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One of Mulla Nasruddin’s strangest habits was wearing a necklace made out of a ring of pumpkin. Once, on a journey far away from home, he was sleeping in a hostel. A stranger decided to play a trick on him, and when he was sleeping, the man took the pumpkin necklace off the Mulla and put it on his own neck.
When Mulla Nasruddin woke up, he immediately saw the pumpkin on the stranger’s neck, and thought to himself, “Well, I know the man with the pumpkin necklace is me—so who am I?”
Mulla Nasruddin was walking down the main road with a sack of potatoes over his shoulder. When he passed the tobacco shop, the shopkeeper asked him where he was going.
“To the palace,” said Mulla. “My wife told me to bring a gift for the new king.”
“Are you nuts?” replied the shopkeeper. “They will throw you out, bringing such cheap goods for a king! You have to bring something good, like strawberries.”
“Yes, yes,” Mulla said. “That makes sense.” He left the potatoes at the tobacco shop, and went off to buy strawberries.
When he got to the palace, however, the king was not impressed. He ordered his men to throw the strawberries at Mulla Nasruddin as punishment for bring such a meager gift.
As the fruit pelted him on his face and chest, Mulla Nasruddin smiled and shouted, “Praise be to God! Praise be to God!”
The king was so confused he told his men to stop. “We are hitting you with your own horrible gift,” he said. “What are you praising God for?”
Mulla nodded and said, “I am thanking Him that I didn’t bring you potatoes.”
A man once asked Mulla Nasruddin which was more valuable, the sun or the moon. “The moon,” Mulla replied. “The sun is only there in the daytime, when there is light. The moon gives us light at night, when it is dark.”
The richest man in town had died. After a few days, the villagers were talking about him at the bar. “I wonder how much the old coot had left when he died,” said the second-richest man in town.
Mulla Nasruddin laughed and said, “Every cent of it.”
Mulla Nasruddin and his wife went out for dinner at a restaurant, and ordered the buffet. When he went back for the fifth time for chicken, his wife said, “You are such a pig! Don’t you feel embarrassed, going back for that greasy chicken again and again?”
“Not at all,” Mulla said. “I keep telling them that I’m bringing it for you.”
Mulla Nasruddin went for his first appointment with the psychiatrist. Once the office door was closed, the two men sat down.
“So, what brings you here, Mulla?” the psychiatrist asked.
“I have been doing shady things,” Mulla said. “Dishonorable things. My conscience is bothering me.”
“So you want me to help you strengthen your willpower, then,” said the psychiatrist.
“No, no,” said the Mulla. “I want you to help me weaken my conscience.”
Mulla Nasruddin went to the milkman with a small pot. “Give me one liter of cow’s milk,” he said.
“A liter of cow’s milk won’t fit in that pot,” said the milkman.
“Okay, fine,” said the Mulla. “Give me a liter of goat’s milk.”
Mulla Nasruddin had lost in the local election, and was sharing his sorrows with a friend. “I am the victim,” he said, “only a victim.”
“A victim of what?” asked his friend.
“A victim of accurate counting,” said the Mulla.
Mulla Nasruddin decided to get a job. He wanted to work at the department store, but his friend told him it would be difficult because the manager was known to only hire Catholics. Still, Mulla was sure he could do it. He put on his best clothes, went to the store and filled out an application, and the manager called him in immediately for an interview.
After asking many questions, the manager was impressed. “Just one more thing,” he said. “Are you a Catholic?”
“I am very, very Catholic, Sir,” said the Mulla. “In fact, I am so Catholic, my father is a priest and my mother is a nun!”
Mulla Nasruddin had broken it off with his fiancé, and was telling his friend what had happened. “She told me that if I wanted to marry her, I would have to give up drinking, smoking, and gambling,” he said.
“So what happened?” his friend asked. “You couldn’t do it?”
“No, I gave up all those,” said the Mulla. “But after all that reforming, I figured I could do better.”
Mulla Nusruddin’s son was looking for a wife. The two of them were sitting at the kitchen table having afternoon tea. “What kind of woman do you want?” the Mulla asked him.
“One who is intelligent and expressive,” his son replied.
“I know how we can find her,” Mulla said. “Come with me.”
The Mulla didn’t explain his plan, but his son followed him out of the house and down the road to the crowded marketplace in the middle of town. Then, Mulla began slapping his son, exclaiming, “This is what you get for doing exactly what I told you to do!”
One young woman immediately came forward. “What is this?” she said, going toe-to-toe with the Mulla. “How can you punish him for obeying you?”
“She’s perfect!” said the Mulla’s son.
“She is certainly intelligent and expressive, but let’s keep looking,” said the Mulla. “Maybe there’s a woman out there who is even better.”
Mulla Nasruddin took his son through town to a different marketplace, and acted out the same scene again. This time, a young woman who was watching just laughed and shook her head.
“What is it?” asked the Mulla.
“Go ahead and beat him,” she said. “Only a fool would follow orders so blindly.”
The Mulla took his son aside. “The first woman was intelligent and expressive,” he said, “but this one is on a higher level altogether. I think we’ve found your future bride!”
A well-known philosopher was travelling through town. By chance, Mulla Nasruddin saw him sitting alone at the local bar, sat down beside him and ordered a drink. “So,” said the Mulla, “What are you working on these days?”
“I’m trying to figure out when the world will end,” the philosopher answered. “I have been researching and studying the topic for years now.”
“That’s easy!” said Mulla Nasruddin. “I’ve known the answer to that for a long time.”
“Really! Can you tell me?” the philosopher responded.
“Of course. When I die, that will be the end of the world.”
“Are you sure?” asked the philosopher.
“It sure will be for me,” said the Mulla.
Mulla Nasruddin was fishing with his friend. “I think I should get a divorce,” his friend said. “My wife hasn’t spoken to me in three months.”
“I’d think twice if I were you,” said the Mulla. “Wives like that are hard to find.”
Read more Mulla Nasruddin stories: Mulla Nasruddin - 3
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