“Once upon a time, there lived a little monk in a small temple on the top of the hill,” Ginger started his story.
“It looks like I’ve heard this joke before,” Peggy suddenly interrupted.
“No, I don’t think so, Peggy,” said Ginger, “If you want to laugh, please be patient and let me finish the story.”
“Okay,” replied Peggy quickly, “I’ll be all ears. Go ahead, my dear spiritual beast Ginger.”
“Every day, the monk performed his religious ritual by reciting the sutra. After that, he would sit cross-legged and made meditation in order to achieve his ultimate enlightenment,” continued Ginger, “suddenly, he was thirsty.”
“What happened next?” asked Peggy, “It looks like your story is a little bit boring. I can’t laugh. I’m sure about it.”
“All right then, Peggy,” said Ginger, biting its lips tightly, and then added,
“Well, give me another chance. Perhaps I can tell you another funny story. Once upon a time, there lived a farmer in a small village who suffered from severe pain in the chest.”