"What is it  that hangs on the wall, is green, wet--and whistles?"

I  knit my brow and thought and thought, and in final perplexity gave up.

"A herring," said my father.

"A herring?!" I echoed. " A herring doesn't hang on a wall!"

"So hang it there."

"But a herring isn't green!" I protested.

"Paint it."

"But a herring isn't wet."

"If it's just painted, it's still wet."

"But--" I sputtered, summoning all my outrage, "--a herring doesn't whistle!"

"Right," smiled my father, "I just put that in to make it hard.

"The Joys of Yiddish" by Leo Rosten