Okay, now I’ve had a conversation like this with my mother…
Off hand I mentioned that I liked what gov. Lynch said so much about our state motto that I changed my location to it.
“I’m never more specific than the state, though. There are so few people in this town that mentioning it seems unwise.” I concluded.
“Well, that’s good, you probably can’t get in trouble that way. There are over a million people in this state.”
“In trouble for what?”
“Making a threat.”
“What?”
“Making a threat! The government doesn’t like that sort of thing.”
“I don’t think the government honestly thinks I’m threatening to kill people who don’t love New Hampshire, Mom. They don’t monitor location fields of message boards, anyway.”
“Sure they do.”
At that point I walked away shaking my head. I wonder if she thinks our license plates are threatening people too. Me, I take both as to be “Oh yeah? So why don’t you just die then!” in tone. A suggestion rather than a threat 
Just remembered this one:
I was about 15-16 and one day I was in the garage building a model (as usual) when my mom opens the door and asks me, “have you ever heard of ‘scarfing?’”
The only definition of “scarfing” I knew referred to wolfing down food. So I said, “What, you mean eating really fast?” she just closed the door.
So I went in to investigate and she and my sis were watching some kind of Sally Jesse Rafael kind of show. The episode was about Scarfing, or as I then discovered, breath-play. Apparently, this kid accidently hung himslef in the closet while masturbating and his mom was on a mission to tell the entire world about it.
Mom was obviously wondering about me and I missed a golden opportunity. I wish I’d said, “Mom, if you ever find me hanging from a noose, naked, with my dick in my hand, you will tell everyone it was a suicide.”
A few years ago, when I lived in Asheville, I was getting ready to move to the Montford Ave neighborhood. It had recently been gentrified, and was popular with yuppies. My mother notified me that she’d heard there were a lot of lesbians there, and warned me to be careful. I pictured gangs of lesbians swinging numchuks and roaming menancingly through the streets.
For me, its my father, not my mother. In fact, my father could be his own thread.
Dad: I think college will be good for you, you can sit in the student center and be a man.
Me: What does that mean?
Dad: You can be a man.