VOLUMINA ARMENI

There once was a group of men at a coffee shop, laughing with old jokes, with masculinity and proper jesting. 

They upon the topic of wars and Armenia, jested so well about the war of Armenia against Persia that they seemed to entertain the masses. So proud of their culture they could do so. 

Then, a true Armenian walked into the coffee shop purchasing nothing but a croissant with pistachio glaze and nuts.

Do you know, he said, with fixed eye and jingling his keys as he ate his pistachios, with raised finger, you are wrong, we won that war. 

Oh, said the group. We didn’t know. Sorry, they said, looking down humiliated. 

A thirsty man once heard that water was discoverable anywhere.

Seeking deeply in books and science he found that water was available beneath one hundred feet of the surface of the earth everywhere on earth. However, he didn't have any property.

So, he bought some land and dug a well with such love, he drew water from the depths of the earth, discovering water within ninety feet. 

He built his well, finding an aquifer so pure, it rejuvenated his soul, his body, and the earth. 

He built a hut and lived next to his well, finding peace unending beside, Աղբյուր Ֆըսթըգճեանի, the future of his family.

There once was a man so disturbing and eerie that he irked the greatest men. He disturbed the world order, the greatest tombs of men of history and valor and sainthood. He ruined cultures, heritages, races, and peoples, with his trickery, stupidity, and the power of envy and jealousy.

A clever man, well knowledged and endowed with wisdom, came up with a quick trick. 

He got what appeared as mustard and offered it to the jealous disturber of humanity. Eating it so quickly, he put it on all things, healing him of his jealous even, having never been offered mustard before, he even exclaimed in joy in the privacy of his room.

The clever man simply laughed, after saying, Here, some mustard. 

And he walked away as quickly as he could, for the mustard was in fact a form of uranium.

Hi, who are you? asked the sunbathing man.
Hi, I'm nonevangelical, who are you?

Oh, I'm not evangelical either. That's interesting.

Yes, I'm not the sun either.

Oh, me neither. Are you okay?

Yes, said the man as he walked away.

The sunbathing man turned to his wife as she sipped her virgin Piña Colada and said, He is a very good gentleman. 

How do you know, asked the sipping wife? 

He's the sun because he's nonevangelical.

There once was a child who said an ugly word, and overused it. It sounded so abstruse and brazen and bad phonetically. 

մէկհատալ ըսէսնէ այտ բարը ծեծ կուտես, ըսաւ մայրը:

Then, upon find a more suitable word for a child as herself, like jelly belly, brought happiness to the surrounding people. 

She repeated it over and over. 

մէկհատալ չըսէս այտ բարը կամ պիտի սիրէմ քեզի: 

There once was a boy who was playing around the kitchen as the mother was cleaning and cooking. 

Աչքիս առչեվեն ելիր, ըսաւ:

Ok, said the boy. 

The next day, the boy started to play but only behind her, so she couldn’t see. But the mother then said, 

Վոտգիս տակեն ելիր, ըսաւ մայրը:

Ok, said the boy. So he got up and started to play in the living room.

As he saw him go, Աչքս լոյս, ըսաւ մայրը:

Edward once had an insight and desired to share this insight with all mankind. 

He looked upon his friend and said, Friend, I have an insight and I'd like to share it with you.

I once was seated upon a toilet and I thought, Why is American culture and speech so ugly and vulgar and repulsive? I looked upon my poop and said, Ah, yes, it is like that. 

Then, as I reached for the toilet paper, I thought, Ah, China is here to clean up the mess!

Next, as I stood up and pulled up my clothes, I said, Ah, the Frenchmen, here to cover things up!

Finally, I turned the knob of the door, and thought, Yes, Armenia, the gate to eternity.

Armenia is in fact a word in Latin - Armenius - which is otherwise translated as apricot. Armeniacus meaning apricot colored.

The ancient Latins equated Armenia with that which they received from the land through trade with the Armenians. 

The apricot was originally from Armenia, taken by Alexander the Great and placed in Greece and then planted in Rome as well.

This does not mean that Armenians were named after the fruit, but rather that the fruit was attributed to Armenians, their agricultural feats, and the origins of the apricot on Armenian land, near Mount Ararat.

Where in the Garden was found the fig tree from which was grasped the forbidden fruit, the apricot tree, as a blessing to the world Armenians grasped from the garden of Ararat, the birthplace of redeemed humanity, to give to the world in healing. 

Oh, look at the guy, he thinks he’s so Leap-on-on-tsi. But he’s not.   

You’re so right. Who does he think he is?   

Oh, hi, I’m just Armenian and Christian. 

It’s just in speaking Armenian that we become ourselves.

Sometimes that Arap stuff comes out of the butt, other times it doesn’t. Just be yourself. Maybe you just had a bad day.

Abu Bakr, what happened to Mohammed, asked Ali.

We don't know, I think he died, said Umar.

No, you killed him. I'm sure of it, said Uthman.

How is that possible? There is no logic in your statement, said Abu Bakr.

Wasn't he the prophet? said Umar.

Yes, but he was too violent, so we had to write a book and make him look like a wise guy, said Uthman.

How dare you, he is looking at you now from heaven, said Abu Bakr.

You mean those 7 virgins? He's far too occupied for me, said Uthman. 

Abu Bakr, a master of logic, decided not to take Uthman's life, slaying Ali, Umar, and himself in an instant. 

Now you may have the Christian heaven where there is only God and gazing upon him, and we will have the Islam one, as you have described, uttered Abu Bakr before he died. 

Uthman looked around the room and said, logic has failed today, faith has won. I’m alive, they are not. Come, my servants, let us take their wives too. 

While a rich old man was gazing upon that, a monk walked by. He looked at the man and observed quietly.

I just want that. 

What?

What you have right there, it's so delicious. Isn't that so nice, darling?

It's delectable, said his wife. As they both gazed together at that.

The monk looked at that and said, That thing? 

It's nothing, the monk thought to himself.

You can't have it, said the monk. 

It's so nice looking, why not? said the wife. 

It's the best there is, maybe we can have some too? said the old man.

Who are you fighting asked the monk to the rich old man?

They reached for it, but the monk stopped them, knowing it would be thievery.

They slew him and took it and ran away. 

There once was a man who was fit but not big. He exercised hard for months and achieved great size, but day after day they were stripped through sorcery and tricks. 

He lifted but with each stroke his enemies so placed in fear, attacked in every unknown way, like hyenas or rather mol-rats sneaking to disturb and to corrupt. 

He became skinnier over time and his food tampered with, his stomach poisoned, vomiting, distressed, sleepless, and enraged. 

Then came the day to face his mighty opponent, and like iron being drawn from mountain peaks and deep ores was equipped like a god with his former strength.  

As he launched his punches his muscles became steel, and as he defeated the opponent his body became like golden burnished with bronze. 

He turned to the sorcerer, and torn nearly apart, he, with final choice, remained and stood still, knowing this was his last breath, for if he were to win, his body would be made too strong. 

His final muscle had not come, waiting deeply within as the mighty arm of the Father united with right hand he in unison with heaven’s strength struck with fist the witch to whims. 

And in striking his target, struck with heaven’s arm, becoming as the Father, now built of heavenly stone. 

A statue erected in his name, nay, the stilled and hardened body of the man of golden bronze, a fist thrown into the dark, with light from above shot through to fist, the fullness of the Father’s arm.