentlemen," he said, "I am distressed to have to tell you that the great and beloved actor, Mendel Kalb, has just had a fatal heart attack in his dressing room and we cannot continue." Whereupon Mulla Nasruddin rose in the balcony and cried out: "Quick! Give him some chicken soup." The manager, surprised, said: "Sir, I said it was a fatal heart attack. the great Mendel Kalb is dead." The Mulla repeated: "So quick! give him some chicken soup."
The manager screeched in desperation: "Sir! The man is dead! What good will chicken soup do?" And the Mulla shouted back: "What harm?"

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Sheikh Kareem had heard that his old friend Mulla Nasruddin had married for the third time, but he didn't meet the new bride until some months later, when he bumped into the newly-weds in the lobby of a big hotel. He was horrified to observe that the new Mrs. Nasruddin wore an obvious wig, had one glass eye, a wooden leg and a set of false teeth that rattled ominously every time she moved a muscle. Completely taken aback, he whispered in Nasruddin's ear: "What came over you, Mulla, to marry an old battle-ax like that?" "You can speak up, my boy," said Mulla Nasruddin cheerfully, "She's deaf too."

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Mulla Nasruddin: "Did you hear about my wife?" Fareed: "No! What about your wife?" Nasruddin: "She ran off with my best friend." Fareed: "What are you talking about? I am your best friend." Nasruddin: "Not any more."

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Mrs. Mulla Nasruddin, reduced to tears in the course of a family argument, said to her husband: "You brute! How can you treat me so cruelly after I have given you the best years of my life?" And Mulla Nasruddin replied: "Good heavens! were those your best years?"

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Mulla Nasruddin was bursting with pride. "Did you hear about my son?" he asked a neighbour. "No, What's with your son?" "He's going to a psychiatrist. Twice each week he's going to a psychiatrist." "Is that good?" "Of course, it's good. Forty rupees an hour he pays, forty rupees! And all he talks about is me."

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"Has your son's college education been of any value, Mulla?" "Oh, yes," said Mulla Nasruddin. "It cured his mother of bragging about him."

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Mulla Nasruddin's young son came prancing into the room and said: "Papa, may I have another apple?" Nasruddin raised his eyes from his newspaper to glance sternly at the boy. "Again and apple?" he demanded "Listen, where do you think all these apples come from? You think they grow on trees?"

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"Do you know, Dad, that in some parts of Africa a man does not know his wife until he marries her?" Mulla Nasruddin: "Why single out Africa?"

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"I suspect that your son's peculiarities are congenital, Mulla," said the doctor gently. "It may be hereditary in your family." Mulla Nasruddin was scandalized.
"You must be wrong, doctor," he protested. "I can assure you there's never been anything in the slightest hereditary in my family!"

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"Sir, I cam to -- er -- ask you whether you would object -- er -- to my marrying your daughter," a young man asked Mulla Nasruddin. "My boy," said Nasruddin, "you are only twenty-one and my daughter is twenty-seven. Why not wait a few years till you are both about the same age?"

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It was their twenty fifth wedding anniversary. They were having drinks and dinner at one of the fanciest restaurants in town. Both were feeling sentimental.
"Mulla," said the wife, "what would you do if something happened to me?" "I'd go absolutely out of my mind," said Nasruddin. "Aw, go on," she said. "I'll bet you would turn right around and get married again." "Oh, no I wouldn't," said Nasruddin. "I wouldn't go that far out of my mind."

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"Dad, what effect does the moon have on the tide?" asked Mulla Nasruddin's son. Mulla Nasruddin (from the depths of his newspaper): "not any, son. Only on the untied."

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"Is a ton of coal very much, Papa?" "That depends, my son," said Mulla Nasruddin, "on whether you are shovelling or buying it."

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Mulla Nasruddin had been trying to reach his home by phone for over an hour, but kept getting a busy signal. Finally he asked the operator if she could cut in on the line. She told him that she could do it only in a case of life or death. "Well," said the Mulla. "I can tell you this much. If that's my teen-age daughter on the phone, there's going to be a murder."

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The young couple, thinking that there parents would oppose their marriage, had eloped to the hills. After being there for the necessary period, they got married and had grown to like the small hill-town so much that they decided to make their home there permanently.
After three weeks of married bliss, a telegram arrived. "Oh, darling," said the young wife, "It's from Daddy." "What does he say?" asked the bridegroom eagerly. "Do not come home and all will be forgiven" -- Mulla Nasruddin.

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"Don't you think, Doctor, you have overcharged for attending my son when he had the measles?" "You must remember, Nasruddin, that the bill covers twenty-three visits." "Yes," said Mulla Nasruddin, "but you forget that he infected the whole school."

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"But, Mulla, that isn't our baby." "Shut up," said Mulla Nasruddin. "It's a better carriage."

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Mulla Nasruddin sidled up to a guest at one of his daughter's social evenings. He had heard him addressed doctor and now he said diffidently: "Doctor, may I ask a question?" "Certainly," he said. "Lately," said Mulla Nasruddin, "I have been having a funny pain right here under the heart -- " The guest interrupted uncomfortably and said: "I am terribly sorry, Mulla, but the truth is, I am a doctor of philosophy." "Oh," said Nasruddin, "I am sorry!" He turned away, but then overcome with curiosity, he turned back. "Just one more question, doctor. Tell me, what kind of disease is philosophy?"

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Mulla Nasruddin shook his head sadly as his son left the room. For the fourth successive month his report card had shown nothing but D's. "I am finally convinced," said Nasruddin to his wife, "that our son must have a sixth sense. There is certainly no sign of the other five."

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Mulla Nasruddin's youngest son came home in great excitement, saying: "Father! Father! On returning from school, I ran home behind the streetcar all the way and saved three annas car fare." Whereupon the exasperated Mulla slapped his son's cheek resoundingly and said: "Spendthrift! Why did you not run home behind a taxicab and save three rupees?"

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Medium at a seance: "I believe this is your late wife knocking." Mulla Nasruddin: "Ah -- she has not changed a bit."

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"Dad, may I go in for a swim?" "Certainly not," said Mulla Nasruddin. "It's far too deep, son."
"But mummy is swimming." "Yes, dear, but she's insured."

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"Understand your wife fell off a scaffold and died, Nasruddin." "That's right," said Mulla Nasruddin. "Frightfully sorry, old chap. What was she doing up there?"
"Getting hanged," said Mulla Nasruddin.

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A club of eccentric young men had for one of their rules that on Tuesday evenings any man who asked in the clubroom a question which he was unable to answer himself should pay a fine of ten rupees. One evening Mulla Nasruddin asked: "Why doesn't a ground squirrel leave any dirt around the top of his hold when he digs it?" After some deliberation he was called upon to answer his own question. "That's easy," said the Mulla. "The squirrel starts at the bottom and digs up." "All very nice," suggested a member, "but how does it get to the bottom?" "That's your question," answered Nasruddin.

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"It must be hard to lose a wife," said a friend at Mulla Nasruddin's wife's funeral. "Almost impossible," said bereaved Mulla Nasruddin.

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Mulla Nasruddin's oldest daughter had just given birth to a beautiful baby boy and Nasruddin was being congratulated. He looked downcast, however, and a friend said: "What is the matter, Mulla? Don't you like the idea of being a grand-father?" The Mulla heaved an enormous sigh. "No," he said, "I don't. But that does not bother me so much. It's just that it's so humiliating to have to go to bed with a grandmother."

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Mulla Nasruddin got into a subway car, which was clearly marked TIMES SQUARE in various places, and said apologetically to the large man next to him: "Pardon me, does this train go to Times Square?" Intent on his newspaper, the large man said rather shortly: "Yes, it does." A moment later, the Mulla said again: "Are you sure it goes to Times Square?" Irritated, the large man said: "Of course, I am sure." The Mulla said argumentatively: "But how can you be sure?" At this the large man exploded. He said: "Can't you see the signs in this car? Read them. Don't they say TIMES SQUARE? What more do you want?" The Mulla shrank within himself and sat motionless thereafter. At the next stop, however, another anxious-looking individual stepped into the train. He approached Mulla Nasruddin and asked apologetically:
"Does this train go to Times Square?" At which Nasruddin jumped to his feet in agitation, shook his fist at the new comer, and said: "Now look what you did! You made me uncertain again."

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Mulla Nasruddin's wife was on her death-bed, with her husband at her side. He held her cold hand and tears silently streamed down his face. Her pale lips moved.
"Mulla," she said. "Sush," said Nasruddin. "Don't try to talk." But she insisted. "Mulla," she said in her tired voice. "I have to talk. I must confess." "There is nothing to confess," said the weeping Mulla. "It's all right." "No, no. I must die in peace. I must confess, Mulla, that I have been unfaithful to you." Mulla Nasruddin stroked her hand. "Now, dear, don't be concerned. I know about it. Why else did I poison you?"

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Mulla Nasruddin's wife was on her dying bed. She was in great pain. "Oh," muttered she, "I suffer the tortures of hell." And Mulla Nasruddin, unmoved, said politely: "Already?"

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The funeral cortege was being set up for the wife of Mulla Nasruddin, who was dressed somberly in the appropriate black. The funeral director said to the Mulla in a respectful whisper: "And you will be sitting in the lead car with your mother-in-law." Nasruddin frowned. "With my mother-in-law?" "Yes, of course." "Is it necessary?" "It is essential. The bereaved husband and the bereaved mother -- the two closest survivors together." Mulla Nasruddin turned to look at the large and sobbing figure of his mother-in-law and said: "Well, all right then, but I tell you right now that it's going to spoil the pleasure of the occasion."

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Mulla Nasruddin bought a ferocious tiger at an auction sale, outbidding several prominent circus proprietors. "What on earth are you going to do with that man- eating beast, Nasruddin?" he was asked by the head of a wild-animal act. "Going into competition with us?" "Oh, no," said Nasruddin. "It's not that. But my poor wife died last week and I am lonely."

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A country doctor called upon Mulla Nasruddin, soon after the death of Nasruddin's wife, and announced his intentions of cutting his bill, for services rendered, in half. With tears in his eyes, Mulla Nasruddin reached out and clasped the doctor's hand and in a trembling voice said: "God bless you, my good friend. I will be as good as you and knock off the other half."

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The old Mulla Nasruddin said to his wife at the luncheon table: "One time recently, I dreamed I was lecturing to an audience. I woke up with a start, and by heaven, I was."

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"My wife is annoying me," said old Mulla Nasruddin. "Every time she has a bath she spends a couple of hours playing with rubber ducks and plastic submarines."
"If it makes her happy, why should you worry, Mulla?" asked the psychiatrist. "I certainly don't see why it should annoy you." Mulla Nasruddin snorted indignantly.
"You should if they were your's..."

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Mulla Nasruddin was sitting on a park bench enjoying the late spring sunshine, when another old man sat down at the other end of the bench. They viewed each other cautiously and finally the other one heaved a tremendous, heartfelt sigh. Mulla Nasruddin rose at once and said: "If you are going to talk politics, sir, I am leaving."

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"You must help me, doctor," said old Mulla Nasruddin to his psychiatrist. "I can't remember anything for more than a few minutes. It's driving me crazy." "How
long has this been going on, Nasruddin?" asked the psychiatrist gently. "How long has what been going on?" replied the Mulla.

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The family was very much disturbed. Mulla Nasruddin, aged 90, decided to get married again. What worried his relatives was the fact that the bride Nasruddin selected was a young, healthy, 22-year old. One of Nasruddin's sons button-holed him and pleaded. "Look, Dad, you must give this more thought. It's very serious. In fact, a thing like this could prove fatal!" "So what?" answered Nasruddin. "If she dies, I will marry again."

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"Pop," said Mulla Nasruddin's youngest son, "can you remember the first girl you ever kissed?" The old Mulla gave a hollow laugh. "Son," he remarked drily, "I can't even remember the last one."

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Mulla Nasruddin, on his death-bed, opened his eyes and asked the attending priest suddenly: "Have you ever wondered where people in hell tell each other to go?"

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On his death bed Mulla Nasruddin was heard saying: "Life is not fair to us men. When we are born, our mothers get the compliments and the flowers. When we are married, our brides get the presents and the publicity. And when we die, our widows get the life insurance and the winters in Kashmir."

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Saint Peter was dividing the crop of newly arrived souls for easier processing. "All right, you men, come up here. Just eh men, please. We'll take care of the women later. How many of you are married men here with your wives? Good. All those of you who are boss in your family form a line here. The henpecked ones in that other line there." The line of the henpecked formed immediately and grew longer. The other line was nonexistent until one lone person -- Mulla Nasruddin -- appeared in it.
Saint Peter paused to look at him. "Are you aware that this is the line for those men who are boss in their family?" "Yes, sir," muttered Mulla Nasruddin. "Are you sure you belong here?" "I have to be," said Nasruddin. "my wife insists."

 

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"Hey!" cried Satan to the new arrival, Mulla Nasruddin. "you act as if you owned the place!" "I do," said the Mulla. "my wife gave it to me before I died!"

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