You probably heard by now that the government has set up a national do-not-call list where you can register your phone number to put an end to all those annoying telemarketing calls.

I'm sure I dislike being bugged at suppertime just as much as you do, but I haven't yet signed up at the new site. My reason is selfish … it would spoil all my fun.

When I'm in the mood (which is frequently), I like to mess with the telemarketers.

I have pretended to be a slow-witted dufus (I know, not a stretch for me) who has no friends and is terribly excited to be talking to anyone on the phone.

I told one I would have to hang up because I thought I was having a heart attack and needed to call 911.

Occasionally I speak with a strong foreign accent (this doesn't work as well if the telemarketer also has the same strong foreign accent). I ask what the weather is like in whatever country they are calling from.

You could try interrupting them every 30 seconds asking if they have free stuff.

Whatever you do, don't try being polite, as in, "No thanks, I'm not interested." They have been trained not to hear that particular response.

Judging from a call we received three weeks ago, they have also been trained not to believe anything you tell them. A telemarketer called on the day my wife's mother passed away. Carol was polite, explaining she couldn't talk now because her mother had died that morning.

"This will only take a minute!" insisted the offensive phone pest before Carol hung up.

So my battle with all telemarketers continues. It's the little things that bring joy into my life.

Another joy I share with most of the world is getting free stuff and recently I was the recipient of a bunch of it.

My late mother-in-law, who lived with us this year, was a generous soul who gave to her church and as many charities as she could afford to while living on a government pension.

Her generosity meant she was on the mail listings of many charities and we continue to receive solicitations addressed to her.

Lately, I have received several dozen free Christmas cards, the kind that charities send out expecting a donation in return. Some of them are painted by people without arms, which always amazes me since I can't draw a straight line with both arms and a ruler.

I feel no obligation to return those cards to the charities or to send a donation. They weren’t addressed to me and if I cough up a donation, my name will find its way to other mailing lists.

So I'll send them to friends and family at Christmas and feel good about it. Charity does begin at home.