Two men, one American and one East Indian, were sitting in a bar, drinking shot after shot. The Indian man finally sighed and said, “You know, my parents are forcing me to get married to this so-called homely girl from a village whom I haven’t even met once. We call this an arranged marriage. I don’t want to marry a woman whom I don’t love. I told them that openly, and now I have a hell of a lot of family problems.”
The American nodded sympathetically. Then, with a strange smile, he said, “You think you have family problems? Talking about love marriages… I’ll tell you my story.”
“I married a widow whom I deeply loved and dated for three years. Everything seemed perfectly normal at first. But after a couple of years, my father fell in love with my stepdaughter and married her. Suddenly, my father became my son-in-law, and I became my father’s father-in-law. Legally, my daughter became my mother, while my wife became my grandmother.
The problems only became more complicated when my wife and I had a son. My son was my father’s brother, which meant that my own son was also my uncle. I could barely explain the family tree without giving myself a headache. Then things became even more bizarre when my father and his new wife had a son.
That child was my father’s son, making him my brother. But because my father was also my son-in-law, his son was somehow my grandson as well. By that point, nobody in the family could figure out who was related to whom without drawing a diagram.
“Ultimately, I discovered that I had become my own grandfather—and, somehow, I was also my own grandson. And you think you have family problems…”
The Indian man stared at him in complete silence for several seconds. He slowly lifted his glass, took another drink, and muttered, “You know what? Maybe my parents are right. I’ll take the village girl.”
A lady had a height problem. She was TOO tall, being exactly 2 meters tall.
She hated the way she had to duck to walk through a doorway, the way she felt so uncomfortable in a car, and how every pair of trousers seemed to end several inches above her ankles. She had tried everything, but nothing seemed to help. Finally, desperate for a solution, she visited an expert.
The expert listened carefully, scratched his chin, and then said, “Go visit the Dwarven Town. It’s full of dwarfs. Find any dwarf and ask him if he’ll marry you. Every time a dwarf says ‘no,’ you will grow 10 centimeters shorter!”
The woman stared at him. “That’s your solution?”
“It sounds strange,” the expert admitted, “but it works. Just keep asking until you get the result you want.”
The lady did as she was told.
She went to the Dwarven Town and found a dwarf. She nervously approached him and asked if he would marry her. He looked up at her, shook his head, and simply said, “No.”
Immediately, she felt something strange happen. She looked down and realized she had become 10 centimeters shorter.
Excited, she quickly repeated the act with another dwarf. Once again, he refused.
Another 10 centimeters disappeared.
Now only 180 centimeters tall, she decided to ask one more dwarf and then go home. She took a deep breath, walked confidently toward a third dwarf, and asked, “Will you marry me?”
The dwarf looked her up and down, thought about it for a moment, and then replied, “No, no, no, no, no…! I don’t want to marry a tall person like you! You’re too tall!
No, no, no, no, no!”
The woman’s eyes widened.
For a moment, she thought she had discovered the secret to becoming the perfect height.
Then she realized the dwarf wasn’t refusing her once.
He was refusing her five times.
She suddenly looked down at herself and wondered just how short she was about to become.
Two Jewish men knocked on Rabbi Levi’s door. “What can I do for you gentlemen?” said the Rabbi once he opened his door.
They explained to him that they had an argument and could not resolve it.
The Rabbi agreed to help them. “What is the argument about?” he asked.
The first man immediately said, “Black is a color!”
The second man shook his head. “NO! It is not!”
The first man became even more determined. “It is a color!”
The second man turned toward the Rabbi. “Rabbi, is black a color?”
“Well, sure…” said the confused Rabbi.
The first man smiled triumphantly. “See? I told you! And so is white!”
The second man immediately objected. “White is not a color!”
The first man looked at the Rabbi again. “Rabbi?”
The Rabbi sighed, already beginning to regret getting involved. “Well, yes, white is a color.”
The first man turned to his companion with a huge grin. “See? I told you, Moishe!”
Moishe frowned. “What exactly are you trying to prove?”
The first man casually delivered the punchline.
“I sold you a color TV!”
For a few seconds, the Rabbi simply stared at him.
Then he slowly closed the door.
He had a feeling that if he stayed there any longer, they were going to come back with an argument about whether the remote control was a religious object.
