... and one says to the other, "I hear that the people in this country actually eat dogs."

"Odd," her companion replies, "but if we shall live in America, we might as well do as the Americans do."

As they sit, they hear a push cart vendor yelling, "Hot Dogs, get your dogs here," and they both walk towards the hot dog cart.

"Two dogs, please!," says one. The vendor is very pleased to oblige, wraps both hot dogs in foil and hands them over. Excited, the nuns hurry to a bench and begin to unwrap their 'dogs.'

The mother superior is first to open hers. She begins to blush, and then staring at it for a

moment, leans to the other Nun and in a soft brogue whispers......

"What part did you get?"

Senior citizens don't need anymore gadgets.

The TV remote and the garage door remote are about all we can handle.  

When I bought my Blackberry I thought about the 30-year business I ran with 1800 employees, all without a cell phone that plays music, takes videos, pictures and communicates with Facebook and Twitter. I signed up under duress for Twitter and Facebook, so my seven kids, their spouses, 13 grandkids and 2 great grand kids could communicate with me in the modern way. I figured I could handle something as simple as Twitter with only 140 characters of space.

That was before one of my grandkids hooked me up for Tweeter, Tweetree, Twhirl, Twitterfon, Tweetie and Twittererific Tweetdeck, Twitpix and something that sends every message to my cell phone and every other program within the texting world. My phone was beeping every three minutes with the details of everything except the bowel movements of the entire next generation. I am not ready to live like this. I keep my cell phone in the garage in my golf bag.

The kids bought me a GPS for my last birthday because they say I get lost every now and then going over to the grocery store or library. I keep that in a box under my tool bench with the Blue tooth [it's red] phone I am supposed to use when I drive. I wore it once and was standing in line at Barnes and Noble talking to my wife and everyone in the nearest 50 yards was glaring at me. I had to take my hearing aid out to use it, and I got a little loud.

I mean the GPS looked pretty smart on my dash board, but the lady inside that gadget was the most annoying, rudest person I had run into in a long time. Every 10 minutes, she would sarcastically say, "Re-calc-u-lating." You would think that she could be nicer. It was like she could barely tolerate me. She would let go with a deep sigh and then tell me to make a U-turn at the next light. Then if I made a right turn instead. Well, it was not a good relationship. When I get really lost now, I call my wife and tell her the name of the cross streets and while she is starting to develop the same tone as Gypsy, the GPS lady, at least she loves me.

To be perfectly frank, I am still trying to learn how to use the cordless phones in our house. We have had them for 4 years, but I still haven't figured out how I can lose three phones all at once and have run around digging under chair cushions and checking bathrooms and the dirty laundry baskets when the phone rings. The world is just getting too complex for me. They even mess me up every time I go to the grocery store.

You would think they could settle on something themselves but this sudden "Paper or Plastic?" every time I check out just knocks me for a loop. I bought some of those cloth reusable bags to avoid looking confused, but I never remember to take them in with me. Now I toss it back to them. When they ask me, "Paper or Plastic?" I just say, "Doesn't matter to me. I am bi-sacksual."

I just got off the phone with a friend in Minnesota. 

He said that since early this morning the snow has been nearly waist high and is still falling.  His wife has done nothing but look through the kitchen window. 

He says that if it gets much worse, he may have to let her in.

... to a couple of his friends.  He led the way to his bedroom where there was a big brass gong and a mallet. 

"What's with the big brass gong?" one of his guests asked. 

"It's not a gong.  It's a talking clock," the drunk replied. 

"A talking clock?  Seriously?" asked his astonished friend. 

"Yup," replied the drunk. 

"How's it work?" the friend asked, squinting at it. 

"Watch," the drunk replied.  He picked up the mallet, gave the gong an ear-shattering pound and stepped back. The three stood looking at one another for a moment. Suddenly someone on the other side of the wall screamed ...."You bloody madman! It's three-fifteen in the morning!