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Pastimes : Happy Hour: A thread for not so intelligent discussions -- Ignore unavailable to you. Want to Upgrade?

To: Barney who wrote (1697)	9/26/1999 11:26:00 AM
From: Susie924	Respond to of 2380

I know this is the HH thread but I came across this and it brought a tear to my eye. I don't know if it's a true story but hear it is: INFORMATION PLEASE When I was quite young, my father had one of the first telephones in our neighborhood. I remember well the polished old case fastened to the wall. The shiny receiver hung on the side of the box. I was too little to reach the telephone, but used to listen with fascination when my mother used to talk to it. Then I discovered that somewhere inside the wonderful device lived an amazing person - her name was "Information Please" and there was nothing she did not know. "Information Please" could supply anybody's number and the correct time. My first personal experience with this genie-in-the-bottle came one day while my mother was visiting a neighbor. Amusing myself at the tool bench in the basement, I whacked my finger with a hammer. The pain was terrible, but there didn't seem to be any reason in crying because there was no one home to give sympathy. I walked around the house sucking my throbbing finger, finally arriving at the stairway. The telephone! Quickly, I ran for the footstool in the parlor and dragged it to the landing. Climbing up, I unhooked the receiver in the parlor and held it to my ear. "Information Please," I said into the mouthpiece just above my head. A click or two and a small clear voice spoke into my ear. "Information." "I hurt my finger. . ." I wailed into the phone. The tears came readily enough now that I had an audience. "Isn't your mother home?" came the question. "Nobody's home but me," I blubbered. "Are you bleeding?" "No," I replied. "I hit my finger with the hammer and it hurts." "Can you open your icebox?" she asked. I said I could. "Then chip off a little piece of ice and hold it to your finger," said the voice. After that, I called "Information Please" for everything. I asked her for help with my geography and she told me where Philadelphia was. She helped me with my math. She told me my pet chipmunk that I had caught in the park just the day before would eat fruits and nuts. Then, there was the time Petey, our pet canary died. I called "Information Please" and told her the sad story. She listened, then said the usual things grown-ups say to soothe a child. But I was unconsoled. I asked her, "Why is it that birds should sing to beautifully and bring joy to all families, only to end up as a heap of feathers on the bottom of a cage?" Paul,always remember that there are other worlds to sing in." Somehow I felt better. Another day I was on the telephone. "Information Please." "Information," said the now familiar voice. "How do you spell fix?" I asked. All this took place in a small town in the Pacific Northwest. When I was 9 years old, we moved across the country to Boston. I missed my friend very much. "Information Please" belonged in that old wooden box back home, and somehow I never thought of trying the tall, shiny new phone that sat on the table in the hall. As I grew into my teens, the memories of those childhood conversations never really left me. Often, in moments of doubt and perplexity I would recall the serene sense of security I had then. I appreciated now how patient, understanding, and kind she was to have spent her time on a little boy. A few years later, on my way west to college, my plane touched down in Seattle. I had about half an hour or so between planes. I spent 15 minutes or so on the phone with my sister, who lived there now, and, without thinking what I was doing, I dialed my hometown operator and said, "Information, Please." Miraculously, I heard the small, clear voice I knew so well, "Information." I hadn't planned this but I heard myself saying, "Could you please tell me how to spell fix?" There was a long pause. Then came the soft spoken answer, "I guess your finger must have healed by now." I laughed. "So it's really still you," I said. "I wonder if you have any idea how much you meant to me during that time." "I wonder," she said, "if you know how much your calls meant to me. I never had any children, and I used to look forward to your calls." I told her how often I had thought of her over the years and I asked if I could call her again when I came back to visit my sister. "Please do, she said."Just ask for Sally." Three months later I was back in Seattle. A different voice answered "Information." I asked for Sally. "Are you a friend?" she asked. "Yes, a very old friend," I answered. "I'm sorry to have to tell you this," she said, "Sally had been working part-time the last few years because she was sick. She died five weeks ago." Before I could hang up she said, "Wait a minute. Is your name Paul?" "Yes." "Well, Sally left a message for you. She wrote it down in case you called. Let me read it to you." The note says, "Tell him I still say there are other worlds to sing in. He'll know what I mean." I thanked her and hung up. I knew what Sally meant. Never underestimate the impression you may make on others. Now back to the jokes!

To: Barney who wrote (1697)	9/26/1999 11:50:00 AM
From: Susie924	Read Replies (2) \| Respond to of 2380

Barbie's Letter To Santa: > > >>> Dear Santa, > > >>> > > >>> Listen you fat little troll, I've been helping you out every year, > > >>> playing at being the perfect Christmas Present, wearing skimpy > bathing > > >>> suits in frigid weather, and drowning in fake tea from one too many > > >>> tea parties, and I hate to break it to ya Santa, but IT'S DEFINITELY > > > >>> PAY BACK TIME! There had better be some changes around here this > > >>> Christmas, or I'm gonna call for a nationwide meltdown (and trust > me, > > >>> you won't wanna be around to smell it). > > >>> > > >>> So, here's my holiday wish list for 1999, Santa. > > >>> > > >>> 1. A nice, comfy pair of sweat pants and a frumpy, oversized > > >>> sweatshirt. I'm sick of looking like a hooker. How much smaller > are > > >>> these bathing suits gonna get? Do you have any idea what it feels > > >>> like to have nylon and velcro up your butt? > > >>> > > >>> 2. Real underwear that can be pulled on and off. Preferably white. > > >>> What bonehead at Mattel decided to cheap out and MOLD imitation > > >>> underwear to my skin?!? It looks like cellulite! > > >>> > > >>> 3. A REAL man... maybe GI JOE. Hell, I'd take Tickle-Me-Elmo over > > >>> that wimped-out excuse for a boytoy Ken. And what's with that > earring > > >>> anyway? If I'm gonna have to suffer with him, at least make him > (and > > >>> me) anatomically correct. > > >>> > > >>> 4. Arms that actually bend so I can push the aforementioned > Ken-wimp > > >>> away once he is anatomically correct. > > >>> > > >>> 5. Breast reduction surgery. I don't care whose arm you have to > > >>> twist, just get it done. > > >>> > > >>> 6. A jog-bra. To wear until I get the surgery. > > >>> > > >>> 7. A new career. Pet doctor and school teacher just don't cut it. > > >>> How about a systems analyst? Or better yet, a public relations > senior > > >>> account exec! > > >>> > > >>> 8. A new, more 90's persona. Maybe "PMS Barbie", complete with a > > >>> miniature container of chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream and a > bag > > >>> of chips; "Animal Rights Barbie", with my very own paint gun, fitted > > > >>> with a fake fur coat, bottle of spray on blood and handcuffs; or > "Stop > > >>> Smoking Barbie," sporting a Nicotrol patch and equipped with > several > > >>> packs of gum. > > >>> > > >>> 9. No more McDonald's endorsements. The grease is wrecking my > vinyl. > > > > >>> > > >>> 10. Mattel stock options. It's been 37 years-I think I deserve it. > > > >>> > > >>> Okay Santa, that's it. Considering my valuable contribution to > > >>> society, I don't think these requests are out of line. If you > > >>> disagree, then you can find yourself a new bitch for next Christmas. > > > >>> It's that simple. > > >>> > > >>> Yours Truly, > > >>> Barbie > > >>> > > >>> ********************************* > > >>> Ken's Letter To Santa: > > >>> > > >>> Dear Santa, > > >>> > > >>> I understand that one of my colleagues has petitioned you for > changes > > >>> in her contract, specifically asking for anatomical and career > > changes. > > >>> > > >>> In addition, it is my understanding that disparaging remarks were > > >>> made about me, my ability to please, and some of my fashion > choices. > > >>> I would like to take this opportunity to inform you of some of the > > >>> issues concerning Ms. Barbie, and some of my own needs and desires. > > >>> > > >>> First of all, I along with several other colleagues feel Barbie DOES > > >>> NOT deserve preferential treatment - the bitch has everything. I, > > >>> along with Joe, Jem, Raggedy Ann & Andy, DO NOT have a dreamhouse, > > >>> corvette, evening gowns, and in some cases the ability to change > our > > >>> hair style. I personally have only 3 outfits which I am forced to > mix > > >>> and match at great length. > > >>> > > >>> My decision to accessorize my outfits with an earring was my > decision > > >>> and reflects my lifestyle choice. > > >>> > > >>> I too would like a change in my career. Have you ever considered > > >>> "Decorator Ken", "Beauty Salon Ken", or "Out Of Work Actor Ken"? In > > > >>> addition, there are several other avenues which could be considered > > >>> such as: "S&M Ken" , "Green Lantern Ken", "Circuit Ken", "Bear > Ken", > > >>> "Master Ken". These would more accurately reflect my desires and > > >>> perhaps open up new markets. And as for Barbie needing bendable arms > > >>> so she can "push me away," I need bendable knees so I can kick the > > >>> bitch to the curb. Bendable knees would also be helpful for me in > > >>> other situations - we've talked about this issue before. > > >>> > > >>> In closing, I would like to point out that any further concessions > to > > >>> the blond bimbo from hell will result in action be taken by myself > and > > >>> others. And Barbie can forget about having Joe - he's mine, at least > > > >>> that's what he said last night. > > >>> > > >>> Sincerely, > > >>> Ken > > >>> ---------- > > >> > > >> > > >