Lost and Found in the Cloakroom at the Cheese Maker’s

Found

A letter addressed to “whom it may so concern” wanting to know why the cheese maker has a cloakroom, and  recycling some rather tired and sophomoric jokes about cheese. Also found: The overcoat in whose interior pocket the missive in question was discovered.  The item(s) may be claimed at the cloakroom.

Found

Microfilm, a spy camera disguised as a tie clip, and other espionage paraphernalia (along with sketches and diagrams of some of our top secret manufacturing and aging methods).  During a routine cleaning, the aforementioned tumbled out from under the lid of a decorative artificial pumpkin hard by the tip jar, and were sealed in an envelope labeled “W. Chambers.” Inquiries are to be made at the front desk.

Lost

A keychain in the shape of a miniature  wedge of Swiss cheese atop a miniature cutting board bearing the legend: “Liberté, égalité, From” (the engraver did not have sufficient room to complete the thought).  A generous reward is offered for information leading to the safe return of this keepsake. Please contact Mr. Tinsleydale at Box 6.

Found

A first edition hardcover original of “Things Fall Apart” by Chinua Achebe, dog-eared, covered with coffee stains, and containing an inscription in blood & ink signed by the author. Note: The binding is starting to fail, and the pages are in danger of falling out. Note in addition: The book was in mint condition when it was rescued from the satchel belonging to the owner or owners unknown who forgot to check to make certain it was there upon reclaiming the satchel.  We do not know how the coffee stains, inter alia, got there, and disclaim all responsibility for this and everything else.

Lost

A shoelace. Plus, the other shoelace.  Plus, left shoe.  Plus, right shoe. Plus, socks (left + right), a pair of underpants, a pair of trousers, a shirt, and an I.D. badge from the Museum of Flannel. Please send asap to the county jail where, upon waking up,  I was hauled off after being charged with lewd and lascivious behavior. My court-appointed counsel says these things are rather critical to my defense.

Lost

A keychain in the shape of  the end-piece of a miniature cutting board engraved with the legend age.  None of us are quite certain what it refers to, but we have grown rather fond of it and would like it back.

Found

A suit of armor, and a pair of jodhpurs. (Under the circumstances, the jodhpurs seem rather superfluous, but whom are we to editorialize? We’re just the coat check people at a cheese factory). The collection may be retrieved from the cloakroom.

Found

A riding crop. (Could it be that this particular article accidentally became separated from a set of jodhpurs recently left on the premises?  Odder things have happened.) Please inquire at the front desk.

Found

A gold watch. The face is graced with ebony Roman numerals set against an ivory background incorporating a little square window where the III should be to allow the display of the date. Underneath the XII at the top appears the label: “Genève 1892.”  On the reverse is the following inscription:  “Liberté, égalité, Age!”  The wristband is a dark leather and contains seven pinholes, one of which is slightly larger than the others due, presumably, to over-use. The watchmaker’s name, “Melies et Fils” is etched around the left side of the casing.  Because of the apparent value of this timepiece, it will be surrendered only to a person who can give an accurate description of it.  Please inquire at the front desk.

Found

A pair of riding boots and a lance.

Lost

A half-finished glass of Sancerre. I put it down, momentarily on the ledge of the Dutch door of the coatroom so that I could fish around for some coinage to toss into the tip jar.  When I looked up, the glass was gone and the coat check person was looking at the ceiling and whistling while tapping a novel by Chinua Achebe violently with a riding crop, so I don’t see how she could have drunk it.

Found

A note tucked into the band of a gentleman’s hat. The note reads: “Col. Mustard in the library with a candlestick.  – A. Hiss.” (Could "A." stand for Age?).  The hat had about it no other clues as to its provenance. The note has been hidden inside a decorative object in the cloakroom for safekeeping.

Lost

A table setting from a picnic basket (including a plate, fork, knife, and spoon). On the plate is written:  “Ch.” On the fork is written “ee.” On the knife is written “se.” On the spoon written “ey.” Please help us locate it.  We need it to complete our set.

Found

1 from, 1 age, 1 chee, and 1 se. These may be claimed at the wine bar at closing tim

e. 

Outtakes from the Ten Commandments*

עשרת הדברות

2(a) “Graven Images” include, but are not limited to, smiley faces constructed from parentheses and colons and all manner of emoticons in the firmament as well as in the hard-to-reach places under the firmament.

4(a)  Notwithstanding the foregoing, and without limitation thereof, if you are a rabbi or a cantor, what, exactly, are you doing on  Shabbat if not working? Ironic, n'es pas?

9(a)  Even if your neighbor bears false witness against you, resist the urge to return the favor. Instead, build a fence.  Good fences usually make good neighbors, but if not, there’s always adverse possession.

10(a) And when I say: “Do not covet anything that is your neighbor’s,” this includes fences.

10(b)  “Its” is possessive; “it’s,” a contraction. If you can’t keep this straight while walking around your neighbor’s fence in a garment of mixed fibers, just keep right on walking to banishment in the Wilderness of Zin, because if there are two things that really set me off, it’s mixed fibers and people who say things like: “The country is full of wild beasts, and it’s people are warlike and on a hair-trigger, and kind of ugly.”  

10(c) And speaking of adverse possession, let’s say you have borrowed something from your neighbor and have failed to return it for so long that now your neighbor has forgotten who owned it originally and starts coveting it (even though it was really your neighbor’s to begin with), then both you and your neighbor will be forgiven. But not your neighbor’s maidservant.

10(d) Don’t covet your neighbor’s plans for building a fence.  Are plans even really necessary?  How hard is it to build a fence?

10(e) Don’t covet the way your neighbor says “covet.”

10(f) Don’t fence me in.

10(g)  :)

10(h)  J

 _____________

* In the original, of course, the word is really “utterances,” not “commandments,” but a busybody scribe thought there would be less slacking if everything was framed in the imperative. Some time ago, the film version of “The Ten Utterances” enjoyed a brief lifespan as an honorable mention at the Minsk-Pinsk Film Festival (held semi-annually in the Second Class cars of the Minsk to Pinsk rail express), until the train broke down and the passengers were required to sign confidentiality agreements before they could disembark. Thus, no one was allowed to make any reference to the film.  This is where the phrase “Don’t mention it” comes from, in an instant transforming an “honorable” mention to a “don’t.”  Ever since then, the film has enjoyed a well-deserved obscurity. 

President’s Bookmark* of Secrets

[FOR PRESIDENT’S EYES ONLY]

This laminated 2-sided bookmark is the portable, condensed version of Critical State Secrets. (*Full version of Secrets contained in hardbound volume under guest bed in Lincoln Bedroom next to box of tchotchkes). When in residence at the White House, keep secured in tome about John Adams resting perennially on Presidential bedside table. When traveling aboard Air Force One, stuff into carry-on. IMPORTANT: Do not lose! (Do NOT lend to V.P.).

UFOs

They do exist, but refuse to loan us money and never buy anything. Official Govt. line: “No such thing as UFOs.” (Policy in place to prevent mass outrage if citizens were to find out how tight-fisted these aliens really are).

Underground Bunker

Fully-stocked command and control center available to First Family in case of major catastrophe. In-laws think they are on the list, but they are in for big surprise! LOL! (V.P. knows where the key is). Cell phone service in the bunker runs from mediocre to horrible, just as it does above-ground.

How Family Members Address The Commander-in-Chief in Private

“President” (if they want to get into the bunker)

What the V.P. Really Does  

 Nothing.

Secret Service Code Names

President – CAPTAIN

1^st Lady – MARY-ANN

V.P. – GILLIGAN

Secretary of State – THE PROFESSOR

Chair of the Joint Chiefs – THURSTON HOWELL, III

Speaker of the House – DOBIE GILLIS

Your Stripper Name

Name of Street where you live + “busty” + name of 1^st pet ever owned. (if petless as a child, substitute “Jones.”): 

Moon Landing

Totally faked. You can see guy from prop dept. walking around the set in the background and eating a sandwich in the original production. (Only 1 copy of this version, stored in vault in W.H. basement). “Sandwich snafu” edited out for premier “live” T.V. broadcast and later versions. Even Walter Cronkite was kept in the dark.

Fort Knox

No actual gold there. The bricks on top are decorated with faux gold leaf for verisimilitude. Everything underneath is a house of cards.

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MORE SECRETS ON OTHER SIDE. PLEASE TURN OVER.

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Crazy Secret Department of Defense Projects Under Development

                Exploding Crazy Glue

Exploding Crazy Rice

Exploding Rice Pilaf

Exploding Globgobblers

How to Use Hotline Phone

Even tho instructions say dial 00-1-[country code] and then the 2-digit city code, and then the number, omit the 1^st zero, [otherwise result will be incomprehensible Balkan-sounding voice]. Confusing, yes, but will get the hang of it after enough international crises.

Quick Hotline Answering Tips:

 

Russian:  Da?

Italian: Pronto!

Latin:  Salve?

Latin-American: Si?

French: Ooooeee?

French Canadian:  Oooooee, eh!

White House Kitchen

Can make anything. ENN-NUH-THING! Will deliver. Dial 6. (Please allow 24 hours for Peking Duck).

Decoys

       Secret Service is in charge of Presidential decoys.  Try not to be in the same room with them at same time, as this kind of defeats the purpose. Once, a former President ended up on the same red carpet with 3 decoys simultaneously at a major international summit. What a clusterfuck! To be avoided!!!

Conspiracy Theories

Virtually all bullshit, except for the one that holds that a certain group has a stranglehold on the world kichel market.  The theories, though bogus, are useful for deflecting criticism of the Executive Branch for its many ill-conceived policies.

Nuclear Codes

Pennsylvania 6-5000

Dr. Strangeglove

Let’s D-r-o-p-t-h-e-b-i-g-o-n-e-n-o-w

(Note: When in the Executive Washroom for an extended period of time, take bookmark with you, as aide with briefcase chained to wrist will not follow you in there).

******************

If you find this bookmark and you are not the President, please drop in any mailbox or call 1-800-IAM-PREZ.

It's My Party; Get Lost if you Want to.

Directions to the Weekend Retreat

Take Route 116 North to the East Exodus Exit.  NOTE: The exit sign will be almost totally obscured by big plastic sheets (really, garbage bags, but we’re trying to be nice) hung by the Department of Public Works in contemplation of road repairs that were supposed to have commenced years ago, but which were never undertaken due to budget cuts imposed by a self-absorbed legislature more intent on lining its own pockets than attending to the needs of the little people.

 We like to think that the DPW left the plastic sheeting hanging there as a kind of political pawn to embarrass the legislature aforesaid, but more likely, the highway dept. probably just forgot about the whole thing when the weather scared up a whole bunch of misery in this neck of the woods, and there was more money to be made fowling entire lanes of traffic with orange plastic cones for no discernible reason.

 In any event, even though you won’t be able to see the exit sign, with the blessings of Providence and decent visibility, you will have an inkling that you are close, because it is a little over 3/8 of a mile past the “Adopt-A-Road-Space” marker sponsored by the Signage Council.  (If you happen to be driving in the daylight and in the absence of sleet, be sure to take a gander at the topiary in the shape of a highway exit sign as you pass by. This display reminds some people of the Soviet/Nazi non-aggression pact, and others of the gulag archipelago, but we really think the latter is a stretch).

Follow the exit ramp to the SECOND left (there are no rights).  It is important to take the second left and not the first or third lefts, because these are half-finished ramps (think of them as “false starts,” or, more fittingly, monuments to gross mismanagement of the public purse) that the highway department abandoned probably for the same reason that it left giant garbage bags hanging uselessly over a major expressway route marker for as long as anyone around here can remember.

 If you take the first left, you will end up in a ditch.  If you take the third left, you will, likewise, end up in a ditch,  one slightly more picturesque than the one you will end up in if you take the first left, to be sure. Still, it is a ditch. By the by, and as a kind of homage to uselessness, these exits to nowhere are well-marked.  The first one is called “F.” and the third one is called “Fitzgerald.”

Assuming you have taken the second left (unmarked according to custom), follow this road for 27.3 miles as it wends its way through picturesque villages with impossibly quaint-sounding names (like “Ram-in-the Thicket,” “South-Ram-in-the Thicket,” and Ram-in-the- Thacket”).

 Charming though the scenery will appear at times, do not allow yourself to wax nostalgic for a by-gone era that, even if it ever existed outside of the imagination of Thornton* Wilder, had pretty much packed up its things and split before you were even born (unless, of course, you happen to 112 years old, in which case, never mind), for this region is also notorious for its many over-zealous traffic cops hiding behind rustic barns in pimped-out cruisers brimming with radar so precise it can detect a worm choking on a hairball 500 yards away.

 To refer to the provincial law enforcement as “fascist” is, perhaps, disrespecting of actual fascists who have earned their stripes making non aggression pacts with their fellow totalitarians and crushing peaceful rebellions as a means of checking the overweening influence of the tourist industry. “Brown Shirts” may be more apropos.

 The crime rate around here is statistically zero, so these officers live for one thing and one thing only – to snare as many vehicles sporting out-of-state license plates as they can, and, with a sneer, to hand their drivers citations on various trumped-up charges. We can’t advise you in writing to use a “borrowed” car and a fake license while journeying through this section, but also, we don’t discourage it. In the face of fascism, the better part of valor sometimes dictates neutrality (as Ireland will tell you).   

When you reach the pictogram of a hunter being intimidated by a deer, pull off the highway to a little opening in the forest wherein you will find a chain suspended between two trees blocking the entrance to an old logging road. On one of the chained trees, you will spot an old, rotted piece of plywood tacked to its trunk bearing the legend: “KEEP OUT!  NO TRESPASSING!  POLICE TAKE NOTICE.” (This is something of a joke among the locals, for the police, as you will recall, have their sights set mostly on handing out speeding tickets to city slickers from afar, and are spread a little too thin to be chasing down smart-alecky trespassers, even when they arrive in stolen cars with concealed fake I.D.s on their person.

 Moreover, though it is said that the land owners around here are known to be armed and persnickety, it is also said that they are lousy shots and generally miss their targets. Just to be sure, before exiting the vehicle, look all around to be certain no one is watching. Then, when the coast is clear, remove the chain and proceed down the road. 

  “Road” is an overly-ambitious designation for this 7-mile serpentine jumble of overgrown bumps and ravines stitched together with ribbons of something that may have approximated asphalt in its youth. After a good soaking rain, the jagged pieces are a little easier on the tires, but on the other hand, sometimes the whole area turns into flash flood zone.

Stay on the path and ignore the many forks (especially those that look deceptively like nothing more than a continuation of the route) until you reach a pair of trees about 10 furlongs apart. One will look a little like King George III having the eureka moment when he decided to impose the Stamp Act on the recalcitrant New England colonies, and the other will look a bit like Aristotle contemplating the bust of Homer (the Rembrandt original, not the Man Ray parody, although – and here’s the one confusing part of these directions – there is another tree earlier on that does look like the Man Ray version, albeit one wherein Aristotle looks like Man Ray, and not Aristotle, which is, after all, what the Man Ray version looks like).

 Take the left fork at the tree that looks like King George (some people think it looks more like Guy de Maupassant, but they are decidedly in the minority and many of them mispronounce “Guy”). 

Continue in this direction until the monotony is enough to make you want to invent some new cuss words. Right about now, you should see a large rock that appears from a certain angle to be the shadowy figure of Guy de Maupassant holding a jar of ghee while contemplating the bust of Siddhartha which is, itself, contemplating its own navel (remarkable, considering it is just a bust), all the while predicting the birth of Herman Hesse.

 It need not be gainsaid that the correct path to your destination is just on the other side of this rock and not on the path that runs astride the bush somewhat evocative of Kurt Vonnegut Jr. struggling to remember Maimonides’ nickname as a means of pushing thoughts of Hesse out of his mind.

If you are the first to arrive, the door will be locked, and you will need to retrieve the key from underneath the stone in the backyard (the one in the shape of Siddhartha correcting Herman Hesse’s spelling of his name, and not the one that has the distinct feel of Charles Lindbergh [some people think it’s the Grand Mufti] cheerleading for the Third Reich).

We certainly look forward to seeing you, and hope that you don’t get lost.  But even if you do, we’re not worried, because there will be plenty of people who will be able to find their way, and we expect to have a rollicking good time with them.

*What kind of a crazy name is “Thornton,” anyway?  

HOW TO TIP YOUR LAWYER

            As another year draws to a close, and the holidays descend upon us like ants or aunts or ahhnts, our thoughts turn to the ever-expanding list of supplicants dependent upon our favors to round out their seasonal revenue. While it is customary to bestow year-end bonuses on our treasured fellow citizens who collect the trash, deliver the mail, or throw the newspaper in the bushes, etc., many are unfamiliar with the social conventions governing the tender of gratuities to legal counsel. When, for example, is the gesture expected, and when might it be considered an affront to the profession? The issue is a minefield for those uninitiated with the peculiar cultural norms of the practice.

            Many people are surprised to learn, for example, that it is customary to add between 18% to 20% to a retainer check, which, of course, is handed over grudgingly before the counsel in question has done a single thing on your case or even billed for uttering the first “hello.” It is generally understood that such additurs, as they are known, are extended to give the attorney-client relationship that extra oomph, and, of course, as an advance reward for the inchoate impeccable service. Simply increasing the amount of the initial draft for deposit is frowned upon. The preferred method is to slip the coin of the realm into the breast pocket of counsel’s suit jacket, which is traditionally draped over a chair in the office (to expose the hard-at-work look of the rolled-up sleeves and/or the loosened tie) – but not in any denomination with a value less than 20, as smaller bills at the level of expenditure to which we have reference can become unwieldy and difficult to smush into a wallet.  Envelopes, of course, are optional, but the gesture will not go unnoticed.

 

If your lawyer spells your name correctly on correspondence, be prepared to extend a tip of between ten to fifteen per cent as a way of saying “job well done!” The same principle applies when your legal advisor pronounces all or most of the important syllables in your title while addressing a judge or opposing counsel, and, it goes without saying, vous, yourself.

The returned phone call also invokes the ten to twenty per cent rule, depending on the length and importance of the conversation and the number of days it took for the happenstance to materialize. Show your appreciation by sliding a stock certificate under the firm’s door or by propping a 36 year-old bottle of expensive scotch adorned with a festive bow against a wall in the waiting area next to the glossy magazines. Don’t forget to sign the card!

Many barristers (perhaps fancying themselves baristas on the sly) now populate the outer reaches of their desks (hard by the bronze-ish statuette of Lady Justice) with tip jars, thereby eliminating much of the awkwardness that once obtained.  And taking a cue from their homonymic comrades in the coffee purveying trade, the lawyers wrap these receptacles (id est, the tip jars) with cutesy legends, such as “college fund.” This is rarely to be taken in the literal sense, as it is to be hoped that your attorney did, in fact, attend an accredited institution of higher learning as a condition precedent to matriculating at law school, taking and passing the bar, and charging heaping gobs o’ dough for “file organization and review,” and suchlike. Put a little something (say $125) in the tip jar after an in-person consultation – more if the administrative assistant or paralegal actually offers you a cup of coffee before you leave.

When should a tip not be offered? When might counsel be prohibited from accepting such a gift?  According to Canon 7.4.3.2(a) of the Uniform Rules of Professional Conduct and Tipping – “Never!” This Rule was promulgated for the protection of the client to eliminate doubt and embarrassment. Take advantage of it. Circumstances vary, naturally, and you should always use discretion, as long as you don’t confuse “discretion” with being stingy.

  

   Just as is the case with any other guild, take care of counsel and counsel with take care of you. As it is written, “pay to play; pay to win!” Happy Litigating!

Home for the Halach Days

Another HIYLH original(ly plagiarized) Short:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=btnJBQJqoY0

I told a lightbulb joke, and then everything went dark.

How many villages does it take to screw in a light bulb?
     I don't know.  How many?
It takes a village.
    Go on.
 What do you mean, "Go on?"
     What's the rest of the joke?
 What do you mean, "What's the rest of the joke?"  That's the whole joke.
     I don't get it.
What don't you get?
     It's stupid.
No it's not.  
      Yes it is.  It's not even a joke.
 Yes it is. 
     It doesn't even have a punchline.
 The joke is the punchline.
  That's ridiculous.  It doesn't work.   
So you don't like my jokes?
    How could I know ?  So far, you haven't told any jokes.
Maybe you weren't paying attention.
     If only that were so. 
Should I try another one? 
     Yeah, sure, OK, try another one.
How many lawyers does it take to screw over a light bulb?
     What is that?
That's a joke.
     That's not a joke. That's just stupid.  How is that possibly a joke?
I told you: joke-as-punchline.
     Again with this?
It's economical.  Joke and punchline rolled into one.  Reduces the carbon footprint.
     This is how you combat climate change?
I'm doing what I can.
     What if you just thought about the jokes? 
Ok, I got one more.
      Eegads!  Well, lay it on me, man.
How many light bulbs does it take to screw up an inn?
      Even though it looks like I'm crying on the outside, I'm laughing on the inside.
I'm plumb out of jokes.
      Well I guess I better go home and lie down now.