Coffee Klatch

Three sons left home, went out on their own and prospered. Getting back together, they discussed the gifts they were able to give their elderly mother.

The first said: “I built a big house for our mother.”

The second said:” I sent her a Mercedes with a driver.”

The third smiled and said: “I’ve got you both beat. You know how Mom enjoys the Bible and you know she can’t see very well. I sent her a parrot that can recite the entire Bible. It took 20 monks in a monastery 12 years to teach him. I had to pledge to contribute $100,000.00 a year for 10 years, but it was worth it. Mom just has to name the chapter and verse, and the parrot will recite it.”

Soon thereafter, Mom sent out her letters of thanks:

“Maynard,” she wrote the first son, “the house you built is so huge. I live in only one room, but I have to clean the whole house.”

“Marvin,” she wrote to the next, “I am too old to travel. I stay home all the time, so I never use the Mercedes. And the driver is so rude!”

“Dearest Melvin,” she wrote to her third son, “You were the only son to have the good sense to know what your mother likes. That chicken was delicious.”

In honor of Mother’s Day tomorrow, here’s a pfunny that shows how much we may respect our mothers and yet not understand them.

A young woman was preparing a ham dinner. After she cut off the end of the ham, she placed it in a pan for baking. Her friend asked her, “Why did you cut off the end of the ham”? And she replied, “I really don’t know, but my mother always did, so I thought you were supposed to.”

Later, when talking to her mother, she asked her why she always cut off the end of the ham before baking it, and her mother replied, “I really don’t know, but that’s the way my mom always did it.”

A few weeks later while visiting her grandmother, the young woman asked, “Grandma, why is it that you cut off the end of a ham before you bake it?”

Her grandmother replied, “Well, dear, it would never fit into my baking pan.”

The growth of the internet has really increased the popularity and effectiveness of April Fool’s Day. Now ALL KINDS of pranks can be played online in the guise of “new technologies” or “new services.”

Here are a few links to places that have “celebrated” April Fool’s Day this year. Most of these are pretty clever and funny.

• http://www.google.com/googlecalendar/new_wakeup.html
• http://www.infoworld.com/article/08/04/01/14FE-april-fool-google-facebook_1.html
• http://www.infoworld.com/article/08/04/01/14FE-april-fool-google-us-gov_1.html
• http://www.thinkgeek.com/stuff/41/personalsoundtrack.html?cpg=70H
• http://www.thinkgeek.com/stuff/41/superpiipii.html?cpg=70H
• http://www.thinkgeek.com/stuff/41/spazztroids.html?cpg=70H
• http://www.thinkgeek.com/stuff/41/titaniumlabyrinth.html?cpg=70H
• http://www.thesun.co.uk/sol/homepage/news/article983556.ece
• http://youtube.com/watch?v=YU_18r_WtkA (from the BBC)
• http://www.realtechnews.com/posts/5556
• http://www.azcentral.com/arizonarepublic/business/articles/0331biz-buzz0401.html
• http://www.theonion.com/content/news_briefs/fearmongers_warmongers

(Okay, that last one was from The Onion, so it’s bound to be funny, even if it’s not April Fool’s Day.)

Feel free to share these with your friends. And even to disguise them like this: Google to Acquire U.S. Government 

NEW YORK (AP) — Century Communications announced today plans for an exciting new 900 service, with profits to go to help defray the cost of installing and maintaining enhanced 911 service across the country. Called “The 911 Chatline,” it allows callers to choose an area of the country and to listen to 911 emergency calls from it.

When asked what prompted this unusual foray into the 900 business, Century spokeswoman Fawn Lebowitz said, “In recent years we’ve seen a dramatic increase in the popularity of reality-based television shows. The 911 Chatline allows callers to experience real-life drama while it is going on, all from the comfort of their own home.”

While listening to the emergency calls going through, callers to the Chatline have a number of options. They can listen to just the 911 calls for the area they select, switch their call to a different area, or, probably the most interesting option, connect their call to the 911 Chatline to discuss the details of the emergencies with each other as they happen and before the police have even arrived!

Thanks to new voice recognition software from AT&T, callers do not even need a touch tone telephone in order to use the service. They can choose which 911 center to listen to simply by saying the area code and city that they are interested in listening to calls from. Calls are directed to the 911 center nearest this location.

As 911 centers sign up to receive their share of the profits, they are connected to the Chatline network. Century says it has already wired up over 50 centers and that it has coverage in most major metropolitan areas. They plan to have the whole nation wired by April 2009.

[Happy April Fool’s Day!]

With the possible exception of Santa Claus himself, there is not a busier mammal on the face of the earth than the Easter Bunny. Once a year, the Easter Bunny hops into the homes of hundreds of millions of boys and girls all over the globe, dropping off chocolates, candy, and eggs as part of the celebration of Easter. America Online spent a few minutes with the Easter Bunny as he was preparing for this year’s task, for a tell-all, no-holds-barred interview. If you thought you knew the Easter Bunny, you just may be surprised.

America Online: Thanks for talking to us.

Easter Bunny: No problem. Do you mind if I eat while we talk? (takes out a packet of small green pellets) I’ve been in a rush recently.

AOL: Go right ahead. We’ve got a list of questions here, compiled from our members, and I’ll just go down the list if you don’t mind.

EB: Ready when you are.

AOL: The first question comes from Ted, in Dayton, Ohio. He writes: “We all know that Santa’s Workshop is located at the North Pole. Does the Easter Bunny have a workshop, and if so, where is it located?”

EB: Well, Ted, the answer is yes, I do have a workshop. It’s located in San Bernardino, California.

AOL: San Bernardino?

EB: That’s right.

AOL: You have to understand that most people would have figured some place like Easter Island.

EB: Have you *been* to Easter Island? What a rock! It’s the single most isolated piece of land on the planet. By the time we shipped fresh eggs there, we’d have chickens. Besides, San Bernardino has the sort of motivated labor pool we need.

AOL: Elves?

EB: Laid-off aerospace workers.

AOL: They would seem to be a little overqualified.

EB: Maybe. But now we have some lovely chocolate stealth bombers.

AOL: Our next question comes from Cindy, in Tempe. She writes: “Why is the Easter Bunny a bunny? Why couldn’t it have been the Easter Kitty, or the Easter Puppy?”

EB: That’s a very good question. In fact, in the late 70s, we as an organization decided to play around with the whole “bunny” thing by recruiting prominent local animals to deliver Easter baskets. In 1978, when the experiment was at its height, we had an Easter Bunny, an Easter Coyote, an Easter Manatee and an Easter Komodo Dragon.

AOL: What happened?

EB: It just didn’t work out. The komodo dragon ate the eggs, the coyote just flaked out, and the manatee, if I may say so, was just about as dumb as a stick. There were some other problems with the program, too. The less we talk about the whole Easter Man-Eating Bengali Swamp Tiger episode, the better. Now we stick with bunnies. We know bunnies. We can work with bunnies. Bunnies don’t eat anyone.

AOL: Bob in Honolulu asks: “Is there is just one Easter Bunny? Moreover, has the same Easter Bunny been the Easter Bunny for the last couple of millennia?”

EB: The fact of the matter is that there are quite a few Easter Bunnies, and we’ve never made a secret about that. Unlike the Santa Claus operation, which works under the improbable assumption that one guy delivers all those presents -

AOL: Are you saying that Santa is a sham?

EB: I didn’t say that. I never said that. What I am saying is that *we* don’t work under the same sort of constraints. I mean, think about it. One bunny delivering baskets to several hundred million homes across the planet? The friction from the atmosphere alone would turn the poor guy into a bunny briquette. There’d be hideous charcoal smudges all over the baskets. “Easter Bunny” is a job description, not a proper name. It’s like “Postal Carrier,” except our employees very rarely become disgruntled.

AOL: So why are you THE Easter Bunny?

EB: Because I’m boss. You’re not an Easter Bunny until I say you are.

AOL: How does one become an Easter Bunny?

EB: Well, it’s not just hopping down the bunny trail, I’ll tell you. First, for reasons already explained, you have to be a bunny. After that, we have a psychological evaluation and a battery of physical tests you have to pass. We can’t afford to have an Easter Bunny cramp up at the beginning of his run.

AOL: Any famous rabbits turned down for the job?

EB: I don’t want to name names. But one bunny who’s making a living in the breakfast cereal industry, we had to let go. Any time a child would try to get an Easter basket from him, he’d back away and start snarling. He was a silly rabbit. Easter baskets are for kids.

AOL: He seems to have gotten better since then.

EB: Prozac helps.

AOL: Albert from Coeur d’Alene, Idaho, wants to know what are the occupational hazards of being the Easter Bunny.

EB: There are several. Large dogs are always a problem, of course: one moment you’re delivering a basket of goodies, the next, a rottweiler named Pinochet is on you like a meat-filled sock. Nervous homeowners with guns wing a couple of bunnies a year, as do edgy cops and private security guards. We don’t even bother trying to deliver to the children of militia members anymore; first they’ll plug you for being on their land, then they’ll make you into jerky and a pair of gloves. But you know what our number one problem is?

AOL: What?

EB: Sliding glass doors. Sometimes we’ll just forget they’re there. Man, that’s embarrassing.

AOL: Here’s an interesting question, from Amy, in New York City. She writes: “How does the Easter Bunny get along with Santa Claus? It seems like Santa gets all the attention.” And I have to say, I did notice some tension earlier, when you brought him up.

EB (Looking uncomfortable): Well, you know, look. I don’t want to say anything bad about the guy. He does what he does, and I do what I do. Professionally, we get along fine.

AOL: But privately?

EB: Is that tape recorder turned off?

AOL: Uh… sure.

EB: He’s a big ol’ pain in this bunny’s bottom. For one thing, he’s a prima donna: always me, me, me, where’s my highball, where’s my corned beef sandwich, tell this dumb bunny to get his own dressing room. I’d rather be trapped in a sack with Joan Crawford. For another, he’s totally paranoid of other large men. He thinks that Luciano Pavarotti is trying to move into his territory. Last year it was John Goodman. He actually danced when Orson Welles kicked it, waving his pistol and bellowing “Rosebud!” from the top of his lungs.

AOL: Wow. He seems a little scary.

EB: You think? And yet he gets all the publicity. Why? We do the same job. Mine’s actually tougher, since I’m moving perishable stuff. You can’t have bad eggs or stale chocolate, you know. Folks wouldn’t stand for it. I have to maintain strict quality control. The only food product he has to worry about is fruitcake. You could tile the Space Shuttle with fruitcake.

AOL: We’re sure you have your own fans.

EB: It’s like opening for the Beatles, is all. And he *is* the walrus, if you know what I mean.

AOL: One final question, from Pat, in Rockford, Illinois; “Does the Easter Bunny actually lay eggs? How does that happen, since the Easter Bunny is both male and a mammal?”

EB: Well, platypuses are mammals, and they lay eggs. So it’s not impossible.

AOL: That still leaves the male part.

EB: We’re quibbling on details, here.

AOL: Maybe there should be an Easter Platypus.

EB: Sorry. We tried that in ‘78.

A man was blissfully driving along the highway, when he saw the Easter Bunny hopping across the middle of the road. He swerved to avoid hitting the bunny, but unfortunately the rabbit jumped in front of his car and was hit. The basket of eggs went flying all over the place. Candy, too.

The driver, being a sensitive man as well as an animal lover, pulled over to the side of the road, and got out to see what had become of the bunny carrying the basket. Much to his dismay, the colorful bunny was dead. The driver felt guilty and began to cry.

A woman driving down the same highway saw the man crying on the side of the road and pulled over. She stepped out of her car and asked the man what was wrong.

“I feel terrible,” he explained. “I accidentally hit the Easter Bunny and killed him. What should I do?”

The woman told the man not to worry. She knew exactly what to do. She went to her car trunk, and pulled out a spray can. She walked over to the limp dead bunny, and sprayed the entire contents of the can onto the little furry animal. Miraculously the Easter Bunny came back to life, jumped up, picked up the spilled eggs and candy, waved its paw at the two humans and hopped on down the road. 50 yards away the Easter Bunny stopped, turned around, waved and hopped on down the road another 50 yards, turned waved, hopped another 50 yards and waved again!

The man was astonished. He said to the woman, “What in heaven’s name is in your spray can?”

The woman turned the can around so that the man could read the label. It said:

An Irishman walks into a bar and orders three glasses of Guinness, drinking a sip from each one and working his way through them. Noticing this odd ritual, the bartender explains that the beer goes flat when poured and informs the man his beer would be much fresher if he ordered one glass at a time.

The Irishman explains he began this custom with his two brothers, who have moved to America and Australia, respectively. Each of them orders three beers at a time, as a way of remembering all the time they spent drinking together.

The man becomes a regular at the pub, well-known for always ordering three beers at once. One day he walks in and orders only two beers. Assuming the worst, a hush falls among the other patrons.

When the Irishman returns to the bar to order his second round, the bartender quietly offers his condolences. The man looks confused for a moment, and then explains, “No, everyone’s fine. I gave up beer for Lent.”

Last night someone told me that today was Pie Day. At least, that’s what I heard. I got to thinking about different kinds of pie and how fun that could be to celebrate. Then I looked on a calendar this morning and saw that it wasn’t “pie,” but “PI” Day! And then I looked at the date again and it made perfect sense! Today’s date is 3.14.

I suppose technically the Pi MOMENT was at 1:59:27 this morning. And that’s as far as I ever really learned Pi: 3.1415927. For most practical purposes, that’s good enough.

So celebrate International PI Day today! Draw some circles or measure some diameters!

Or even better, listen to this interesting take on Music a la Pi. Tom Dukich took the numbers 0-9 and made them represent a rest (0) and then notes going up a major scale. He calls it Pi to 1,000 Places: Piano Solo.

So I’m driving to work this morning and listening to the Oldies station, 101.9 FM, and they bring up JFK’s “love child,” a guy who was born two days before the assassination and who apparently looks a ton like him. His name is Jack Worthington and he now lives in Canada. He doesn’t want any money or anything; he just wants to know for sure and is asking for DNA samples from the family so he can be tested.

To keep with the theme, and also for Valentine’s Day, the next song they played was “Love the One You’re With.” I laughed through the whole song! What a song to play on Valentine’s Day during a morning show!

THE TWELVE THANK-YOU NOTES OF CHRISTMAS

My dearest darling Edward, Dec 25
What a wonderful surprise has just greeted me! That sweet partridge, in that lovely little pear-tree; what an enchanting, romantic, poetic present! Bless you, and thank you.

Your deeply loving
Emily
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Beloved Edward, Dec 26

The two turtle-doves arrived this morning, and are cooing away in the pear-tree as I write. I’m so touched and grateful!

With undying love, as always,
Emily
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My darling Edward, Dec 27

You do think of the most original presents! Who ever thought of sending anybody three French hens? Do they really come all the way from France? It’s a pity we have no chicken coops, but I expect we’ll find some.
Anyway, thank you so much; they’re lovely.

Your devoted Emily
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Dearest Edward, Dec 28

What a surprise! Four calling birds arrived this morning. They are very sweet, even if they do call rather loudly–they make telephoning almost impossible–but I expect they’ll calm down when they get used to their new home. Anyway, I’m very grateful, of course I am.

Love from Emily
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Dearest Edward, Dec 29

The mailman has just delivered five most beautiful gold rings, one for each finger, and all fitting perfectly! A really lovely present! Lovelier, in a way, than birds, which do take rather a lot of looking after. The four that arrived yesterday are still making a terrible row, and I’m afraid none of us got much sleep last night. Mother says she wants to use the rings to “wring” their necks. Mother has such a sense of humor. This time she’s only joking, I think, but I do know what she means. Still, I love the rings.

Bless you,
Emily
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Dear Edward, Dec 30

Whatever I expected to find when I opened the front door this morning, it certainly wasn’t six socking great geese laying eggs all over the porch. Frankly, I rather hoped that you had stopped sending me birds. We have no room for them, and they’ve already ruined the croquet lawn. I know you meant well, but let’s call a halt, shall we?

Love,
Emily
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Edward, Dec 31

I thought I said NO MORE BIRDS. This morning I woke up to find no more than seven swans, all trying to get into our tiny goldfish pond. I’d rather not think what’s happened to the goldfish. The whole house seems to be full of birds, to say nothing of what they leave behind them, so please, please, stop!
Your Emily
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Jan 1

Frankly, I prefer the birds. What am I to do with eight milkmaids? And their cows! Is this some kind of a joke? If so, I’m afraid I don’t find it very amusing.

Emily
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Look here, Edward, Jan 2

This has gone far enough. You say you’re sending me nine ladies dancing. All I can say is, judging from the way they dance, they’re certainly not ladies. The village just isn’t accustomed to seeing a regiment of shameless viragoes, with nothing on but their lipstick, cavorting round the green, and it’s Mother and I who get the blame. If you value our friendship, which I do (less and less), kindly stop this ridiculous behavior at once!

Emily
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Jan 3

As I write this letter, ten disgusting old men are prancing up and down all over what used to be the garden, before the geese and the swans and the cows got at it. And several of them, I have just noticed, are taking inexcusable liberties with the milkmaids. Meanwhile the neighbors are trying to have us evicted. I shall never speak to you again.

Emily
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Jan 4

This is the last straw! You know I detest bagpipes! The place has now become something between a menagerie and a madhouse, and a man from the council has just declared it unfit for habitation. At least Mother has been spared this last outrage; they took her away yesterday afternoon in an ambulance. I hope you’re satisfied.
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Sir, Jan 5

Our client, Miss Emily Wilbraham, instructs me to inform you that with the arrival on her premises at 7:30 this morning of the entire percussion section of the Boston Symphony Orchestra, and several of their friends, she has no course left open to her but to seek an injunction to prevent you importuning her further. I am making arrangements for the return of much assorted livestock.

I am, Sir, yours faithfully,
G. Creep
Attorney at law