When Arabs get together, often a collection of generations, any and all are free to randomly throw out jokes. I don't know how to describe Arabic humor - except to say there's often a twist in logic - so I thought to give a couple of examples.
A man runs 26 people over with his car. The police ask him how it happened. And he says: I was driving down the road and my tire blew out. There was one person walking on one side of the road, and 25 people on the other side. I had to choose. The policeman says: Obviously you chose the one guy. The man says: Of course, but he ran across the street so I ended up hitting all 26.
There are plays on words:
A guy comes off the plane and walks down the stairs (old joke, before the days of jet bridges). His pants are falling off, and he's holding them up. His friend is waiting to meet him and asks him what the problem is. He says: The stewardess (again, old joke, pre-PC) kept saying fasten your belt, unfasten, fasten, unfasten. What was I supposed to do?
I knew my love for my Brazilian Querida was real with the following:
She's walking in front of me through the woods (where were we?), and she's letting branches snap back and hit me. When I complain, she says: Ok, you go in front, Rabibti (long story), and you do the same to me. It doesn't work, I say, because you're too short and the branches won't hit you. It's ok, Rabibti, I'll jump.
Happy birthday, Querida.
A man runs 26 people over with his car. The police ask him how it happened. And he says: I was driving down the road and my tire blew out. There was one person walking on one side of the road, and 25 people on the other side. I had to choose. The policeman says: Obviously you chose the one guy. The man says: Of course, but he ran across the street so I ended up hitting all 26.
There are plays on words:
A guy comes off the plane and walks down the stairs (old joke, before the days of jet bridges). His pants are falling off, and he's holding them up. His friend is waiting to meet him and asks him what the problem is. He says: The stewardess (again, old joke, pre-PC) kept saying fasten your belt, unfasten, fasten, unfasten. What was I supposed to do?
I knew my love for my Brazilian Querida was real with the following:
She's walking in front of me through the woods (where were we?), and she's letting branches snap back and hit me. When I complain, she says: Ok, you go in front, Rabibti (long story), and you do the same to me. It doesn't work, I say, because you're too short and the branches won't hit you. It's ok, Rabibti, I'll jump.
Happy birthday, Querida.
No comments:
Post a Comment