Pond Jumping

I was sitting on the throne thinking about the royal wedding.  How apropos.  It is due to start in a few hours.  I can see how the people on the other side of the pond would be consumed by the event, but why us?  Why is there such a rage for all things Will and Kate?  It's not like we can gamble on it.  "I got a fifty saying that bridesmaid number two will step on Kate's train." or "Bet the Queen falls asleep before the I do's." or "I qive you ten to one odds that William grabs Kate's bum before leaving the church."  (And who could blame him?  Quite the lovely bum she has.)

Did you notice how instead of saying "ocean" in the first paragraph, that I called it "the pond,"  the Brits nickname for the Atlantic?  John Lennon is responsible for my knowing this.  I still remember the press conference when the Beatles first arrived in the USA.  When asked how he finds America, John Lennon quipped, "Just go to Greenland and make a left."  I believe that was when America started it's love affair with Great Briton.  In the 1960s, we couldn't get enough of the British Invasion.  We wanted it all; the Beatles, the Rolling Stones, Herman's Hermits, The Avengers, Peter Sellers, Twiggy, Carnaby Street, Monte Python, James Bond, and on and on.  Even Jimi Hendrix can be put in that mix.  He was an American that went to London and had an Experience that carved out his notch in history.

The UK in the 1970s gave us Elton John, David Bowie, Mott the Hoople, Dire Straits, the Sex Pistols, and Benny Hill to name a few.   We also took BBC television shows and Americanized them.  "Steptoe and Son" became "Sanford and Son."  "Til Death Do Us Part" was turned into "All In the Family."

Then came Princess Di with the 1980s and into the 1990s.  We stayed focused on her throughout her marriage, her giving birth to her sons, her divorce, her charity work, and finally her death.  She posthumously received the Nobel Peace Prize for her support of the International Campaign to Ban Land-mines.  Quite the lady.

Into this new millennium we still follow the Brits.  We took their TV show "Pop Idol" and made "American Idol."  We even brought Simon Cowell over to judge the contestants like he does on "Pop Idol."  (Can't put too much money in Simon's pockets.)  That worked so well that we did the same thing with "Britain's Got Talent" and Piers Morgan.

Which brings me to this early morning and my writing of this.  I don't think I'll be watching the festivities live.  I know I will subjected to repeats of the highlights for days to come.  If Will and Kate really wanted my attention, they could have sent an invite.  Yet I only wish them the best.  And with Kate's good looks, the monarchy may stand a chance of finally breeding out that Charles nose.

Cape Fear

You may not believe this but in my entire life I have never owned a cape.  In fact, I don't think I have met anyone that owned a cape.  If I wanted to purchase a cape, I wouldn't know which department at Sear's carries them.  Or would I have to go to a specialty shop, some place like "Capes 'R Us" or "Cape-Mart?"

It's not like I want to go around wearing a cape, but it would be nice to know I had one on hand in case of an emergency.  Who knows when I might be called upon to take the lead in "Phantom of the Opera."  Or I may be in England some day and Scotland Yard may ask my assistance to find Moriarty.  A deerstalker hat is easy to find on a moment's notice, but a cape...  Or if Scarlet O'Hara calls on me to escort her to a cotillion.  (I've never escorted a debutante to a cotillion but I know you need a top hat, cape and cane.)

So I live in constant fear of being invited to an event that requires a cape.  I know I could always rent a Superman suit just for the cape.  But how would that look; a black tuxedo with a red cape baring a giant yellow "S?"  That would not be the way to go to a high society event such as the Millionaire's Ball.

And what about spats?  Where on earth can I find a pair of spats?  Spats can fancy up any pair of shoes, and I am spatless.  Oh, the shame.

Thinking about it, I also lack a top hat and cane.  Although I do have an old pair of crutches. I don't think one crutch is the same as a wolf head cane.  This is horrible the fineries I do not possess.

You may be wondering why I am thinking about wearing fancy duds.  The reason is a high school reunion.  A forty year reunion that is happening in about a month or so.  A forty year reunion is at the half way mark.  All the years before this, if you ran into an ex-classmate, you would say "Guess who died?"  And you would go through all the people from your class that are no longer alive.  After forty years, if you run into an ex-school-chum, you would say "Guess who's still with us?" and then discuss the ones remaining.  You always go with the short list.

On more occasions than I care to recall, I have been greeted by shocked faces stating, "John, I heard that you had died."  To which my standard reply has been, "Yes, I did.  I didn't like it, so I came back."

Well, I best prepare for this "ruby" anniversary.  I have less than two months to make something of myself; to get a respected career and lose about 50 pounds.  Maybe I'll just buy some fancy clothes and pretend.  Do they make girdles for men?  Oh, well, like that old saying goes, "Fake it 'til you make it."

In the meantime, if anyone knows where to get a good cape for cheap, let me know.

Blazing Ahead

There is this Pastor from Florida named Terry Jones who traveled to Detroit to burn a copy of the Koran.  Some people don't like this and they have made death threats to Jones.  I never can understand why people make such a big thing out of religion.  "My God can beat up your God!"  Or, better yet, "My all powerful invisible guy up in the sky who nobody alive has ever seen can whoop your all powerful invisible guy up in the sky who nobody alive has ever seen."

Do you know that more people have been killed in the name of religion than have died from cancer or other diseases?   What loving Gods, eh?

By no choice of my own, I was baptized a catholic.  I was forced to attend catechism when my age only consisted of one digit.  Here are some things you should never ask a nun teaching you religion.
1.  Where did Cain and Abel get their wives?
2.  If God is all powerful, can he create a weight so heavy that even he cannot lift it?
3.  Why does God need my money?  If it's his church, shouldn't he pay for it himself?
4.  If the Holy Grail is so important, how can people forget where they put it?
5.  If Jesus came back from the dead, doesn't  that make him a zombie?

Back to Terry Jones.  He was told that the burning of the Koran, to some Muslims, would be worse than a thousand deaths.  He said that this concerned him.  So now what?  Is he stuck with a Koran that has no purpose other than to level out the legs of his kitchen table?  We know he is not going to be reading it during his sermons.  Will he put it on e-bay?  "New Koran for sale.  Never been read.  Impossible to incinerate.  Best offer or will trade for Tao-te-ching or Talmud."

As for me, I think the burning of any books to be wrong. (No burning Beatle records either.) If there must be a burning, how about burning copies of all the religious books (The New Testament, The Old Testament, The Koran, The Talmud, The Tao-Te-Ching, The Analects, The Bhagavad Gita.. etc.)  and sit down together to work out a religion that everyone can agree upon.  The main teachings of this new religion will be "I will not preach. I will not kill."  I don't care what else you include in the teachings, as long as those first two rules are followed religiously.

An Idea In the Rough (Stage One)

Two and a Half Women

Cast:
Marin Hinkle....................Judith
April Bowlby....................Kandi
Kelly Stables.................Melissa

Premise:
Judith takes her baby daughter and leaves behind her current husband, Herb, her ex-husband, Alan, and her son, Jake, to fend for themselves. She moves to Burbank to share an apartment with Kandi (Alan's ex-wife who is currently an actress on a hit TV crime drama) and Melissa (Alan's diminutive ex-girlfriend/receptionist, who is now a receptionist for a Famous Plastic Surgeon).

PILOT EPISODE

We fade-in to an empty living room, smartly decorated in a feminine manner. Stage right enters Kandi. She goes to the couch and starts searching under pillows. She calls out to her roommate.

KANDI
Has anyone seen my Corvette?

(Melissa enters stage left She pauses to watch Kandi searching the couch)

MELISSA
You're looking for your car in the sofa?

KANDI
No, silly, I'm looking for the keys.

MELISSA
You lost your car keys?

(Kandi holds her hand towards Melissa showing her keys)

KANDI
Nope. Here they are.

MELISSA
If you already have them, then what are you looking for?

KANDI
The keys for a Volkswagon.

MELISSA
Who has a Volkswagon?

KANDI
My makeup man, Tommy. He gave me the keys yesterday so I could get home.

(Melissa looks out the window)

MELISSA
There's a Camaro in the drive. No Volkswagon.

KANDI
Well, there better not be. The Volkswagon is still on the set.

MELISSA
Where is your car?

KANDI
That's what I want to know.

MELISSA
Then, why is there a Camaro in the drive?

KANDI (shrugs shoulders and sits on couch)
Because Tommy's keys didn't fit in the Volkswagon. They fit the Camaro.

MELISSA
What happened to your car?

KANDI (startled)
Something happened to my car?

MELISSA
Why are you driving the Camaro and not your Corvette?

KANDI
Because the keys fit. I thought I told you that.

MELISSA
Why aren't you driving your car?

KANDI
Oh. I forgot where I parked it. You think something that big would be easy to find. It's not.

MELISSA
So how did you end up with the Camaro?

KANDI
I told Tommy, my makeup man, that I forgot where I parked. He said that when he got off work, he would drive me around in his Volkswagon to find my Vette. I told him I would wait for him in his car.

MELISSA
So he gave you his keys?

KANDI
No. He was busy, but the keys were setting on the table by the door.

MELISSA
You took his keys without telling him?

KANDI
I told you, he was busy. It would have been rude to interrupt him. When I tried the keys in the Volkswagon, they wouldn't work. So I tried the Camaro parked next to it and the key fit. You think Tommy would know what kind of car he drives. I was so mad that he told me the wrong car, that I just drove home and went to bed.

MELISSA
Are you sure they were Tommy's keys? Who else works in your dressing room?

KANDI
Sheila the hair stylist.

MELISSA
What does Sheila drive?

KANDI
A Camaro, just like Tommy. (pause) Unless... Do you think Tommy uses Sheila's car?

MELISSA
Or you just took Sheila's car...

KANDI
And now I can't find the keys to Sheila or Tommy's car. This is not going well.

MELISSA
Who's keys are in your hand?

KANDI
Oh, these are mine. I just found them this morning in the refridgerator. I couldn't find them yesterday. I had to take a cab to work.

MELISSA
You took a cab to work yesterday?

KANDI
Uh-huh.

MELISSA
That's why you couldn't find your car on the lot. It wasn't there.

KANDI (a look of understanding then embarrassment)
Whoops...

MELISSA
Did you look in our garage for your Corvette.

KANDI
What for? I didn't have the keys.

(The front door opens and Judith carrying a baby enters)

JUDITH
Who's Camaro?

KANDI
We think its either Tommy's or Sheila's.

MELISSA
It's Sheila's

KANDI
Maybe

JUDITH
And we know these people, how?

MELISSA
They work on Kandi's set

JUDITH
Well, tell Tommy or Sheila not to leave their keys in their car.

KANDI
Yeah. That's always a bad idea.

MELISSA
I think she means that the keys you're looking for are still in the car.

KANDI
Oh... OH! Now, I can go to work. See you later. Bye.

(Kandi leaves through the front door)

MELISSA
It's amazing Kandi can keep a job.

JUDITH (sitting the baby into a high chair)
It's amazing Kandi can tie her shoes.

MELISSA
Even if she couldn't, men would love watching her try.

(There is an awkward silence. Judith and Melissa look down at their own chests.)

JUDITH (sullenly)
Must be nice.

MELISSA (sadly)
Yeppers.

ROLL OPENING CREDITS

Non-existant

This post does not exist.  I just found an empty page claiming to be one of my posts.  Today is March 2nd, 2014, and these are the first words wrote on this post created April 22nd, 2011.  There have been three visitors to the blank page in the last three years.  Let's start that count over and check back in another three years.

A Hallmark Moment

I enter a local shop to purchase refreshments. All the refreshments worth their weight are kept behind the counter. You have to ask the sales clerk for the refreshment of your choice. He will get it off the shelf for you and ring it up. On display on the refreshment shelves is a sign that says in order to purchase these refreshments you must be born on or before today's date in 1990.

1990???

1990!!!

Wasn't that last week? Where has the time gone? When I look at the TV schedule to select a movie, if I see a movie was made in the 90s, I consider it a new release. There's a saying that goes, "Life is like a roll of toilet paper. The closer to the end, the faster it goes." I'm gonna have to start taking less sheets per use.

My mother died in 1991. That's twenty years ago this month. Hallmark doesn't make a card for that. Hallmark doesn't make cards for many anniversaries of occasions that I remember. Next month I will be a legal driver for 42 years. Bet no one sends me a card for that. I ate my first taco in March of 1977. Nobody said a word last month. I really felt the neglect.

This year is the 150th anniversary of the start of the Civil War. I have yet to receive a single apology from the south. Come on, Hallmark, how about a "You Northerners Were Right" or a "Sorry About the Slavery" card? If you come up with a card that says, "Sincerest Apologies For Leaving All the Dead Bodies Around," we can send it to the citizens of Gettysburg, and for a multi-purpose, we could also send the same card to the people of Normandy, Nagasaki, and Hiroshima. It's been 67 years since D-Day and 66 since the atomic bombings of Japan. Maybe, along with the cards, we could all chip in and send a nice fruit basket, too.

One year ago today, the Gulf of Mexico began the biggest oil spill in history. Wouldn't you like to receive a card from British Petroleum? Something that says, "Whoops. Sorry." I know I would. Maybe even get a couple bucks back for the increase on the price of gas. Now that would be nice!

Elephant Joke?

Last night Linda and I are watching "Swamp Men" and I ask her, "Do you know what they call alligators that are HIV positive?"

"No, what?" she responds.

"Gatorade."

Not one of my best jokes, but Linda seemed to like it. So when she was talking to her brother this morning, I hear her ask him, "Guess what they call elephants with hepatitis C?" She pauses for effect and then says, "Gatorade!"

Her brother says, "I don't get it."

To which she says, "Yeah, it was funnier when I heard it." She calls to me, "John, what was that gatorade joke?"

If you have ever flubbed a joke and then tried to correct it, you would know that there is no resuscitating a fallen joke. I try to explain this, but Linda is insistent that I repeat the joke. So I do.

At the punchline, her brother puts on a fake smile and says "Ha." Just a singular "Ha." He could of at least doubled it up. Even if it was a phony "Ha-ha," a "ha-ha" is a courtesy to the joke teller and shows the comic that you are still on his side. A singular "ha" is more out of pity, and completes the comic's embarrassment over the bombed jest. This is why the only "stand up" I do is when I want to adjust my shorts.

I'll be certain to post any more humiliations when they come along. It shouldn't be too long of a wait.

It's Called Acting

Oh, the scandal of it all! Did Natalie Portman dance as much as she claimed in "The Black Swan?" I am so in doubt about her talents that I can hardly eat or sleep. Why won't she answer her detractors? Oh, Natalie, please dance your way back into our hearts. Show that uncredited ballerina-double to be a liar, a mere seeker of fame at your expense. Tell us it was not your face morphed onto the Black Swan dancer, that the body we watched spinning into a dark bird was truly yours. Next, we'll be finding out that you never learned to be an assassin for "The Professional," that the hits completed were not yours to claim.

The funny part of the Portman affair is that the woman who claims to be the real ballerina, has come forward to state that she does not want money, fame, nor credit for the movie. And she is willing to appear on any TV show to say so, for whatever pay is customary for a guest. She wants everyone on the planet to know that she did not receive the proper end credits for the Black Swan and is quite alright with that. I feel that we should honor her requests and not recognize her or acknowledge her in any shape, manner or form. Let us allow Natalie to reclaim her ballet shoes and remove the tarnish.

There have been murmurings that Natalie should return her Oscar. I am not certain, but I don't believe this has ever been done. I know Marlon Brando refused the Oscar, but I never heard about the academy sending a repo man to retrieve a statuette. That's not quite true. Don't quote me, but I believe that when an Oscar recipient dies or no longer wants it, the statue is returned to the academy. I think I read something like that many years ago when Oscar started showing up in pawn shops. I could be wrong. I'm too lazy to research it. So for the sake of argument, let's just say I'm right.

Anyway, I hope they resolve this Natalie Portman issue before the release of "Thor." If it turns out that she did not do all the dancing she claimed, then how can I believe it when she supposedly falls in love with a Norse God? Don't burst my bubble and tell me that movies are not real. I can't take all that disappointment.

Meager Mutterings

I have to start carrying a pad and pencil because I always think of wonderful witty-isms when away from the keyboard. I had come up with something earlier that would have had you howling with laughter, but I forgot what it was.  Trust me, you really would have enjoyed it.  You would be sharing it with your friends and have them rolling on the floor, or at least slapping their knees.  Sorry, but my memory is of the Swiss cheese variety, not a solid chunk like cheddar.

To steal an old Walt Kelly gag: "Friday the thirteenth fell on a Wednesday this month."  Show of hands, who knows about Walt Kelly?  Walt Kelly was the writer slash artist of the comic strip Pogo which ran in newspapers from 1948 until 1975.  Walt Kelly's life ran from 1913 until 1973.  Walt was such a dedicated cartoonist that he continued to draw Pogo for two years after his death.  Another Walt Kelly saying that I have always liked is: "We have met the enemy and he is us."

The character Pogo was a possum.  The comic strip Pogo was a political satire.  Pogo was like Doonesbury except with talking swamp creatures instead of humans.  Walt Kelly could draw animals to resemble famous people.  He had a blood hound that looked like Spiro Agnew.  Spiro Agnew was Nixon's Vice-President who resigned when it came to light that he was a tax cheat.  Walt Kelly also drew a bull dog that had the likeness of J. Edgar Hoover.  The bull dog wore a tutu. For some reason, when it came to Richard Nixon, Walt Kelly copied his features into a teapot.  I guess it was easier to fashion Nixon's nose after a tea spout than find an animal sporting an adaptable proboscis.

When I was a boy, I had a small talent in art.  I had the delusion that I would be a comic strip artist when I grew up. The closest I ever came was to draw several editorial cartoons for a community newspaper, one of those once-a-week editions that is mostly coupons and advertisements.  That led to some side jobs doing flyers.  But altogether, the wages were barely enough to supply peanut butter and bread for the month, never mind luxuries such as butter and bananas to complete the Elvis special.

So I left the lucrative world of starving artists, and took a job in a sawdust factory.  Aw, now that was some money.  Minimum wage and all the sawdust you can inhale.  But that's another story for another day.

Small Worlds

This is something that boggles my mind.  If you take everything that exists and compress it down to the size of an atom, you would have the universe before the big bang.  At the moment of the big bang, in the first one billionth of a second, that atom would increase to a size that would equal that of our sun.  I don't understand how scientists have come to this hypothesis, but according to the Discovery channel this is how everything began.  Now, you would think that once this has been agreed upon by the world's biggest brains, that they would put their calculators and chalkboards away and call it a day.  Not so fast, what came before the big bang?  All the scientists stop in their tracks and go back to the drawing board.  Where did that atom sized seed of existence come from?  Scribble, scribble, scratch, scratch.  One scientist says, "Must have come from an alternate universe."  All the other scientists nod their heads in agreement.

If there is one, then there must be more.  There is a multitude of alternate universes.  And there are over ten dimensions.  (???)  Unfortunately, humans can only see four: Width, height, depth, and time.  How can there be more?  Or better still, how do we know that there are more?  Well, we know that because of something called the string theory.  String theory breaks down the atom to electrons and quarks forming one-dimensional oscillating lines.  One-dimensional?!!  This makes no sense at all.  How can something have height, but  no width nor depth?  Two-dimensional is strange enough, but I can accept this if I think about the image on a television screen.  It would have to be a frozen image because of the two dimensions, time is not one.  To only have one dimension stretches my imagination to the breaking point.  Even if that dimension is time.  How can you prove time exists without using other dimensions?  Can't have clock, they're three dimensional, and will not exist in a time only dimension.

I wish I could understand this stuff.  Either that, or I wish I never seen the Discovery channel.  I never thought about quarks before.  Isn't there four quarks to a gallon?  Or is that the noise a duck makes?  Quarks and string theory and alternate universes and multiple dimensions hurt my head to think about.  This stuff may be fun for Stephen Hawking, but not for me.  Speaking of Hawking, he has recently revised his brief history of time to state that not only does black holes suck up all matter, they also gobble up time.  (Ouch.  Cerebral overload.)  If a black hole absorbs time to a standstill, then how can it move through the time stream?  If a black hole moves through time, then wouldn't what the black hole has consumed also travel through time?

I have no idea where I'm going with this other than to say, "I think in the future I will have to avoid the Discovery channel and go back to the DIY network."  Installing a wet bar, I can get my mind around.  That does not scare me.   I'd rather learn how to design a liquor cabinet, than hear about CERN.  CERN is a place in Europe that is trying to create a black hole.  So if you wake up one morning and find that our planet has been sucked into a timeless void, you will know that CERN has succeeded in its experiment.

The Bigger They Are...

I watched David Letterman last night and noticed that when he greeted Don Rickles, how much taller he was than Don.  This got me thinking about age and size.  You always see little old men and little old ladies.  They're everywhere.  There are so many that if you ever go near a pharmacy, you have to be careful where you step.  They seem to cluster around pharmacies and bingo halls.  Short people who have had 80 or more birthdays include Don Rickles, George Burns, Harry Morgan, Olivia DeHaviland, Regis Philbin. Yet, I cannot recall ever seeing a towering old man or lady.  As hard as I try, my mind cannot picture a person in their nineties that is over six feet in stature.  Now I am six foot three.  Does this mean I will not make it to an advanced age?  Or perhaps I will suddenly shrink a foot when I celebrate my eightieth birthday.

If I think about blood and how far in travels in the circulatory system, then I have to accept the fact that blood travels further in tall people.  So I guess it makes it some sort of sense that a short person person will outlive a taller one because their blood has traveled far less.  Kind of like which car will last longer; one that will daily go to the corner store for beer, or one that will drive cross town to make the same purchase.

Another thing tall people have against them is air supply.  The higher the altitude, the less oxygen available.  Oxygen is mostly created by the grass on our planet.  So who is gonna get first crack at it?  The shorties, that's who.  Us tall ones will have to settle for the leftovers.  And we have to use that smidgen to push our blood all those extra miles.  I tell you, this just does not seem fair.  Something should be done.  How about passing a law to ensure that everybody's nostrils are the same distance from the ground.  Short people can either wear platform shoes or use a snorkel to get their oxygen at the same level as the rest of us.  At least this would solve half the problem.  I'll try to think of a way to even up the distance blood travels at another time.  Right now I am going to end this so I can go shopping and buy Linda a snorkel.  There will be no more uneven oxygen consumption in this house!

Commercial Interruption

Have you seen the commercial where the couple comes home to discover that their house has been robbed?  The only thing the thieves did not take was their computer.  So instead of replacing the stolen items, they buy a new computer.  This is like if you are hungry, instead of buying food, you buy new silverware.

Another commercial that bothers me is McDonald's Big Mac ad.  Did they find actors that are incredibly small to hold their burger?  This thing looks monstrous in size.  When has anyone ever struggled with two hands to hold a Big Mac?  The commercial shows enough sandwich there to feed a small community and have plenty left over to fill compost heaps for several farms.  Would you like to star in a "Micky D" spot?  Are you an adult under three feet tall and proportioned normally?

Wendy's has a commercial proclaiming their fries to have sea salt.  Table salt is mined from the earth.  It is treated to remove impurities and prevent clumping.  Sea salt is from seawater evaporated.  The collected salt has no further treatment.  So if you want your salt to have traces of decomposed sea creatures, fish urine, squid ink, lobster feces, and assorted dregs and droppings amongst many other ingredients, choose Wendy's French Fries. now made with sea salt.

Verizon has an ad for its new 4G phone.  They show this guy hauling heavy gage cabling across rooftops during an electrical storm.  Lightning strikes the cables and the voltage races through the cabling to the 4G phone.  This may be an exciting new phone, but recharging it is a bitch.

In the Detroit area, there is a commercial starring Mort Crim for Magic Windows.  Mort Crim is the Dolph Lundgren of local news.  Mort demonstrates the strength of Plexiglas compared to plastic by standing on Plexiglas.  The fact that the Plexiglas holds Mort weight is not as amazing as the fact that Mort can keep his balance perched eight inches above the floor.

Another commercial is for Planet Fitness where an employee is showing the gym to a giant musclebound doofus.  In an oafish Schwarzenegger accent, this character keeps repeating, "I pick things up. I put them down."  This commercial is so idiotic, you can't help repeating the catch phrase with your friends.  If you don't know this commercial, look it up on YouTube.  It will be worth a gander or two.

Okay, that's it for now.

A Fool For April

As an April Fool's joke, I crazy glued all Linda's footwear to the floor.  It was funny when she got out of bed, stepped into her slippers and tried to walk.  Funny to me, at least.  I tell you, some females have no sense of humor.

One of the best pranksters in history was King Henry the VIII of England. Henry used to pull the same prank on his wives every April 1st.  He would feign an argument with his spouse and then call for her beheading.  The guards would escort the Queen to the chopping block.  Crowds would gather, a priest was called in to take the Queen's last confession, and a hooded executioner would bend the women down with her head placed securely on the chopping block.  Her hair would be carefully pushed up revealing her neck and the executioner would pose with his ax poised for action.  The Queen would be in shock at what was happening, tears streaming down her face, unable to see how a disagreement about what to have for lunch could escalate into a death sentence.  She would utter weak words begging for forgiveness from Henry who would be standing in her sight holding a closed fist straight out.  He would suddenly indicate down with his thumb and pump his fist a couple quick strokes.  The executioners ax would come down with all the force he could muster.  The ax would hit the block inches away from the Queen's neck, and Henry would burst out laughing proclaiming "April's Fool."  The crowd would all join in the laughter as the Queen would rise to her feet, shaken but unharmed.  Of course, when it wasn't April 1st and the same situation arose, Henry would become a widower.  You can't expect him to keep his sense of humor year round.

An April Fool's joke cost one person the Presidency.  Richard Nixon used to pull April Fool's jokes on his staff when he was president.  He would have anchovy ice cream made by his kitchen chef. An extremely revolting concoction.  He then would put the ice cream and cones on a cart, and push it around to all the offices in the White House giving scoops on top of cones to his staff.  He would be eating a cone with "Rocky Road" which looked just like the anchovy ice cream.  He would stay and talk to his people telling them how good the ice cream is and asking for their agreement.  Spiro Agnew would eat the entire cone saying what a excellent choice the President has made.  Agnew was a brown noser.  Most staffers would only take one or two licks and let the rest melt down over their hands while Nixon chatted on.  The exception was John Mitchell.  He spit out the first lick and threw the cone to floor like it was a venomous snake.  He was so offended by the gag that he left the office of Attorney General and took on heading the Committee to re-elect the President. He planned revenge by sabotaging Nixon with the Watergate burglary.  Unfortunately for Mitchell, his plan backfired and he ended up going to prison whereas Nixon never served a day in jail.  Although, to Mitchell's pleasure, Nixon did have to resign from office.  Nixon's ice cream gag also won him the nickname Tricky Dick.

In 2001 on April 1st, the Netherlands become the 1st country to legalize same sex marriage.  This is true.  I don't know if it was intended to be a joke or not.  I just find it fascinating for such an occasion to take place on April Fool's Day.

That's all I got for now.