One more classic story in the same category of humour:
Some poor downtrodden men in Leningrad during the height of the Cold War have been hearing about all the wonderful jobs, weather, and food in Siberia. They are eager to move there but they are wary that it might be a trick, and that once there they won’t be allowed to leave. They agree that one of them should go first and write a letter concealing a secret message back to his comrades in Leningrad. If the letter is written in black ink, then life in Siberia is excellent and the others should come. But if it’s written in red ink, then what they’ve been told is all lies.
Soon they get a letter from the comrade who volunteered to be the first to go to Siberia. It’s in black ink. They eagerly read his glowing report about life in Siberia, the good jobs, comfortable weather, and bountiful food. Their friend finishes his letter by mentioning that there’s just one thing he hasn’t been able to find: red ink.
A story heard years ago by an acquaintance, of Armenian descent:
After WW II, the Soviet Union urged former residents to return. One family member, with wife and children decided to take them up on the offer. He did not really believe that he could write candidly about conditions, and so they agreed that he should send a picture. If he was standing up, things were well, and the rest of the family should consider returning. If he was sitting down, things were no good, and the rest of the family should remain where they were.
When they received the picture, he was lying down.
Some poor downtrodden men in Leningrad during the height of the Cold War have been hearing about all the wonderful jobs, weather, and food in Siberia. They are eager to move there but they are wary that it might be a trick, and that once there they won’t be allowed to leave. They agree that one of them should go first and write a letter concealing a secret message back to his comrades in Leningrad. If the letter is written in black ink, then life in Siberia is excellent and the others should come. But if it’s written in red ink, then what they’ve been told is all lies.
Soon they get a letter from the comrade who volunteered to be the first to go to Siberia. It’s in black ink. They eagerly read his glowing report about life in Siberia, the good jobs, comfortable weather, and bountiful food. Their friend finishes his letter by mentioning that there’s just one thing he hasn’t been able to find: red ink.