Moldavian Joke #2

We’ve been discussing so many fascinating things in our corner of the blog-sphere recently: elections, gingerness, insanity, Esperanto, rugby, randomness, stammering, girls girls girls, language of all kinds - even Mrs Pouncer’s pussy has been touched upon. I’m very stimulated to write more on these themes, but frankly I’m exhausted. So I reckon it’s time to relax with another Moldavian joke. The same disclaimer applies as for the previous one – so don’t come and burn my village, ok? Mersi.

This Moldavian guy goes to live in another village* and wants to fit in with the locals. But when he looks over the fences into his neighbours’ gardens he sees them having sex with their cows. “Hmmm”, he thinks to himself, “I really do want to fit in here so I’d better try”. So he’s on the job and starts shouting so that his neighbours will hear and look at what he’s doing. They indeed look over his fence but then start laughing at him uncontrollably. “What are you laughing at?” he protests, “this is what you all do!” “Yes”, they reply, “but your cow is not very pretty!”

* This would never happen in reality, but let’s say for the sake of argument that his excrement haulage business has gone to the wall owing to an epidemic of bovine constipation in his village and he has to find alternative work elsewhere.

Moldavian Joke #1

Are there any Moldavians in this evening? No? Alright!! This Moldavian goes to visit another village* and wants to buy a pig. He asks the first man he comes across how much his pig costs. The villager holds out all the fingers of his hands, so he counts out 10 golden beans from his pocket. The villager then slaps him around the face and goes off cursing. Perplexed, our man then asks the next villager he comes across, is again shown two splayed hands, and is once again hit around the face when he proffers 10 golden beans. This happens the requisite 3 times until he meets a man who accepts his payment gratefully and hands over a pig. Our hero inquires as to why the other villagers were so angry. “My friend”, says his trading partner, “nobody in this village has 10 fingers; I myself was born with 8. Good luck with the pig.”

* In reality this would never happen. But for the purposes of this joke we're going to imagine that he’s noticed the signs of inbreeding in his pigs, and so is looking to sire his gilts from other bloodstock; he’s thinking of trying to use a goat, but failing that another pig would probably do.