One friend is a doctor, the other is a journalist. Both are very busy. Journalists are seen only when they are sick or the doctor is in trouble. So, after many days, two friends met. In the midst of all this, the doctor friend asked the journalist, 'Dude, how old is your eldest son?' He stretched out his hand and said, 'This is so big!' 'And the little boy?' Seeing the way to indicate the height by extending the hand on both sides of the friend, the doctor friend is so humbled! ‘Dude, all the time I see people pointing their hands off the ground and saying, my daughter or son is so big. You see, you are saying with both hands outstretched. What’s the matter? ’The journalist replied with a sigh,‘ What shall I do, friend, when I come back from the office at night, I see the children sleeping. Let's see if they're in bed all the time! '

The joke came to mind when I saw Prothom Alo's Wednesday supplement Narimancha's survey. The survey was conducted on 100 women under the headline 'What kind of pot do you want'. There is only one future groom who has chosen journalism as his profession. The rate is only one percent! Being a journalist as a groom is not a groom, it is an iconic curse! After the report of Narimancha was published, there was a lot of noise in our newspaper office. The married people were relieved. And bachelor journalists are worried about the future! Will the bride join the forehead?

Our goddess is also in crisis. You don't know Deva. A few days ago, after listening to the song 'How many more nights will I be alone', Deba's heart started pounding. Deba immediately went to her father and said, 'Dad, I want to get married.' Dad said, 'Wait, Dad, you are not old yet.' Deba asked, 'When will I be old, Dad?' I don't want to do that! '

But Deva is not going to be deterred by anything else. Delhi ka laddu he wants to eat pasta. But the bride does not match anything. Our suspicion grows, is there even one hundred percent women who are willing to wear a wedding garland around the neck of a journalist? The guardians of the bride stepped back ten feet when they heard the journalist. Eventually Deva's guardians came up with the idea. This time, he will not be directly identified as a journalist. As usual, the couple wanted to know, ‘What does the pot do?’ The author of the document? ' I mean literary, I mean samba ···. ' Those who do not get married are happy. On that day, on the stairs of our office, a colleague was sighing and expressing his sorrow. After eating the editor's broom in the office, he has to return home at night and eat another item. The colleague was saying sadly, "Brother Ray, every night I go and see that the rice has become cold, and Ranamurti's wife is as hot as a burning volcano!" Many people want to give up journalism out of anger and grief. Still released? Listen to this story: A photographer, a reporter and an editor have come together to attend a conference in Cox's Bazar. During the lunch break, the editor went to the beach to hug the two sailors. Aladdin's lamp was lying on the sand there. Suddenly the giant came out as soon as he rubbed the lamp. ‘Hu ha ha ha, order my master.’ But the owner is three. In the end, everyone's wish will be fulfilled. First it's the photographer's turn. ‘Damn, I don’t like this dying job anymore! Send me to Switzerland. 'Immediately the order was Tamil. He left for Switzerland. Then it was the reporter's turn. He also said the same thing, ‘Dhus, this dying job is no longer good. Send me to America. ' Whispering, he left for America. Now it's the editor's turn. ‘Sir, tell me what you want?’ Said the giant to the editor. The heavy editor shouted at the thunderbolts, ‘Got jokes? Bring those two back now. I have to send it to the press soon! '