Go to Laughter page for more stories
Mulla Nasruddin lived far beyond his means, and his creditors were constantly hounding him. It had been going on for years, and after a while, the Mulla became so accustomed to it that it didn’t bother him anymore. He even began to enjoy the whole affair, and treated them with the highest grace and respect. One fine summer evening, a bill collector pounded on the door. “This is Mr. Smith again, Mulla!” he yelled. “I’m from the collection agency! Open up!”
“Oh, Mr. Smith!” Nasruddin called from inside. “Go have a seat in the garden, and I’ll meet you there in a minute.”
Grumbling, Mr. Smith made his way to a beautiful glass table in the garden and sat down. A moment later, the Mulla appeared, holding a tray with two glasses of champagne on it.
“Champagne!” exclaimed the collector. “How can you afford champagne when you can’t even pay your debts?”
“Oh, don’t take it personally,”Mulla replied. “I assure you, the champagne isn’t paid for either.”
One day, a man came to Mulla Nasruddin’s house and knocked on the door. When the Mulla answered, the man said, “Mulla, old friend! I need to go into town, and I was wondering if I could borrow your donkey.”
“Oh, I would give it to you in a second,” replied the Mullah, but I have already lent it out to the neighbor.”
Just then, the sound of Mullah Nasruddin’s donkey braying loudly rang out from the back yard.
“What’s that?” exclaimed the man. “You liar!”
“Oh, come on!” Mullah Nasruddin shot back. “After all these years, who are you going to believe, me or the donkey?”
Mullah Nasruddin suddenly developed an eye infection, and went to see the doctor. When he arrived, the doctor looked at him closely.
“Your eye is very red,” the doctor said.
“Amazing!” exclaimed the Mulla. “Does it hurt, too?”
One afternoon, Mulla Nasruddin went to see the psychiatrist. “Doctor,” he began, “There’s something I haven’t been telling you. For the last two months I have dreamt every night that I am competing in wrestling matches with donkeys. What do you think it means?”
“It’s just a dream,” the psychiatrist replied, taking a bottle of small blue pills out of his desk drawer. “Take one of these every night before bed, starting tonight, and the dreams will stop.”
“Well, can I start taking them tomorrow?” Nasruddin asked.
“Why?” asked the doctor.
“Well, tonight is the championship.”
One evening, Mulla Nasruddin was sitting at the tobacco shop, gossiping with the shopkeeper, when the Mulla’s son came strolling by carrying a chicken. “Son, where did you get that chicken?” Nasruddin asked him.
“Stole it,” the boy answered.
The Mulla put his arm around his son. “That’s my boy!” he said proudly to the shopkeeper. “He may steal, but he doesn’t lie!”
Mulla Nasruddin turned to the man sitting next to him at the bar. “One drink always makes me feel drunk,” he said.
“Just one?” replied the stranger.
“Just one,” the Mulla confirmed. “Usually the fifth.”
One morning, Mulla Nusruddin went to the doctor with a badly swollen arm.
“This arm is badly broken, Mulla,” the doctor told him. “How long has it been like this?”
“About two weeks,” Nasruddin answered.
“Isn’t it painful? Why did you wait so long to come in?” asked the doctor.
”It is very painful,” replied the Mulla. “I didn’t want to come to the doctor because every time I say something is wrong with me, my wife tells me to quit smoking.”
Mulla Nasruddin spent his Sunday afternoons standing on the street corner as an example of an idiot. His idiocy was well-known, and whenever someone offered him two coins, a large one and a small one, he always chose the smaller one. One day a kind woman explained to him that he should choose the larger coin, so that he would have more money, and people would stop making fun of him.
“That is good advice,” said the Mulla, “but if I start taking the bigger coin, people will stop offering me coins in order to prove that there is someone more idiotic than they are. Then how would I make money?”
One day, Mulla Nasruddin’s wife was feeling down. “You never pay attention to me anymore,” she complained to her husband, who was reading the newspaper. “Do you still love me?”
Without looking up, the Mulla shouted, “Yes, I still love you! Now shut your big mouth and let me read the paper!”
Mulla Nasruddin and his friend were walking past the high fence of a nudist colony. They had travelled that way before, but today they noticed a small hole in the fence, just about eye-level. Mulla peeked through.
“There are tons of people in there!” he told his friend.
“Men or women?” Mulla’s friend asked.
“I can’t tell,” replied Nasruddin. “They don’t have any clothes on!”
Mulla Nasruddin’s wife’s psychiatrist called the Mulla at home one morning, and asked him to come in to her office for some serious news. When he arrived, the psychiatrist closed the door behind him and sat down.
“It’s worse than I thought,” she began. “You may need to think about checking your wife in to the mental institution. Her mind is gone, Mulla, completely gone.”
“That’s not surprising,” Nasruddin replied. “She has been giving me a piece of it every day for the last fifteen years.”
One night, Mulla Nasruddin’s gold ring slipped off his finger in his basement, which was very dark. He then went out into the street and began searching for the ring under the streetlamp.
“What are you looking for, Mulla?” asked a man who was passing by.
“My ring,” the Mulla replied. “I lost it down in the basement.”
“Then why are you searching for it here?” the man responded.
“Don’t be ridiculous!” Nasruddin replied. “How could I find anything in that darkness?”
Go to Laughter page for more stories
Did you like the article? Subscribe here to our New Article Email Alert or RSS feeds.
Sharing is caring! Don't forget to share the love, and keep the conversation going by leaving a comment below: