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A journalist goes to Afghanistan for a documentary. In a little village he saw an old man and asked him to narrate a typical happy story of his village.
The old man smiled and began:”One day, a long time ago, my goat got lost in the mountains. As is our tradition, all the men of the village gathered to drink vodka first and then looked for the goat. When we finally found her, as is our tradition, we all drank some more vodka and all the men in the village each got their turn to mate with the goat. We had so much fun that day!” The journalist realized that he couldn’t publish such a story so he asked the old man if he had another happy story. The old man smiled again and started all over again: “Once, my neighbor’s wife got lost in the mountains. As per our tradition, all of the village’s men gathered to drink vodka and then went to look for her. As is our tradition, when we finally found her, all the men in the village got their turn to mate with the neighbor’s wife. We had great fun that day!” The journalist couldn’t publish that story either and therefore asked: “Don’t you have a story that is less happy; something… umm … sadder?” The old man’s smile faded. His eyes welled up….. In a sad, soft voice he began: “One day I got lost in the mountains…..”
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