Mulla Nasruddin's comedic "pretzel-logic" is well-known through Middle Eastern folktales; a large selection of them can be found here: http://www.rodneyohebsion.com/mulla-nasrudin.htm
Recently, while sorting through some ancient urns I purchased at a flea market, I came across a variety of new Mulla Nasruddin tales that have been forgotten for hundreds of years. They are presented below.
THE BEGGAR
One night, the Mulla heard a knock at his door. He opened it to find a beggar standing outside.
“Please, Mulla,” the man said, “I have not eaten in many days, and I am very hungry. Can you spare some food for a child of God?”
“Of course,” the Mulla said, and retreated into his house. He returned with his Quran and handed it to the beggar.
“If you are a child of God,” the Mulla said, “what better nourishment can I offer than the bread of life?”
“Very funny, asshole,” the beggar said, and left. He died sometime later.
THE DONKEY
One day two children saw the Mulla riding into town on his donkey. He was seated backwards on its back.
“Mulla!” one of the children said. “Why are you facing in the wrong direction?”
“I’m facing in the right direction,” the Mulla replied. “It is the donkey who is facing backwards.”
The following day, the two children again saw the Mulla riding into town on his donkey, and he was again sitting backwards.
“Mulla,” one of the children said, “is the donkey again facing the wrong direction?”
“What?” the Mulla said. “What the fuck are you talking about? And where’s my money?”
The children smelled a strong odor of wine on the Mulla’s breath. They were frightened.
THE BRAGGARTS
One day several men were standing in the center of town telling tales. The longer they talked, the more outlandish the tales became. It was not long before Mulla Nasruddin joined them.
“Friends,” the Mulla said, “are you familiar with Helen of Troy?”
“Yes,” the men said, excited to hear what would come next from the Mulla.
“I fucked her,” the Mulla said. He then made several increasingly obscene gestures, and no one was having much fun anymore.
STRENGTH
One day, the Mulla was standing in front of his home when his neighbor approached him.
“Mulla,” the neighbor said, “it is a shame to grow old. I am no longer as strong as I was as a youth.”
“How sad,” the Mulla said. “I am every bit as strong as I have ever been. In fact, I’ve tested it.”
“How so?” the neighbor asked.
“Do you know the cripple who lives in the ditch across the road?”
“Yes,” the neighbor said.
“When I was a teenager, I could beat that cripple in a fight. Today, I can still beat him up!”
The cripple painfully rose from his ditch. “Please stop tormenting me,” he yelled across the road, but it was difficult to understand him because he had no teeth.
THE PUNISHMENT
A woman and a man came to Mulla Nasruddin’s home, eager for his wisdom.
“Yesterday,” the woman complained, “I was walking down the street, and this strange man came up and kissed me! I demand justice!”
“I agree that you deserve justice,” the Mulla said, “which is why I order you to kiss the man back and take your revenge.”
The Mulla and the man laughed uproariously. The woman wished fervently that she did not live in 13th century Turkey.
THE RIVER
Mulla Nasruddin was walking along the river when he heard a man shout at him from the other side.
“Excuse me, Mulla!” the man said. “How do I get across the river?”
“You are across!” the Mulla shouted back.
“You know what I fucking meant,” the man replied.
FALLING CLOTHES
Nasruddin’s wife was sitting in the living room when she heard a crash inside the bedroom. She entered to find the Mulla sitting on the floor.
“What happened?” she asked.
“My clothes fell down,” the Mulla said.
“How could falling clothes make such a noise?” the Mulla’s wife replied.
“Because I was wearing them at the time,” the Mulla said.
Nasruddin’s wife sighed heavily. “Your alcoholism is tearing this family apart,” she said.
THE TURBAN
One day at the Bazaar, the mayor caught sight of Mulla Nasruddin. The Mulla was wearing one of the finest turbans the mayor had ever seen.
“Nasruddin!” the mayor said. “I wish to buy your fine turban. Please, name your price.”
“One thousand toman,” the Mulla said confidently.
The mayor chuckled. “Mulla,” he said, “the turban cannot possibly be worth that much.”
“Yeah, well, fuck you, then,” the Mullah said.
STRAWBERRIES
A scholar came to speak with the Mulla. After an hour of philosophical discussion, Nasruddin invited the scholar to help himself to the bowl of strawberries on the table.
“In fairness, Mulla,” the scholar said, “while we have been talking, I have eaten five.”
“In fairness, scholar,” the Mulla said, “I have counted, and you have eaten ten.”
“Christ,” the scholar said, “What an asshole.”
THE POEM
The mayor invited the Mulla to his home to get an opinion on a new poem he had written. After reading the poem, the mayor asked the Mulla what he thought of it.
“I didn’t care for it,” the Mulla said. “It was not very good.”
Enraged, the mayor sentenced Nasruddin to three days in jail. After the Mulla’s jail term ended, the mayor invited Nasruddin back to his home to read him another poem. After he finished reading it, he asked the Mulla, “Well, what did you think of that one?”
The Mulla silently rose from his seat and walked toward the door.
“Just where do you think you’re going?” the mayor said.
“To go stuff my ears with a bunch of goddamn garbage,” the Mulla said, “because that will sound better than your shitty butt poetry.”
NEW PANTS
One day, the Mulla visited a local merchant.
“I’d like to buy a fine shirt,” the Mulla said.
The merchant brought the Mulla one of his finest shirts, and the Mulla put it on. He examined himself, then shook his head.
“No,” the Mulla said, “I don’t care for it. I’ll exchange it for a fine pair of pants.”
The merchant took the shirt away and returned with a beautiful pair of pants. The Mulla put them on.
“Yes,” he said, “these will do nicely.”
The Mulla began walking toward the door of the merchant’s shop.
“Nasruddin!” the merchant said, “You have forgotten to pay for the pants!”
“I did not forget,” the Mulla replied. “I exchanged the shirt for the pants.”
“But you did not pay for the shirt, either.”
“Of course not,” the Mulla said. “Why would I pay for a shirt I don’t want?”
“Listen,” the merchant said, “why don’t you can the ‘Mulla Nasruddin pretzel-logic’ bullshit and just pay for the goddamn-”
The Mulla bashed the merchant across the temple with a flat rock, knocking him unconscious. He ran into the night, the only sound the flapping of his fine, fine pants.
THE HEADSTONE
Mulla Nasruddin was very old and near death. “Wife,” he said, “when I die, do not place a headstone on my grave.”
“Why?” the Mulla’s wife said.
“Because after I am buried,” the Mulla said, “I do not want to hit my head on it when I ascend to heaven.”
The Mulla’s wife lit a cigarette. “Don’t worry,” she said bitterly.
Recently, while sorting through some ancient urns I purchased at a flea market, I came across a variety of new Mulla Nasruddin tales that have been forgotten for hundreds of years. They are presented below.
THE BEGGAR
One night, the Mulla heard a knock at his door. He opened it to find a beggar standing outside.
“Please, Mulla,” the man said, “I have not eaten in many days, and I am very hungry. Can you spare some food for a child of God?”
“Of course,” the Mulla said, and retreated into his house. He returned with his Quran and handed it to the beggar.
“If you are a child of God,” the Mulla said, “what better nourishment can I offer than the bread of life?”
“Very funny, asshole,” the beggar said, and left. He died sometime later.
THE DONKEY
One day two children saw the Mulla riding into town on his donkey. He was seated backwards on its back.
“Mulla!” one of the children said. “Why are you facing in the wrong direction?”
“I’m facing in the right direction,” the Mulla replied. “It is the donkey who is facing backwards.”
The following day, the two children again saw the Mulla riding into town on his donkey, and he was again sitting backwards.
“Mulla,” one of the children said, “is the donkey again facing the wrong direction?”
“What?” the Mulla said. “What the fuck are you talking about? And where’s my money?”
The children smelled a strong odor of wine on the Mulla’s breath. They were frightened.
THE BRAGGARTS
One day several men were standing in the center of town telling tales. The longer they talked, the more outlandish the tales became. It was not long before Mulla Nasruddin joined them.
“Friends,” the Mulla said, “are you familiar with Helen of Troy?”
“Yes,” the men said, excited to hear what would come next from the Mulla.
“I fucked her,” the Mulla said. He then made several increasingly obscene gestures, and no one was having much fun anymore.
STRENGTH
One day, the Mulla was standing in front of his home when his neighbor approached him.
“Mulla,” the neighbor said, “it is a shame to grow old. I am no longer as strong as I was as a youth.”
“How sad,” the Mulla said. “I am every bit as strong as I have ever been. In fact, I’ve tested it.”
“How so?” the neighbor asked.
“Do you know the cripple who lives in the ditch across the road?”
“Yes,” the neighbor said.
“When I was a teenager, I could beat that cripple in a fight. Today, I can still beat him up!”
The cripple painfully rose from his ditch. “Please stop tormenting me,” he yelled across the road, but it was difficult to understand him because he had no teeth.
THE PUNISHMENT
A woman and a man came to Mulla Nasruddin’s home, eager for his wisdom.
“Yesterday,” the woman complained, “I was walking down the street, and this strange man came up and kissed me! I demand justice!”
“I agree that you deserve justice,” the Mulla said, “which is why I order you to kiss the man back and take your revenge.”
The Mulla and the man laughed uproariously. The woman wished fervently that she did not live in 13th century Turkey.
THE RIVER
Mulla Nasruddin was walking along the river when he heard a man shout at him from the other side.
“Excuse me, Mulla!” the man said. “How do I get across the river?”
“You are across!” the Mulla shouted back.
“You know what I fucking meant,” the man replied.
FALLING CLOTHES
Nasruddin’s wife was sitting in the living room when she heard a crash inside the bedroom. She entered to find the Mulla sitting on the floor.
“What happened?” she asked.
“My clothes fell down,” the Mulla said.
“How could falling clothes make such a noise?” the Mulla’s wife replied.
“Because I was wearing them at the time,” the Mulla said.
Nasruddin’s wife sighed heavily. “Your alcoholism is tearing this family apart,” she said.
THE TURBAN
One day at the Bazaar, the mayor caught sight of Mulla Nasruddin. The Mulla was wearing one of the finest turbans the mayor had ever seen.
“Nasruddin!” the mayor said. “I wish to buy your fine turban. Please, name your price.”
“One thousand toman,” the Mulla said confidently.
The mayor chuckled. “Mulla,” he said, “the turban cannot possibly be worth that much.”
“Yeah, well, fuck you, then,” the Mullah said.
STRAWBERRIES
A scholar came to speak with the Mulla. After an hour of philosophical discussion, Nasruddin invited the scholar to help himself to the bowl of strawberries on the table.
“In fairness, Mulla,” the scholar said, “while we have been talking, I have eaten five.”
“In fairness, scholar,” the Mulla said, “I have counted, and you have eaten ten.”
“Christ,” the scholar said, “What an asshole.”
THE POEM
The mayor invited the Mulla to his home to get an opinion on a new poem he had written. After reading the poem, the mayor asked the Mulla what he thought of it.
“I didn’t care for it,” the Mulla said. “It was not very good.”
Enraged, the mayor sentenced Nasruddin to three days in jail. After the Mulla’s jail term ended, the mayor invited Nasruddin back to his home to read him another poem. After he finished reading it, he asked the Mulla, “Well, what did you think of that one?”
The Mulla silently rose from his seat and walked toward the door.
“Just where do you think you’re going?” the mayor said.
“To go stuff my ears with a bunch of goddamn garbage,” the Mulla said, “because that will sound better than your shitty butt poetry.”
NEW PANTS
One day, the Mulla visited a local merchant.
“I’d like to buy a fine shirt,” the Mulla said.
The merchant brought the Mulla one of his finest shirts, and the Mulla put it on. He examined himself, then shook his head.
“No,” the Mulla said, “I don’t care for it. I’ll exchange it for a fine pair of pants.”
The merchant took the shirt away and returned with a beautiful pair of pants. The Mulla put them on.
“Yes,” he said, “these will do nicely.”
The Mulla began walking toward the door of the merchant’s shop.
“Nasruddin!” the merchant said, “You have forgotten to pay for the pants!”
“I did not forget,” the Mulla replied. “I exchanged the shirt for the pants.”
“But you did not pay for the shirt, either.”
“Of course not,” the Mulla said. “Why would I pay for a shirt I don’t want?”
“Listen,” the merchant said, “why don’t you can the ‘Mulla Nasruddin pretzel-logic’ bullshit and just pay for the goddamn-”
The Mulla bashed the merchant across the temple with a flat rock, knocking him unconscious. He ran into the night, the only sound the flapping of his fine, fine pants.
THE HEADSTONE
Mulla Nasruddin was very old and near death. “Wife,” he said, “when I die, do not place a headstone on my grave.”
“Why?” the Mulla’s wife said.
“Because after I am buried,” the Mulla said, “I do not want to hit my head on it when I ascend to heaven.”
The Mulla’s wife lit a cigarette. “Don’t worry,” she said bitterly.
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