Christmas Humor

For these books on Holiday humor, go to Amazon.com

Politically Correct Holiday Stories Play With Your Pumkins Never Accept a Gift With Airholes: Garfield's Holiday Tips & Quips

12 days of Christmas
Scientific Inquiry into Santa Claus
Tree Topper
Barbie's Letter to Santa
Debbie's Famous Fruitcake
An X-Files Christmas Eve
Politically Correct Season's Greetings
Office Politics  
Merry Christmas From Mom 
Santa Resigns 
If Santa answered his mail honestly 
A Hispanic Night Before Christmas 
Attorney's Night Before Christmas 
Little Johnny Wants a Damn Swing Set  
The Night Before Christmas, And Santa's Pissed 

A Singing Parrot as a Gift
Christmas Eve - Italian Style
The Month After Christmas
Sexual Night Before Christmas
Important Holiday Rules of Conduct
Signs Your Wife Is Sleeping With Santa
Odd Christmas Traditions (true)
Top 10 Santa Pick-up Lines
Martha Stewart's Holiday Calendar
Twas the Night Before Christmas
Cyber-Twas the Night Before Christmas
Christmas Carols for the Psychologically Impaired
Santa's FAA Checkout
The Caroling Parrot 
Tree Topper II 
Fractured Christmas Carols 
Twas Da Night Befo' Christmas 
You'll Be Paying all Year 
A Drunks Night Before Christmas 
A Redneck Night Before Christmas 
Jewish Night Before Christmas 
A Drunk's Night Before Christmas
An Elf Falls In Love With an Elf Nurse
12 Politically Correct Days of Christmas
Short Christmas Jokes 12/27/03
Dogs Winter Wonderland
On the Road to Bethlehem
Christmas for Patrick, Jimmy and Moishe

The REAL 12 Days of Christmas

Miss Agnes McHolstein
69 Cash Avenue
Beaver Valley, Colorado

December 14, 1994

Dearest John:

I went to the door today and the postman delivered a partridge in a pear tree. What a thoroughly delightful gift. I couldn't have been more surprised.

With deepest love and devotion,
Agnes

----------------------------------------------------

Miss Agnes McHolstein
69 Cash Avenue
Beaver Valley, Colorado

 

December 15, 1994

Dearest John:

Today the postman brought your very sweet gift. Just imagine two turtle doves. I'm just delighted at your very thoughtful gift. They are just adorable.

All my love,
Agnes

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Miss Agnes McHolstein
69 Cash Avenue
Beaver Valley, Colorado

 

December 16, 1994

Dearest John:

Oh! Aren't you the extravagant one. Now I really must protest. I don't deserve such generosity, three French hens. They are just darling but I must insist, you've been too kind.

Love,
Agnes

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Miss Agnes McHolstein
69 Cash Avenue
Beaver Valley, Colorado

 

December 17, 1994

Dear John:

Today the postman delivered 4 calling birds. Now really, they are beautiful but don't you think enough is enough. You're being too romantic.

Affectionately,
Agnes

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Miss Agnes McHolstein
69 Cash Avenue
Beaver Valley, Colorado

 

December 18, 1994

Dearest John:

What a surprise. Today the postman delivered 5 golden rings; one for every finger. You're just impossible, but I love it. Frankly, all those birds squawking were beginning to get on my nerves.

All my love,
Agnes

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Miss Agnes McHolstein
69 Cash Avenue
Beaver Valley, Colorado

 

December 19, 1994

Dear John:

When I opened the door there were actually 6 geese a-laying on my front steps. So, you're back to the birds again, huh? Those geese are huge. Where will I ever keep them? The neighbors are complaining and I can't sleep through the racket.

Please stop.
Cordially,
Agnes

----------------------------------------------------

Miss Agnes McHolstein
69 Cash Avenue
Beaver Valley, Colorado

 

December 20, 1994

John:

What's with you and those fucking birds? 7 swans a-swimming. What kind of God damned joke is this? There's bird shit all over the house, and they never stop with the racket. I can't sleep at night and I'm a nervous wreck. It's not funny. So stop with those fucking birds.

Sincerely,
Agnes

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Miss Agnes McHolstein
69 Cash Avenue
Beaver Valley, Colorado

 

December 21, 1994

O.K. Buster:

I think I prefer the birds. What the hell am I going to do with 8 maids a-milking? It's not enough with all those birds and 8 maids a-milking, but they had to bring their God damned cows. There is shit all over the lawn and I can't move in my own house. Just lay off me, smart ass.

Agnes

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Miss Agnes McHolstein
69 Cash Avenue
Beaver Valley, Colorado

 

December 22, 1994

Hey! Shithead,

What are you? Some kind of sadist? Now there's 9 pipers playing. And Christ do they play. They've never stopped chasing those maids since they got here yesterday morning. They cows are getting upset, and they're stepping all over those screeching birds. What am I going to do? The neighbors have started a petition to evict me.

You'll get yours,
Agnes

----------------------------------------------------

Miss Agnes McHolstein
69 Cash Avenue
Beaver Valley, Colorado

 

December 23, 1994

You Rotten Prick,

Now there's 10 ladies dancing. I don't know why I call those sluts ladies. They've been balling those pipers all night long. Now the cows can't sleep and they've got the diarrhea. My living room is a river of shit. The Commissioner of Buildings has subpoenaed me to give cause why this building shouldn't be condemned.

I'm sicking the police on you.
One who means it.

----------------------------------------------------

Miss Agnes McHolstein
69 Cash Avenue
Beaver Valley, Colorado

 

December 24, 1994

Listen! Fuckhead,

What's with the 11 lords a-leaping on those maids and ladies. Some of those broads will never walk again. Those pipers ran through the maids and have been committing sodomy with the cows. All 23 of the birds are dead. They've been trampled to death in the orgy. I hope you're satisfied, you rotten, vicious swine.

Your sworn enemy,
Agnes

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Law Offices
Badger, Bender and Cahole
303 Knave Street
Chicago, Illinois

 

December 25, 1994

Dear Sir:

This is to acknowledge your latest gift of 12 fiddlers fiddling which you have seen fit to inflict on our client, Miss Agnes McHolstein. The destruction, of course, was total. All correspondence should come to our attention. If you should attempt to reach Miss McHolstein at Happy Dale Sanitarium, the attendants have instructions to shoot you on sight. With this letter please find attached warrant for you arrest.

Cordially,
Badger, Bender and Cahole

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Scientific Inquiry into Santa Claus

As a result of an overwhelming lack of requests, and with research help from that renowned scientific journal SPY magazine (January, 1990) - I am pleased to present the annual scientific inquiry into Santa Claus.

1) No known species of reindeer can fly. BUT there are 300,000 species of living organisms yet to be classified, and while most of these are insects and germs, this does not COMPLETELY rule out flying reindeer which only Santa has ever seen.

2) There are 2 billion children (persons under 18) in the world. BUT since Santa doesn't (appear) to handle the Muslim, Hindu, Jewish and Buddhist children, that reduces the workload to 15% of the total - 378 million according to Population Reference Bureau. At an average (census) rate of 3.5 children per household, that's 91.8 million homes. One presumes there's at least one good child in each.

3) Santa has 31 hours of Christmas to work with, thanks to the different time zones and the rotation of the earth, assuming he travels East to West (which seems logical). This works out to 822.6 visits per second. This is to say that for each Christian household with good children, Santa has 1/1000th of a second to park, hop out of the sleigh, jump down the chimney, fill the stockings, distribute the remaining presents under the tree, eat whatever snacks have been left, get back up the chimney, get back into the sleigh and move on to the next house. Assuming that each of these 91.8 million stops are evenly distributed around the earth (which, of course, we know to be false but for the purposes of our calculations we will accept), we are now talking about .78 miles per household, a total trip of 75-1/2 million miles, not counting stops to do what most of us must do at least once every 31 hours, plus feeding and etc.

This means that Santa's sleigh is moving at 650 miles per second, 3,000 times the speed of sound. For purposes of comparison, the fastest man-made vehicle on earth, the Ulysses space probe, moves at a poky 27.4 miles per second - a conventional reindeer can run, tops, 15 miles per hour.

4) The payload on the sleigh adds another interesting element. Assuming that each child gets nothing more than a medium-sized lego set (2 pounds), the sleigh is carrying 321,300 tons, not counting Santa, who is invariably described as overweight. On land, conventional reindeer can pull no more than 300 pounds. Even granting that "flying reindeer" (see point #1) could pull TEN TIMES the normal amount, we cannot do the job with eight, or even nine. We need 214,200 reindeer. This increases the payload - not even counting the weight of the sleigh - to 353,430 tons. Again, for comparison - this is four times the weight of the Queen Elizabeth.

5) 353,000 tons traveling at 650 miles per second creates enormous air resistance - this will heat the reindeer up in the same fashion as spacecraft re-entering the earth's atmosphere. The lead pair of reindeer will absorb 14.3 QUINTILLION joules of energy. Per second. Each. In short, they will burst into flame almost instantaneously, exposing the reindeer behind them, and create deafening sonic booms in their wake. The entire reindeer team will be vaporized within 4.26 thousandths of a second. Santa, meanwhile, will be subjected to centrifugal forces 17,500.06 times greater than gravity. A 250-pound Santa (which seems ludicrously slim) would be pinned to the back of his sleigh by 4,315,015 pounds of force.

In conclusion - If Santa ever DID deliver presents on Christmas Eve, he's dead now.
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Tree Topper

Santa was pissed. It was Christmas Eve and NOTHING was going right.

Mrs. Claus had burned all the Christmas cookies. The Elves were bitching about not getting paid for the overtime they had while making toys. And the reindeer had been drinking all afternoon and were dead drunk. They had taken the sleigh out for a spin earlier in the day and crashed it into a tree, breaking off one of the runners.

Santa was beside himself with anger. "I CAN'T believe it! I've got to deliver millions of presents all over the world in just a few hours from now and all my reindeer are drunk and my Elves are on strike. I don't even have a Christmas tree!I sent that stupid Little Angel out HOURS ago to find a tree and he isn't even back yet! What am I going to do?"

Just then, the Little Angel opened the front door and stepped in from the snowy night, dragging a Christmas tree. He says: "Yo, fat man! Where do you want me to stick the Christmas tree this year?"

And thus the tradition of angels atop the Christmas trees came to pass.....
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TOP TEN SANTA PICK-UP LINES

10. I'll make you shake like a bowl full of jelly.
9. I put the 'scroo' in Scrooge.
8. I've got something you can hang a wreath on.
7. One hour with me, honey, and you'll see flyin' reindeer!
6. Buy you a Zima?
5. That is a candy cane in my pocket, and I am glad to see you.
4. Uh -- yeah, that's right, I'm Kenny Rogers.
3. I got your stocking stuffer right here, Shirley!
2. Giddy-up over here and say 'howdy' to your fat, bearded cowboy of love!
1. I've got an elf in my pants!

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Twas the night before Christmas

Twas the night before Christmas
and all through the house
everyone felt shitty
even the mouse
Mom at the whorehouse
and Dad smoking grass
I'd just settled down
for a nice piece of ass
When out on the lawn
I heard such a clatter
I sprung from my piece
to see what's the matter
Then out on the lawn
I saw a big dick
I knew in a moment
it must be Saint Nick
He came down the chimney
like a bat out of hell
I knew in a moment
the old fucker fell
He filled all our stockings
with pretzels and beer
and a big rubber dick
for my brother the queer
He rose up the chimney
with such a thuderous fart
the son of a bitch
blew the chimney apart
He swore and he cursed
as he rode out of sight
"Piss on you all
it's a hell of a night"

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Cyber-Twas the night before Christmas

'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a peripheral was stirring, not even a mouse.
The modem was plugged to the phone line with care
In hopes that a download soon would be there.

Our pirates were nestled all snug in their beds
While visions of unprotects danced in their heads.
And Mama in her kerchief, and I in my cap
Had just settled down for a long winter's nap.

When up on the hard drive there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the monitor I flew like a flash,
Sat down at the keyboard, gave the spacebar a mash.

The sight on the screen, all a'flicker with snow,
Gave the luster of power surge to the menu below.
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But an autoexec.bat that seemed rather queer.

With a little print driver so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment I had seen a new trick.
More rapid than eagles the cursors they came;
My MIDI whistled, and shouted, and called them by name!

"Now Format, now Rename, now Copy, and Enter!
On Num Lock, on Caps Lock, on Scroll Lock, and Printer!
"To the top of the page, to the top of the doc,
Now tab it and bold it and merge it and block!"

As utilities that build up the CPU speed
Clash with just the programs I need,
So up to the screen top the cursors they flew,
With a RAM full of memory and an expansion board too.

And then, in a twinkling I heard on the speaker,
The grinding of the hard drive growing much weaker.
As I tried to reboot and turn it around,
The attributes changed from blue into brown.

I hit the control, the alt, and delete.
The screen message it gave me, I cannot repeat.
It asked me to Ignore, Retry, or Abort.
It told me the parallel had become the comm port.

Its lights how they twinkled; its pixels how merry,
Its prompts were all scrambled, like a bowl full of cherries.
It sounded just like it wanted to blow;
The screen was suddenly white as the snow.

It scrolled its directory before my eyes
With programs I didn't even recognize.
It wouldn't see D:, it wouldn't see E:;
I couldn't get out of B: into C:.

Norton's tried to read it, finally finding the FAT;
But alas! The disk was faulty, and couldn't reformat.
Away flew the DBase; away flew the DOS-es;
Away flew the WordStar; right out with the Windows.

The spreadsheets were spreading; the footers were headings;
What once had been memory was close to forgetting.
When the grinding was over and the smoke had all cleared,
I looked at the hard drive; it was just as I feared.

The 600 meg wonder had crashed in the night;
I'll never be able to block out that sight!
So tell everyone you know to avoid my plight;
Back up your files! Merry Christmas! Good Night!

Version II:

Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house.
Not a creature was stirring, except for my mouse.
No kids lived with me, so I thought I would chatter.
There'd be no damn reindeer, and so stupid clatter.

There'd be no fat elf, coming through my chimney.
I'll be alone, my computer and me.
I won't race to the window, to see him arrive.
I'll just sit right here...with windows ninety-five.

There's no one I know, as I'm surfing around.
None of my regular buddies are found.
I went in some chat rooms, but quickly got out.
Age, sex, location is all that's about.

As, I was about to go check out the net.
I got an E-mail which I didn't expect.
A lady told me, she had read my profile.
And, ask, if I might like to chat for a while.

She said, if I didn't, then she would just leave.
But, she was so lonely, on this Christmas Eve.
She said, it's the first time, she'd ever been on.
But, she heard, computers, could be so much fun.

She said, the computer, was usually locked tight.
But, she said, her husband, left it on... tonight.
He's away on some business; He'll be gone all night.
So, she thought she'd use it, " I guess it's all right."

She started to tell me, about her whole life.
How she was expected to be a good wife.
She talked of her anger, frustrations, and needs.
Because she was forced, to do such silly deeds.

She talked on and on, from one thing to the next.
Then finally told me.....she was oversexed.
She didn't have sex, with her husband, she told.
He was always too busy, and getting too old.

Then, she wrote me something, that made my heart vex.
She asked me to teach her , to have cyber-sex.
I said, if she wanted me to, that I could.
Then after an hour, she got really good.

After five hours, my fingers were sore.
I told her, that I couldn't go anymore.
She said, that was fine, because she was tired too.
And anyway, her husband, soon would be due.

She said she would be on, the same time next year.
Then asked, if I wouldn't mind, meeting her here.
She said only...on this night, she could be found
It is only...this night, her husband leaves town.

She said bye, and signed off...and i had to pause
I think I just cybered with Mrs. Santa Claus!


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Barbie's Letter to Santa

Listen you fat little troll, I've been helping you out every year, playing at being the perfect Christmas present, wearing skimpy bathing suits in frigid weather, and drowning in fake tea from one too many tea parties, and I hate to break it to ya Santa, but IT'S DEFINITELY PAYBACK TIME! There had better be some changes around here this Christmas, or I'm gonna call for a nationwide meltdown (and trust me, you won't wanna be around to smell it). So, here's my holiday wish list.

1. A nice, comfy pair of sweat pants and a frumpy, oversized sweatshirt. I'm sick of looking like a hooker. How much smaller are these bathing suits gonna get? Do you have any idea what it feels like to have nylon and velcro crawling up your butt?

2. Real underwear that can be pulled on and off. Preferably white. What bonehead at Mattel decided to cheap out and MOLD imitation underwear to my skin?!?

3. A REAL man...maybe GI Joe. Hell, I'd take Tickle-Me Elmo over that wimped-out excuse for a boyfriend Ken. And what's with that earring anyway? If I'm gonna have to suffer with him, at least make him (and me) anatomically correct.

4. Arms that actually bend so I can push the aforementioned Ken-wimp away once he is anatomically correct.

5. Breast reduction surgery. I don't care whose arm you have to twist, just get it done.

6. A jogging bra. To wear until I get the surgery.

7. A new career. Pet doctor and school teacher just don't cut it. How about a systems analyst? Or better yet, an advertising account exec! Maybe something on Wall Street?

8. A new, more 90s persona.

9. No more McDonald's endorsements. The grease is wrecking my vinyl.

10.Mattel stock options. It's been 37 years-I think I deserve it.

OK, Santa, that's it. Considering my valuable contribution to society, I don't think these requests are out of line. If you disagree, then you can find yourself a new bimbo doll for next Christmas. It's that simple.

Yours truly,

Barbie
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Debbie's Famous Fruitcake

Hi everyone! Happy Thanksgiving! I thought I would share a favorite recipe of mine! Make sure you read the whole recipe first before you start cooking...It's very important!

Have fun!

Debbie

 

Debbie's Famous Fruitcake

Ingredients:


1 cup water
1 cup sugar
4 large eggs
2 cups dried fruit
1 teaspoon baking soda
1 teaspoon salt
1 cup brown sugar
1 teaspoon lemon juice
1 cup nuts (any except walnuts)
1 gallon whiskey (JD tastes best)

Directions:

Sample the whiskey to check for quality.  Take a large bowl. Check the whiskey again to be sure it is of the highest quality. Pour one level cup and drink. Repeat. Turn on the electric mixer; beat 1 cup butter in a large, fluffy bowl. Add 1 teaspoon sugar and beat again. Make sure the whiskey is still OK. Cry another tup. Turn off mixer. Break 2 legs and add to the bowl and chuck in the cup of dried fruit. Mix on the turner. If the fried druit gets stuck in the beaterers, pry it loose with a drewscriver. Sample the whiskey to check for tonsisticity. Next, sift 2 cups of salt. Or something. Who cares? Check the whiskey. Now sift the lemon juice and strain your nuts. Add one table. Spoon. Of sugar or something. Whatever you can find. Grease the oven. Turn the cake tin to 350 degrees. Don't forget to beat off the turner. Throw the bowl out of the window. Check the whiskey again. Go to bed.

What the hell?

Who likes fruitcake anyway?
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Christmas Carols for the Psychologically Impaired

SCHIZOPHRENIA:
Do you Hear What I Hear?

MULTIPLE PERSONALITY DISORDER:
We Three Queens Disoriented Are

DEMENTIA:
I Think I'll Be Home for Christmas

NARCISSISTIC:
Hark the Herald Angels Sing About Me

MANIC:
Deck the Halls and Walls and House and Lawn and streets and Stores and Office and Town and Cars and Busses and Trucks and Trees and Fire Hydrants and..

PARANOID:
Santa Claus is Coming to Get Me

PERSONALITY DISORDER:
You Better Watch Out, I'm Gonna Cry, I'm Gonna Pout, Maybe I'll Tell You Why...

OBSESSIVE-COMPULSIVE DISORDER:
Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell Rock, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell Rock, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell Rock, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell Rock, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell Rock, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell Rock, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell Rock, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell Rock, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell Rock, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell Rock, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell Rock, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell Rock............(better start again)

PASSIVE-AGGRESSIVE PERSONALITY:
On the First Day of Christmas My True Love Gave to Me (and then took it all away).

BORDERLINE PERSONALITY DISORDER:
Thoughts of Roasting on an Open Fire...

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An X-Files Christmas Eve...

7 ELM STREET, BETHLEHEM PA - 11:51 P.M.

We're too late. It's already been here.

Mulder, I hope you know what you're doing.

Look, Scully, just like the other homes: Douglas fir truncated, mounted, transformed into a shrine; halls decked with bows of holly; stocking hung by the chimney with care.

You really think someone's been here?

Someone, or something.

Mulder. Over here, It's fruitcake

Don't touch it. Those things can be lethal

It's O.K. There's a note attached: "gonna find out who's naughty and nice."

It's judging them, Scully. It's making a list.

Who? What are you talking about?

Ancient mythology tells of an obese humanoid entity who could travel at great speed in a craft powered by antlered servants. Once each year near the winter solstice, this creature is said to descend from the heavens to reward its followers and punish disbelievers with jagged chunks of anthracite.

But that's legend, Mulder, a story told by parents to frighten children. Surely you don't believe it?

Something was here tonight, Scully. Check out the bite marks on this gingerbread man. Whatever tore thought this plate of cookies was massive -- and in a hurry.

It left crumbs everywhere. And look, Mulder this milk glass has been completely drained.

It gorged itself, Scully. It fed without remorse.

But why would they leave it milk and cookies?

Appeasement. Tonight is the Eve, and nothing can stop its wilding.

But if this thing does exist, how did it get in? The doors and windows were locked. There's not sign of forced entry.

Unless I miss my guess, it came through the fireplace.

Wait a minute, Mulder. If you're saying some huge creature landed on the roof and came down this chimney, you're crazy. The flue is barely six inches wide, nothing could get through there.

But what if it could alter its shape, move in all directions at once?

You mean, like a bowl full of jelly?

Exactly. Scully, I've never told anyone this but when I was a child my home was visited. I saw the creature. It had long white shanks of fur surrounding its ruddy, misshapen head. Its bloated torso was red and white. Iíll never forget the horror. I turned away and, when I looked back, it had somehow taken on the facial features of my father.

Impossible.

I know what I saw. And that night, it read my mind. It brought me a Mr. Potato Head, Scully. It knew that I wanted a Mr. Potato Head

I'm sorry, Mulder, but you're asking me to disregard the laws of physics. You want me to believe in some supernatural being who soars across the skies and brings gifts to good little girls and boys. Listen to what you're saying. Do you understand the repercussions? If this gets out they'll close the X-files.

Scully, listen to me: It knows when you're sleeping. It knows when you're awake.

But we have no proof.

Last year on this exact date, SETI radio telescopes detected a bogey in the airspace over twenty-seven states. The White House ordered a condition red.

But that was a meteor shower.

Officially. Two days ago eight prized Scandinavian reindeer vanished from the National Zoo in Washington D.C. Nobody -- not even the zoo keeper was told about it. The government doesn't want people to know about Project Kringle. They fear that if this thing is proved to exist, the public will stop spending half its annual income in a holiday shopping frenzy. Retail markets will collapse. Scully, they cannot let the world believe this creature lives. There's too much at stake. They'll do whatever it takes to insure another silent night.

Mulder...

Sh-h-h. Do you hear what I hear?

On the roof. It sounds like...a clatter

The truth is up there. Let's open the window and see what's the matter...
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Santa's FAA Checkout

Santa Claus, like all pilots, gets regular visits from the Federal Aviation Administration, and it was shortly before Christmas when the FAA examiner arrived.

The examiner walked slowly around the sled. He checked the reindeer harnesses, the landing gear, and Rudolph's nose. He painstakingly reviewed Santa's weight and balance calculations for the sled's enormous payload.

Finally, they were ready for the checkride. Santa got in and fastened his seatbelt and then the examiner hopped in carrying, to Santa's surprise, a shotgun. "What's that for?" asked Santa incredulously.

The examiner winked and said, "I'm not supposed to tell you this, but you're gonna lose an engine on takeoff."
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The Caroling Parrot

One Christmas Eve, a frenzied young man ran into a pet shop looking for an unusual Christmas gift for his wife.  The shop owner suggested a parrot, named Chet, which could sing famous Christmas carols. This seemed like the perfect gift.

"How do I get him to sing?" The young man asked, excitedly. "Simply hold a lighted match directly under his left foot," was the shop owners reply.  The shop owner did this and Chet began to sing: "Jingle Bells! Jingle Bells!" ...

The shop owner then moved the match under the parrot's right foot. Then Chet's tune changed, and the air was filled with: "Silent Night, Holy Night..."

The young man was so impressed that he paid the shop-keeper and ran home as quickly as he could with Chet under his arm.

When the wife saw her gift she was overwhelmed. "How beautiful!" She exclaimed, "Can he talk?" "No," the young man replied, "But he can sing. Let me show you." So the young man whipped out his lighter and placed it under Chet's left foot, as the shop-keeper had shown him, and Chet crooned: "Jingle bells Jingle Bells!..."

The man then moved the lighter to Chet's right foot, and out came: "Silent Night. Holy Night..."

The wife, her face filled with curiosity, then asked, "What if we hold the lighter between his legs?"

The man did not know. "Let's try it," he answered, eager to please his wife. So they held the lighter between Chet's legs. Chet twisted his face, cleared his throat, the little parrot sang out loudly

"Chet's nuts roasting on an open fire ..."
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Office Politics

I'm happy to inform you that the company Christmas Party will take place on December 23, starting at noon in the banquet room at Luigi's Open Pit Barbecue. No-host bar, but plenty of eggnog! We'll have a small band playing traditional carols...feel free to sing along. And don't be surprised if our CEO shows up dressed as Santa Claus!

 

FROM; Pat Lewis, Human Resources Director

DATE: December 2

RE: Christmas Party

______________________________________________________________________________

In no way was yesterday's memo intended to exclude our Jewish employees. We recognize that Chanukah is an important holiday that often coincides with Christmas, though unfortunately not this year. However, from now on, we're calling it our "Holiday Party".

 

FROM; Pat Lewis, Human Resources Director

DATE: December 3

RE: Holiday Party

______________________________________________________________________________

Regarding the note I received from a member of Alcoholics Anonymous requesting a non-drinking table...you didn't sign your name. I'm happy to accommodate this request, but I can't put a sign on a table that reads, "AA Only"; you wouldn't be anonymous anymore. How am I supposed to handle this? Somebody?

FROM; Pat Lewis, Human Resources Director

DATE: December 7

RE: Holiday Party

______________________________________________________________________________

What a diverse company we are! I had no idea that December 20 begins the Muslim holy month of Ramadan, which forbids eating, drinking and sex during daylight hours. There goes the party! Seriously, we can appreciate how a luncheon this time of year does not accommodate our Muslim employees' beliefs. Perhaps Luigi's can hold off on serving your meal until the end of the party...the days are so short this time of year...or else package everything for take-home in little foil swans.

Will that work? Meanwhile, I've arranged for members of Overeaters Anonymous to sit furthest from the dessert buffet and pregnant women will get the table closest to the restrooms.

 

FROM; Pat Lewis, Human Resources Director

DATE: December 8

RE: Holiday Party

______________________________________________________________________________

So December 22 marks the Winter Solstice...what do you expect me to do, a tap-dance on your heads? Fire regulations at Luigi's prohibit the burning of sage by our earth-based, Goddess-worshipping employees, but we'll try to accommodate your shamanic drumming circle during the band's breaks. Okay???

 

FROM; Pat Lewis, Human Resources Director

Date: December 9

RE: Holiday Party

______________________________________________________________________________

People, people, nothing sinister was intended by having our CEO dress up like Santa Claus! Even if the anagram of "Santa" does happen to be "Satan", there is no evil connotation to our own "little man in a red suit". It's a tradition, folks, like sugar shock at Halloween or family feuds over the Thanksgiving turkey or broken hearts on Valentine's Day. Could we lighten up?

 

FROM; Pat Lewis, Human Resources Director

DATE: December 10

RE: Holiday Party

______________________________________________________________________________

Vegetarians!?!?!? I've had it with you people!!! We're going to keep this party at Luigi's Open Pit Barbecue whether you like it or not, so you can sit quietly at the table farthest from the "grill of death", as you so quaintly put it, and you'll get your #$%^&*! salad bar, including hydroponic tomatoes...but you know, tomatoes have feelings, too. Tomatoes scream when you slice them...I've heard them scream, I'm hearing them scream right now...!

 

FROM: Teri Bishops, Acting Human Resources Director

DATE: December 14

RE: Pat Lewis and Holiday Party

______________________________________________________________________________

I'm sure I speak for all of us in wishing Pat Lewis a speedy recovery from her stress-related illness and I'll continue to forward your cards to her at the sanitarium. In the meantime, management has decided to cancel the Holiday party and give everyone the afternoon of the 23rd off with full pay.

Happy Chanue-Kwanzaa-Solsti-Rama-Mas!
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A Halloween Angel at the Door

One Halloween this woman opens her door to find the most adorable little girl, with golden blond curly hair and the biggest blue eyes. She was dressed as an Angel, and was just delightful.

The woman said, "what are you supposed to say sweetheart?"

The little girl looks up at the woman and says "Twick or Tweet!"

The woman thinks this is just adorable, and she calls her husband to come to the door.

The woman says to the child, "Go ahead honey, say it just one more time."

Once again the little Angel looks up and says, "Twick or Tweet!"

The husband agrees with his wife, this little Angel is just the cutest thing.

The woman picks an apple from the Treat Bowl, shines it up with her apron, and drops it into the little girl's Treat Bag.

The little Angel looks in her bag then looks up at the woman and says, "Thanks a lot lady, you just broke my fucking cookies!"

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Merry Christmas From Mom

Dear Darling Son and That Person You Married,

Merry Christmas to you, and please don't worry. I'm just fine considering I can't breathe or eat. The important thing is that you have a nice holiday, thousands of miles away from your ailing mother. I've sent along my last ten dollars in this card, which I hope you'll spend on my grandchildren. God knows their mother never buys them anything nice. They look so thin in their pictures, poor babies. Thank you so much for the birthday flowers, dear boy. I put them in the freezer so they'll stay fresh for my grave. Which reminds me -- we buried Grandma last week. I know she died years ago, but I got to yearning for a good funeral so Aunt Berta and I dug her up and had the services all over again. I would have invited you, but I know that woman you live with would have never let you come. I bet she's never even watched that videotape of my hemorrhoid surgery, has she?

Well son, it's time for me to crawl off to bed now. I lost my cane beating off muggers last week, but don't you worry about me. I'm also getting used to the cold since they turned my heat off and am grateful because the frost on my bed numbs the constant pain.

Now don't you even think about sending any more money, because I know you need it for those expensive family vacations you take every year. Give my love to my darling grandbabies and my regards to whatever-her-name-is --the one with the black roots in her hair who stole you screaming from my bosom.

Merry Christmas,

Love, Mom
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Tree Topper II

Not long ago and far away, Santa was getting ready for his annual trip...but there were problems everywhere. Four of his elves got sick, and the trainee elves did not produce the toys as fast as the regular ones so Santa was beginning to feel the pressure of being behind schedule.

Then Mrs. Claus told Santa that her Mom was coming to visit. This stressed Santa even more.

When he went to harness the reindeer, he found that three of them were about to give birth and two had jumped the fence and were out, heaven knows where. More Stress.

Then when he began to load the sleigh, one of the boards cracked and the toy bag fell to the ground and scattered the toys.

Totally frustrated, Santa went into the house for a cup of coffee and a shot of whiskey. When he went to the cupboard, he found the elves had hit the liquor and there was nothing to drink. In his frustration, he dropped the coffee pot and it broke into hundreds of little pieces all over the kitchen floor. He went to get the broom and found that mice had eaten the straw it was made from.

Just then the door bell rang and Santa cussed on his way to the door. He opened the door and there was a little angel with a great big Christmas tree. The angel said: "Where would you like to put this tree, fat man?"

And that my friend, is how the little angel came to be on top of the Christmas tree.
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Santa Resigns

T'was the night before Christmas--Old Santa was pissed.
He cussed out the elves and threw down his list.
Miserable little brats, ungrateful little jerks
I have a good mind to scrap the whole works!

I've busted my ass for damn near a year,
Instead of "Thanks Santa"--what do I hear?
The old lady bitches cause I work late at night
The elves want more money--The reindeer all fight.

Rudolph got drunk and goosed all the maids
Donner is pregnant and Vixen has AIDS

And just when I thought that things would get better
Those assholes from the IRS sent me a letter,
They say I owe taxes--if that ain't damn funny
Who the hell ever sent Santa Claus any money?

And the kids these days--they all are the pits
They want the impossible--Those mean little shits

I spent a whole year making wagons and sleds
Assembling dolls...Their arms, legs and heads
I made a ton of yo yo's--NO request for them,
They want computers and robots.. they think I'm IBM!

Flying through the air...dodging the trees
Falling down chimneys and skinning my knees
I'm quitting this job.. there's just no enjoyment
I'll sit on my fat ass and draw unemployment.

There's no Christmas this year.. now you know the reason,
I found me a blonde. I'm going SOUTH for the season.
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Fractured Christmas Carols

No one can fracture a Christmas carol better than a kid. Sing along with these new takes on some old favorites:

Deck the Halls with Buddy Holly...

We three kings of porridge and tar...

On the first day of Christmas my tulip gave to me...

Later on we'll perspire, as we dream by the fire.

He's makin a list, chicken and rice.

Noel. Noel, Barney's the king of Israel.

With the jelly toast proclaim...

Olive, the other reindeer...

Frosty the Snowman is a ferret elf, I say...

Sleep in heavenly peas...

In the meadow we can build a snowman, Then pretend that he is sparse and brown.

You'll go down in Listerine.

Oh, what fun it is to ride with one horse, soap and hay.

O come, froggy faithful...

Good tidings we bring to you and your kid...

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If Santa answered his mail honestly...

Dear Santa,
I wud like a kool toy space ranjur fer Xmas. Iv ben a gud boy all yeer.
Yer Frend,
BiLLy

Dear Billy,
Nice spelling. You're on your way to a career in lawn care. How about I send you a fucking book so you can learn to read and write? I'm giving your older brother the space ranger. At least HE can spell!
Santa

Dear Santa,
I have been a good girl all year, and the only thing I ask for is peace and joy in the world for everybody!
Love,
Sarah

Dear Sarah,
Your parents smoked pot when they had you, didn't they?
Santa

Dear Santa,
I don't know if you can do this, but for Christmas, I'd like for my mommy and daddy to get back together. Please see what you can do.
Love,
Teddy

Dear Teddy,
Look, your dad's banging the babysitter like a screen door in a hurricane, do you think he's gonna give that up to come back to your frigid mom, who rides his ass constantly? It's time to give up that dream. Let me get you some nice Legos instead.
Santa

Dear Santa,
I want a new bike, a Playstation, a train, some G.I. Joes, a dog, a drum kit, a pony and a tuba.
Love,
Francis

Dear Francis,
Who names their kid "Francis" nowadays? I bet you're gay.
Santa

Dear Santa,
I left milk and cookies for you under the tree, and I left carrots for your reindeer outside the back door.
Love,
Susan

Dear Susan,
Milk gives me the runs and carrots make the deer fart in my face when riding in the sleigh. You want to do me a favor? Leave me a bottle of scotch.
Santa

Dear Santa,
What do you do the other 364 days of the year? Are you busy making toys?
Your friend,
Thomas

Dear Thomas,
All the toys are made in China. I have a condo in Vegas, where I spend most of my time making low-budget porno films. I unwind by drinking myself silly and squeezing the asses of cocktail waitresses while losing money at the craps table. Hey, you wanted to know.
Santa

Dear Santa,
Do you see us when we're sleeping, do you really know when we're awake, like in the song?
Love,
Jessica

Dear Jessica,
Are you really that gullible? Good luck in whatever you do. I'm skipping your house.
Santa


Dear Santa,
I really really want a puppy this year. Please please please   PLEASE PLEASE could I have one?
Timmy

Timmy,
That whiney begging shit may work with your folks, but that crap doesn't work with me. You're getting a sweater again.
Santa

Dearest Santa,
We don't have a chimney in our house, how do you get into our home?
Love, Marky

Mark,
First, stop calling yourself "Marky", that's why you're getting your ass whipped at school. Second, you don't live in a house,   you live in a low-rent apartment complex. Third, I get inside your pad just like all the burglars do, through your bedroom window.
Sweet Dreams,
Santa
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Twas Da Night Befo' Christmas


Twas da night befo' Christmas and all in the hood
Not a homie was stirring cuz it was all good
The tube socks was hung on the window sill
and we all had smiles up on our grill

Mookie and BeBe was snug in the crib
in the back bedroom, cuz that's how we live
and moms in her do-rag and me with my nine
had just gotten busy cuz girlfriend is fine

All of a sudden a lowrider rolled by
Bumpin phat beats cuz the system's fly
I bounced to the window at a quarter pas'
Bout ready to pop a cap in somebody's ass

I yelled to my lady, Yo peep this!
She said, Stop frontin just mind yo' bidness
I said, for real doe, come check dis out
We weren't even buggin, no worries, no doubt

Cuz bumpin an thumpin' from around da way
Was Santa, 8 reindeer and a sleigh
Da beats was kickin, da ride was phat
I said, Yo red Dawg, you all that!

He threw up a sign and yelled to his boyz,
"Ay yo, give it up, let's make some noise!
To the top of the projects and across the strip mall,
We gots ta go, I got a booty call!"

He pulled up his ride on the top a da roof
and sippin on a 40, he busted a move
I yelled up to Santa, "Yo ain't got no stack!"
he  said, "Damn homie, deese projects is wack!

But don't worry black, cuz I gots da skillz
I learnt back when I hadda pay da billz."
Out from his bag he pulled 3 small tings
a credit card, a knife, and a bobby pin.

he slid down the fire escape smoove as a cat
and busted the window with a baseball bat
I said, "Whassup, Santa? Whydya bust my place?"
he said, "You best get on up out my face!"

His threads was all leatha, his chains was all gold
His sneaks was Puma and they was 5 years old
He dropped down the duffle, Clippers logo on the side
Santa broke out da loot and my mouf popped open wide.

A wink of his eye and a shine off his god toof
He cabbage patched his way back onto the roof
He jumped in his hooptie with rims made of chrome
To tap that booty waitin at home

and all I heard as he cruised outta sight
was a loud and hearty.....
"WEEESST SIIIIDE!!!!!!!"
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Interesting Christmas Trivia

In Italy they have no Christmas trees, instead they decorate small wooden pyramids with fruit.

In Caracas, the capital city of Venezuela, it is customary for the streets to be blocked off on Christmas eve so that the people can roller-skate to church.  

An artificial spider and web are often included in the decorations on Ukrainian Christmas trees. A spider web found on Christmas morning is believed to bring good luck.

It is a British Christmas tradition that a wish made while mixing the Christmas pudding will come true only if the ingredients are stirred in a clockwise direction.

A traditional Christmas dinner in early England was the head of a pig prepared with mustard.

Sending red Christmas cards to anyone in Japan constitutes bad etiquette, since funeral notices there are customarily printed in red.

In Norway on Christmas Eve, all the brooms in the house are hidden because long ago it was believed that witches and mischievous spirits came out on Christmas Eve and would steal their brooms for riding.
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You'll Be Paying all Year

Merry Christmas and Happy Chanukah to all!!!!
by: J. Wetter

Twas the day after Christmas, and all through the house,
Every creature was hurting-- even the mouse.
The toys were all broken, their batteries dead;
Santa passed out, with some ice on his head.

Wrapping and ribbons just covered the floor, while
Upstairs the family continued to snore.
And I in my T-shirt, new Reeboks and jeans,
Went into the kitchen and started to clean.

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the sink to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the curtains, and threw up the sash.

When what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a little white truck, with an oversized mirror.
The driver was smiling, so lively and grand;
The patch on his jacket said "U.S. POSTMAN."

With a handful of bills, he grinned like a fox
Then quickly he stuffed them into our mailbox.
Bill after bill, after bill, they still came.
Whistling and shouting he called them by name:

"Now Dillard's, now Broadway's, now Penny's and Sears
Here's Levitz's and Target's and Mervyn's--all here!!
To the tip or your limit, every store, every mall,
Now chargeaway-chargeaway-chargeaway all!"

He whooped and he whistled as he finished his work.
He filled up the box, and then turned with a jerk.
He sprang to his truck and he drove down the road,
Driving much faster with just half a load.

Then I heard him exclaim with great holiday cheer,
"ENJOY WHAT YOU GOT ... YOU'LL BE PAYING ALL YEAR!"

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A Hispanic Night Before Christmas

  The night before Chreemas, on Toosday I theenk,
  I go to cantina to geet me a dreenk.
  I dreenk saam tequila, I dreenk eet too fast,
  Preety damn queek, I fall on my ass.

  I peek myself up and go home to my bed,
  I pool the cobija up ober my head.
  Early next morning, or late een the night,
  I heer such damn recket, I theenk eet's a fight.

  I geet outta bed, I don feel very well,
  My head ees too beeg, eet hort me like hell.
  I go to the weendow, I don believe what I see,
  A pot-bellied greengo, as plain as can be.

  I looook at heez ropa, ees all colored red,
  He got heem some chivos tied on to a sled.
  I yella and I holler, "Hey, move your fat ass,
  Your chivos over dere, they chit on my grass!"

  He torn to heez goats, he say just one word,
  And them damn chivos chomp in the air like a bord.
  They corcle around, and then queek as a mouse,
  He land that damn sled on top of my house.

  They chaking their horns and stomping hees hoof,
  I theenk they damn chore play hell with my roof.
  I heer theze ole man chout loud and clear,
  "What the hell, Rodriquez, ain't no cheemney up here.

  No door, no weendow, nothing but air,
  How I gon geev you theze goverment welfare?"
  Then right away theze Rodriquez see---
  He gon get heemself something, something for free.

  So he says to the greengo, "Please come een senor,
  Do come on down and use the front door."
  So, he come een the house, and upon heez broad back,
  He is carry one hell of beeg gony sack.

  He puut theze beeg sack down on the floor,
  And start pooling out comida galore.
  He pool out tortillas, tamales and ham,
  He pool out a cheekin and haff of a lamb.

  He pool out cervesa and a bottle of wine,
  I cannot believe that theze eez all mine!
  I'm theenking, "Rodriquez, you locky by heck,
  Theze chore as hell beats unemployment check."

  So he chakes out heez boles and dreenk some of my wine,
  And cosses hees chivos to get them een line.
  He cosses and hollers, he knows every one,
  "Chinga, Cabron, Yo, Son of a gon."

  That ole man he know how to puut on a chow,
  Trying to make them damn chivos get up and go.
  At last he get them to chom een the sky,
  And the last time I see heem, he preety damn high.

  He going away and the last theeng I heeer,
  "MERRY CHRISTMAS RODRIQUEZ, YOU LITTLE FUCKIN' QUEER!"
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A Drunks Night Before Christmas

'Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house,
There were bottles of booze left around by some louse.
When through the North window there came a loud yell
I sprang to my feet to see what the hell...

And what to my bloodshot eyes should I see,
But eight drunken reindeer caught up in a tree.
And there in the branches, was a man with a sleigh.
I knew it was Santa, quite tiddley and gay.

Staggering nearer those eight reindeer came,
While he belched and hiccoughed and called them by name:
"On Whiskey! On Vodka! we ain't got all night,
You too, Gin and Brandy, now all do it right!

Clamber up on the roof, and get off this wall,
Get going you rummies, we've still got a long haul!"
So up on the roof went the reindeer and sleigh,
But a tree branch hit Santa before he could sway.

And then to my ears like the roll of a barrel,
A hell of a noise that was no Christmas carol.
So I pulled in my head and I cocked a sharp ear,
Down the chimney he plunged, landing smack on his rear.

He was both plump and chubby, and tried to stand right,
But he didn't fool me, he was high as a kite.
He spoke not a word but went straight to work
And missed half the stockings, the drunken old jerk.

Then putting his thumb to the end of his nose,
He fluttered his fingers as he quoted prose.
As he sprung for his sleigh at so hasty a pace,
He tripped on a shingle and he slid on his face.

But I heard him call back as he passed out of sight,
"Merry Christmas, you lushes, now really get tight!"
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Attorney's Night Before Christmas

Whereas, on an occasion immediately preceding the Nativity festival, throughout a certain dwelling unit, quiet descended, in which could be heard no disturbance, not even the sound emitted by a diminutive rodent related to, and in form resembling, a rat; and

Whereas, the offspring of the occupants had affixed their tubular, closely knit coverings for the nether limbs to the flue of the fireplace in expectation that a personage known as St. Nicholas would arrive; and

Whereas, said offspring had become somnolent, and were entertaining re: saccharine-flavored fruit; and

Whereas, the adult male of the family, et ux, attired in proper headgear, had also become quiescent in anticipation of nocturnal inertia; and

Whereas, a distraction on the snowy acreage outside aroused the owner to investigate; and

Whereas, he perceived in a most unbelieving manner a vehicle propelled by eight domesticated quadrupeds of a species found in artic regions; and

Whereas, a most odd rotund gentleman was entreating the aforesaid animals by their appellations, as follows:

"Your immediate co-operation is requested. Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, and Vixen; and collective action by you will be much appreciated, Comet, Cupid, Donner, and Blitzen"; and

Whereas, subsequent to the above, there occurred a swift descent to the hearth by the aforementioned gentleman, where he proceeded to deposit gratuities in the aforementioned tubular coverings.

Now, therefore, be ye advised: that upon completion of these acts, and upon his return to his original point of departure, he proclaimed a felicitation of the type prevalent and suitable to these occasions, i.e.:

Merry Christmas to All and to All a Good Night!
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A Redneck Night Before Christmas

'Twas the night before Christmas in my redneck house;
Junior was wringing the neck of a mouse.
My .357 sat right on my lap
Just waiting for Santa, to take all his crap.

The young'uns were restless and watching in shifts
To see if he'd come and I'd shanghai some gifts,
When out from the yard came a godawful noise
O could it be him with a shitload of toys?

I jumped from my chair and my crotch screamed in pain
I caught my left nut on my wallet's big chain
But then I unwrapped it and flew out the door
Yelling, "Hold it right there, you old son of a whore!"

"Hands in the air and kick over that sack,
And then real slowly move 20 feet back."
He did as I told him, fat, stupid old elf;
I laughed so damn hard I near pissed on myself.

I grabbed his big bag with a hearty guffaw
Then I dragged it inside after spitting some chaw.
I heard him take off - in a second he split,
Leaving my yard heaped with fresh reindeer shit.

Back in my chair I let out such a yelp
That the wife and the kids came to offer their help,
Their eyes filled with wonder - I started to drag
A whole shitload of presents from Santa's big bag.

A big can of crawdads for when I go fishin'
A whopping belt buckle - a brand new transmission,
A carton of Redman, some boots and a knife,
A nice leather strap just for beating the wife.

A matched set of hubcaps, some new fuzzy dice,
A country 8-track and a Hustler, how nice!
An inflatable dollie for when the old hag
Starts her bitching and moaning and goes on the rag.

When out of the bag I had pulled every bit
I said "Looks like you kids won't be getting no shit."
Here was my chance to try out my new strap
When they started their bawling and screaming and crap.

I chased them upstairs and I popped me a brew,
I sat back in my chair, filled my mouth up with chew,
With my heart full of gladness, my soul full of cheer,
I yelled up, "Maybe you'll get some presents next year!"
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Little Johnny Wants a Damn Swing Set

Little Johnny went to sit on Santa's lap, and Santa asked him what he wanted for Christmas.

Little Johnny answered, "A damn swing set in the backyard."

"Excuse me?" said Santa.

"I want a damn swing set in my backyard," repeated Little Johnny.

Santa said, "You'll have to ask nicer if you want Santa to bring you something. Let's try again. What else do you want?"

Little Johnny answered, "A damn sandbox for the side yard."

"You have to ask politely! One more time. What else do you want for Christmas?"

Little Johnny thought for a minute, then said, "I want a damn trampoline in the front yard."

Santa sighed and set Little Johnny off his lap. "I'm sorry son, I can't give anything to someone who talks like you do. I'm not bringing you anything for Christmas."

Santa then called Johnny's parents over and told them what had happened. They apologized profusely, saying they didn't understand why he talked like that, and they had been trying to break him of the habit with no luck.

"I know how to stop it," Santa said. "Don't get him anything for Christmas.  Just get some dog doo. Put a pile of dog doo in the backyard where he wants the swing set, another pile in the side yard where he wants the sandbox, and another pile in the front yard where he wants the trampoline. That will break him of it."  The parents agreed.

Christmas morning, Little Johnny runs out the back door, looks around, and comes back in. He runs out the side door, looks around, and comes back in. He runs out the front door, looks around, and comes back in, looking upset.

"What's wrong, son?" asked his father. "What did Santa bring you?"

Little Johnny answered, "He brought me a damn dog, but I can't find him!"


Jewish Night Before Christmas

'Twas the night before Christmas, and we, being Jews,
My girlfriend and me, we had nothing to do.

The Gentiles were home, hanging stockings with care,
Secure in the knowledge St. Nick would be there.

But for us, once the Hanukkah candles burned down,
There was nothing but boredom all over town.

The malls and the theaters were all closed up tight;
There weren't any concerts to got to that night.

A dance would have saved us, some ballroom or swing,
But we searched through the papers; there wasn't a thing.

Outside the window sat two feet of snow;
With the wind-chill, they said it was fifteen below.

And while all I could do was sit there and brood,
My girl saved the night and called out "CHINESE FOOD!"

So we ran to the closet, grabbed hats, mitts and boots
To cover out heads, our hands, and our foots.

We pulled on our jackets, all puffy with down.
And boarded "The T," bound for old Chinatown.

In search of a restaurant: "Which one? Lets decide!"
We chose "Hunan Chozer," and ventured inside.

Around us sat other Jews, their platters piled high
With the finest of foods their money could buy:

There was roast duck and squid, sweet, sour and spiced,
Dried beef and mixed veggies, lo mein and fried rice,

Whole fish and moo shi and "shrimp" chow mee foon,
And General Gaus chicken and ma po tofu....

When at last we decided, and the waiter did call,
We said: "Skip the menu!" and ordered it all.

And when in due time the food was all made,
It came to the table in a sort of parade.

Before us sat dim sum, spare ribs and egg rolls,
And four different soups, in four great, huge bowls.

The courses kept coming, from spicy to mild,
And higher and higher toward the ceiling were piled.

So much piled up, one dish after the other,
My girlfriend and I couldn't see one another!

Now we sat there, we two, without proper utensils,
While they handed us something that looked like two pencils.

We ate till we couldn't and drank down our teas
And barely had room for our fortune cookies.

But my fortune was perfect; it summed up the mood
When it said: "Even if it was kosher, it was still Chinese food!."

And my girlfriend-well ... she got a real winner;
Hers said: "Your companion will pay for the dinner."

Our bellies were full and at last it was time
To travel back home and write some bad rhyme

Of our Chinatown trek, and to privately speak
About trying to refine our chopstick technique.

The MSG spun round and round in our heads,
As we tripped and we laughed and gaily we said,

As we carried our leftovers home through the night;
"Good Yom Tov to all-and to all a Good Night!"
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Twas The Night Before Christmas, And Santa's Pissed

Twas the night before Christmas
old Santa was pissed,
He cussed out the elves
and threw down his list.

Miserable little brats,
Ungrateful little jerks.
I have a good mind,
To scrap the whole works.

I've busted my ass
for damn near a year
Instead of  "Thanks Santa" what do I hear..

The old lady bitches
cause I work late at night
the elves want more money
And the reindeer all fight.

Rudolph got drunk
and goosed all the maids.
Donner is Pregnant
Vixon has AIDS

And just when I thought
That things would get better,
The IRS,
They sent me a letter.

They say I owe taxes,
If that ain't damn funny..
Who the hell ever
Sent Santa any money?

And the kids these days,
They all are the pits.
They want the impossible,
Those mean little shits.

I spent a whole year
Making wagons and sleds
with no request for them
They want computers and Robots,
They think I am IBM

If you think that is bad
Picture this..
Try holding those brats
with their pants full of piss.

They pull on my nose,
They grab at my beard
And if I don't smile,
The parents think I'm weird

Flying through the air,
Dodging the trees.
Falling down chimneys
And skinning my knees.

I quit this job,
There is just no enjoyment
I'm going to sit on my fat ass
And collect unemployment

There is NO Christmas this year
Now you know the reason
I found me a blonde
and heading SOUTH for the season....

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A Drunk's Night Before Christmas

'Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house,
There were bottles of booze left around by some louse.
When through the North window there came loud a yell
I sprang to my feet to see what the hell...

And what to my bloodshot eyes should I see,
But eight drunken reindeer caught up in a tree.
And there in the branches, was a man with a sleigh.
I knew it was Santa, quite tiddley and gay.

Staggering nearer those eight reindeer came,
While he belched and hiccoughed and called them by name:
"On Whiskey! On Vodka! we ain't got all night,
You too, Gin and Brandy, now all do it right!

Clamber up on the roof, and get off this wall,
Get going you rummies, we've still got a long haul!"
So up on the roof went the reindeer and sleigh,
But a tree branch hit Santa before he could sway.

And then to my ears like the roll of a barrel,
A hell of a noise that was no Christmas carol.
So I pulled in my head and I cocked a sharp ear,
Down the chimney he plunged, landing smack on his rear.

He was both plump and chubby, and tried to stand right,
But he didn't fool me, he was high as a kite.
He spoke not a word but went straight to work
And missed half the stockings, the drunken old jerk.

Then putting his thumb to the end of his nose,
He fluttered his fingers as he quoted prose.
As he sprung for his sleigh at so hasty a pace,
He tripped on a shingle and he slid on his face.

But I heard him call back as he passed out of sight, "
Merry Christmas, you lushes, now really get tight!"
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A Singing Parrot as a Gift

One Christmas Eve, a frenzied young man ran into a pet shop looking for an unusual Christmas gift for his wife. The shop owner suggested a parrot, named Chet, which could sing famous Christmas carols. This seemed like the perfect gift. "How do I get him to sing?" The young man asked, excitedly.

"Simply hold a lighted match directly under his feet." was the shop owner's reply.

The shop owner held a lighted match under the parrot's left foot. Chet began to sing: "Jingle Bells! Jingle Bells! ..." The shop owner then held another match under the parrot's right foot. Then Chet's tune changed, and the air was filled with: "Silent Night, Holy Night..."

The young man was so impressed that he paid the shop-keeper and ran home as quickly as he could with Chet under his arm. When the wife saw her gift she was overwhelmed.

"How beautiful!" She exclaimed, "Can he talk?"

"No," the young man replied, "But he can sing. Let me show you." So the young man whipped out his lighter and placed it under Chet's left foot, as the shop-keeper had shown him, and Chet crooned: "Jingle Bells! Jingle bells!..." The man then moved the lighter to Chet's right foot, and out came: "Silent Night, Holy night..."

The wife, her face filled with curiosity, then asked, "What if we hold the lighter between his legs?" The man did not know. "Let's try it," he answered, eager to please his wife. So they held the lighter between Chet's legs. Chet twisted his face, cleared his throat, and the little parrot sang out loudly like it was the performance of his life: "Chet's nuts roasting on an open fire...."
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An Elf Falls In Love With an Elf Nurse

An elf was so paranoid about the size of his dink that he could never work up the courage to have sex. Then, one day he fell in love with an elf nurse.

One fine evening, they went back to her place. She put on some soft music and led him into the bedroom. Totally mortified, he told her of his problem.

"Don't worry," She said. "I'm a nurse. I won't laugh."

Blushing, the man drops his trousers. "It's OK," she said. "I've seen lots smaller than that."

"Really?" the relieved elf asked.

"Yes," she chuckled, "I used to work in the maternity unit."
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Christmas Eve - Italian Style

I thought it would be a nice idea to bring a date to my parents' house on Christmas Eve. I thought it would be interesting for a non-Italian girl to see how an Italian family spends the holidays. I thought my mother and my date would hit it off like partridges and pear trees. So I was wrong. So sue me. I had only known Karen for three weeks when I extended the invitation. "I know these family things can be a little weird," I told her, "but my folks are great, and we always have a lot of fun on Christmas Eve."

"Sounds fine to me," Karen said. I had only known my mother for 25 years when I told her I'd be bringing Karen with me. "She's a very nice girl and she's really looking forward to meeting all of you." "Sounds fine to me," my mother said. And that was that. Two telephone calls. Two sounds-fine-to-me. What more could I want? I should point out, I suppose, that in Italian households, Christmas Eve is the social event of the season - an Italian woman's raison d'etre. She cleans. She cooks. She bakes. She orchestrates every minute of the entire evening. Christmas Eve is what Italian women live for. I should also point out, I suppose, that when it comes to the kind of women that make Italian men go nuts, Karen is it. She doesn't clean. She doesn't cook. She doesn't bake. And she has the largest breasts I have ever seen on a human being. I brought her anyway.

7:00 P.M. - We arrive. Karen and I walk in and putter around for half an hour waiting for the other guests to show up. During that half hour, my mother grills Karen like a cheeseburger and cannily determines that Karen does not clean, cook, or bake. My father is equally observant. He pulls me into the living room and notes, "She has the largest breasts I have ever seen on a human being."

7:30 P.M. - Others arrive. Uncle Ziti walks in with my Aunt Mafalde, assorted kids, assorted gifts. We sit around the dining room table for antipasto, a symmetrically composed platter of lettuce, roasted peppers, black olives, salami, prosciutto, provolone, and anchovies. When I offer to make Karen's plate she says, "Thank you. But none of those things, okay?" She points to the anchovies. "You don't like anchovies?" I ask. "I don't like fish," Karen announces to one and all as 67 other varieties of foods-that-swim are baking, broiling and simmering in the next room. My mother makes the sign of the cross. Things are getting uncomfortable. Aunt Mafalde asks Karen what her family eats on Christmas Eve. Karen says, "Knockwurst." My father, who is still staring in a daze at Karen's chest, temporarily snaps out of it to murmur, "Knockers?" My mother kicks him so hard he gets a blood clot. None of this is turning out the way I'd hoped.

8:00 P.M. - Second course. The spaghetti and crab sauce is on the way to the table. Karen declines the crab sauce and says she'll make her own with butter and ketchup. My mother asks me to join her in the kitchen. I take my "Merry Christmas" napkin from my lap, place it on the "Merry Christmas" tablecloth and walk into the kitchen. "I don't want to start any trouble," my mother says calmly, clutching a bottle of ketchup in her hands. "But if she pours this on my pasta, I'm going to throw acid in her face." "Come on,"

I tell her. "It's Christmas. Let her eat what she wants." My mother considers the situation, then nods. As I turn to walk back into the dining room, she grabs my shoulder. "Tell me the truth," she says, "are you serious with this tramp?" "She's not a tramp," I reply. "And I've only known her for three weeks." "Well, it's your life", she tells me, "but if you marry her, she'll poison you."

8:30 P.M. - More fish. My stomach is knotted like one of those macramé plant hangers that are always three times larger than the plants they hold. All the women get up to clear away the spaghetti dishes, except for Karen, who, instead, lights a cigarette. "Why don't you give them a little hand?" I politely suggest. Karen makes a face and walks into the kitchen carrying three forks. "Dear, you don't have to do that," my mother tells her, smiling painfully. "Oh, okay," Karen says, putting the forks on the sink. As she reenters the dining room, a wine glass flies over her head, and smashes against the wall. From the kitchen, my mother says, "Whoops." I vaguely remember that line from Torch Song Trilogy... "Whoops? No. Whoops is when you fall down an elevator shaft." More fish comes out. After some goading, Karen tries a piece of scungilli, which she describes as "slimy, like worms." My mother winces, bites her hand and pounds her chest like one of those old women you always see in the sixth row of a funeral home. Aunt Mafalde does the same. Karen, believing that this is something that all Italian women do on Christmas Eve, bites her hand and pounds her chest. My Uncle Ziti doesn't know what to make of it. My father's dentures fall out and chew a six-inch gash in the tablecloth.

10:00 P.M. - Coffee, dessert. Espresso all around. A little anisette. A curl of lemon peel. When Karen asks for milk, my mother finally slaps her in the face with a cannoli. I guess it had to happen sooner or later. Karen, believing that this is something that all Italian women do on Christmas Eve, picks up a cannoli and slaps my mother with it. "This is fun," Karen says. Fun? No. Fun is when you fall down an elevator shaft. But, amazingly, everyone is laughing and smiling and filled with good cheer - even my mother, who grabs me by the shoulder, laughs and says, "Get this bitch out of my house." Sounds fine to me.
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12 Politically Correct Days of Christmas

On the 12th day of the Eurocentrically imposed midwinter festival, my Significant Other in a consenting adult, monogamous relationship gave to me:

TWELVE males reclaiming their inner warrior through ritual drumming,

ELEVEN pipers piping (plus the 18-member pit orchestra made up of members in good standing of the Musicians Equity Union as called for in their union contract even though they will not be asked to play a note),

TEN melanin deprived testosterone-poisoned scions of the patriarchal ruling class system leaping,

NINE persons engaged in rhythmic self-expression,

EIGHT economically disadvantaged female persons stealing milk-products from enslaved Bovine-Americans,

SEVEN endangered swans swimming on federally protected wetlands,

SIX enslaved Fowl-Americans producing stolen non-human animal products,

FIVE golden symbols of culturally sanctioned enforced domestic incarceration,

FOUR hours of recorded whale songs

THREE deconstructionist poets

TWO Sierra Club calendars printed on recycled processed tree carcasses and...

ONE Spotted Owl activist chained to an old-growth pear tree.

Merry Christmas Happy Chanukah. Good Kwanzaa. Blessed Yule. Happy Holidays! (unless otherwise prohibited by law)*

* Unless, of course, you are suffering from Seasonally Affected Disorder (SAD). If this be the case, please substitute this gratuitous call for celebration with suggestion that you have a thoroughly adequate day.
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The Month After Christmas

Twas the month after Christmas, and all through the house
Nothing would fit me, not even a blouse.

The cookies I nibbled, the eggnog I tasted
At the holiday parties had gone to my waist.

When I got on the scales there arose such a number!
When I walked to the store (less a walk than a lumber).

I'd remember the marvelous meals I'd prepared;
The gravies and sauces and beef nicely rare,

The wine and the rum balls, the bread and the cheese
And the way I'd never said, "No thank you, please."

As I dressed myself in my husband's old shirt
And prepared once again to do battle with dirt---

I said to myself, as I only can
"You can't spend a winter disguised as a man!"

So--away with the last of the sour cream dip,
Get rid of the fruit cake, every cracker and chip

Every last bit of food that I like must be banished
'Til all the additional ounces have vanished.

I won't have a cookie--not even a lick.
I'll want only to chew on a long celery stick.

I won't have hot biscuits, or corn bread, or pie,
I'll munch on a carrot and quietly cry.

I'm hungry, I'm lonesome, and life is a bore---
But isn't that what January is for?

Unable to giggle, no longer a riot.
Happy New Year to all and to all a good diet!
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Short Christmas Jokes

The three wise men arrived to visit the child lying in the manger. One of the wise men was exceptionally tall, and bumped his head on the low doorway as he entered the stable.

"Jesus Christ!" he shouted.

Joseph said, "Write that down, Mary; it's better than Clyde!"


"Hey! If any of you are looking for any last-minute gift ideas for me, I have one. I'd like Frank Shirley, my boss, right here tonight. I want him brought from his happy holiday slumber over there on Melody Lane with all the other rich people and I want him brought right here, with a big ribbon on his head, and I want to look him straight in the eye and I want to tell him what a cheap, lying, no-good, rotten, four-flushing, low-life, snake-licking, dirt-eating, inbred, overstuffed, ignorant, blood-sucking, dog-kissing, brainless, dickless, hopeless, heartless, fat-ass, bug-eyed, stiff-legged, spotty-lipped, worm-headed sack of monkey shit he is! Hallelujah! Holy Shit! Where's the Tylenol?"

--Clark W. Griswold (Chevy Chase), CHRISTMAS VACATION


A little girl is in line to see Santa. When it's her turn, she climbs up on Santa's lap. Santa asks, "What would you like Santa to bring you for Christmas"?

The little girl replies, "I want a Barbie and G.I. Joe".

Santa looks at the little girl for a moment and says, "I thought Barbie comes with Ken."

"No", says the little girl. "She comes with G.I. Joe; she fakes it with Ken."


A parent decreed one Christmas that she was no longer going to remind her children of their thank-you note duties. As a result their grandmother never received acknowledgments of the generous checks she had given. The next year things were different, however.

"The children came over in person to thank me," the grandparent told a friend triumphantly.

"How wonderful!" the friend exclaimed. "What do you think caused the change in behavior?"

"Oh, that's easy," the grandmother replied. "This year I didn't sign the checks!"


One beautiful December evening Huan Cho and his girlfriend Jung Lee were sitting by the side of the ocean. It was a romantic full moon, when Huan Cho said "Hey baby, let's play Weeweechu."

"Oh no, not now, lets look at the moon" said Jung Lee.

"Oh, c'mon baby, let's you and I play Weeweechu. I love you and it's the perfect time," Huan Cho Begged.

"But I rather just hold your hand and watch the moon."

"Please Jung Lee, just once play Weeweechu with me."

Jung Lee looked at Huan Chi and said, "OK, we'll play Weeweechu."

Huan Cho grabbed his guitar and they both sang.....
"Weeweechu a Melly Clitmas, Weeweechu a Melly Clitmas,
Weeweechu a Melly Clitmas, and a Happy New Year."


"Christmas is weird. What other time of the year do you sit in front of a dead tree and eat candy out of your socks?"
--Unknown

"Christmas is a time when everybody wants his past forgotten and his present remembered. What I don't like about office Christmas parties is looking for a job the next day."
--Phyllis Diller

Q: Why doesn't Santa have any children??
A: He only comes once a year and that's down a chimney.


The three wise men arrived to visit the child lying in the manger. One of the wise men was exceptionally tall, and bumped his head on the low doorway as he entered the stable.

"Jesus Christ!" he shouted.

Joseph said, "Write that down, Mary; it's better than Moshe!"

 


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Sexual Night Before Christmas

'Twas the night before Christmas,
and God it was neat
The kids were both gone,
and my wife was in heat

The doors were all bolted,
and the phone off the hook
It was time for some nooky,
by hook or by crook.

Momma in her teddy,
and I in the nude,
Had just hit the bedroom
and reached for the lube

When out on the lawn
there arose such a cry,
That I lost my boner
and poor momma went dry.

Up to the window,
I sprang like an elf,
Tore back the shade
while she played with herself.

The moon on the crest
of the snowman we'd built,
Showed a broom up his ass
clean up to the hilt.

When what to my wondering
eyes should appear,
But a rusty old sleigh
and eight mangy reindeer.

With a fat little driver,
half out of his sled,
A sock in his ear,
and a bra on his head.

Sure as I'm speaking,
he was as high as a kite.
And he yelled to his team,
but it didn't sound right.

"Whoa Shithead, whoa Asshole,
whoa Stupid, whoa Putz,
Either slow down this rig,
or I'll cut off your nuts."

"Look out for the lamp post,
and don't hit the tree,
Quit shaking the sleigh,
'cause I gotta pee. "

They cleared the old lamp post,
the tree got a rub,
Just as Santa leaned out
and threw up on my shrub.

And then from the roof
we heard such a clatter,
As each little reindeer
now emptied its bladder.

I was donning my jacket
to cover my ass,
When down the chimney
Santa came with a crash.

His suit was all smelly
with perfume galore,
He looked like a bum
and he smelled like a whore.

"That was some brothel,"
he said with a smile,
"The reindeer are pooped,
I'll just stay here awhile."

He walked to the kitchen,
himself poured a drink,
Then whipped out his pecker
and pissed in the sink.

I started to laugh,
my wife smiled with glee,
The old boy was hung
nearly down to his knees.

Back in the den,
Santa reached in his sack,
But his toys were all gone,
and some new things were packed.

The first thing he found
was a pair of false tits,
The next was a handgun
with a penis that spits.

A box filled with condoms
was Santa's next find,
And a six pair of panties,
the edible kind.

A bra without nipples,
a penis extension,
And several other things
that I shouldn't even mention.

A cock ring, a G-string,
and all types of oil,
A dildo so long,
it lay in a coil.

This stuff ain't for kids,
Mrs. Santa will shit,
So I'll leave 'em here,
and then I'll just split.

He filled every stocking
and then took his leave,
With one tiny butt plug
tucked under his sleeve.

He sprang to his sleigh,
but his feet were like lead,
Thus he fell on his ass
and broke wind instead.

In time he was seated,
took the reins of his hitch,
"Take me home Rudolph,
this night's been a bitch!"

The sleigh was near gone
when we heard Santa shout,
"The best thing about sex
is that it never wears out!"
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Dogs Winter Wonderland

Dog tags ring, are you listenin'?
In the lane, snow is glistenin'.
It's yellow, NOT white,
I've been there tonight,
Marking up my winter wonderland.

Smell that tree? That's my fragrance.
It's a sign for wand'ring vagrants;
"Avoid where I pee,
It's MY pro-per-ty!
Marked up as my winter wonderland."

In the meadow dad will build a snowman,
Following the classical design.
Then I'll lift my leg and let it go man,
So all the world will know it's mine-mine-mine!

Straight from me to the fencepost,
Flows my natural incense boast;
"Stay off of my TURF,
This small piece of Earth,
I marked it as my winter wonderland.
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Important Holiday Rules of Conduct

1.About those carrot sticks. Avoid them. Anyone who puts carrots on a holiday buffet table knows nothing of the Christmas spirit. In fact, if you see carrots, leave immediately. Go next door, where they serve rum balls.

2.Drink as much eggnog as you can. And quickly. Like fine single-malt scotch, it's rare. In fact, it's even rarer than single-malt scotch. You can't find it any other time of year but now. So drink up! Who cares that it has 10,000 calories in every sip?? It's not as if you're going to turn into an eggnogaholic or something. It's a treat. Enjoy it. Have one for me. Have two. It's later than you think.

3.If something comes with gravy, use it. That's the whole point of gravy. Gravy does not stand alone. Pour it on. Make a volcano out of your mashed potatoes. Fill it with gravy. Eat the volcano. Repeat.

4.As for mashed potatoes, always ask if they're made with skim milk or whole milk. If it's skim, pass. Why bother? It's like buying a sports car with an automatic transmission.

5.Do not have a snack before going to a party in an effort to control your eating. The whole point of going to a Christmas party is to eat other people's food. Lots of it. Hellloo?

6.Under no circumstances should you exercise between now and New Year's. You can do that in January when you have nothing else to do. This is the time for long naps, which you'll need after circling the buffet table while carrying a 10-pound plate of food and that vat of eggnog.

7.If you come across something really good at a buffet table, like frosted Christmas cookies in the shape and size of Santa, position yourself near them and don't budge. Have as many as you can before becoming the center of attention. They're like a beautiful pair of shoes. You can't leave them behind. You're not going to see them again.

8.Same for pies? Apple? Pumpkin? Mincemeat. Have a slice of each. Or, if you don't like mincemeat, have two apples and one pumpkin. Always have three. When else do you get to have more than one dessert?? Labor Day?

9.Did someone mention fruitcake? Granted, it's loaded with the mandatory celebratory calories, but avoid it at all cost. I mean, have some standards.

9.And one final tip: If you don't feel terrible when you leave the party or get up from the table, you haven't been paying attention.
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On the Road to Bethlehem

Everyone knows that there is a Bethlehem in Pennsylvania but few, outside the commonwealth, know that there is also a Nazareth. The town and the city are connected by PA route 191, Nazareth Pike.

One dark drizzily night in December a man was driving PA route 191 from Nazareth to Bethlehem. Just outside Hecktown, as he was moving slowly along this country road he noticed a shape in the drizzle. As he got closer he saw that it was a man pulling a donkey and there was a woman, very pregnant, sitting on the donkey.

Having almost run over the donkey, the driver, very incensed, stopped and got out to talk to the man pulling the donkey.

"You know I almost ran over your donkey!"

"I am sorry but I have to get to Bethlehem to pay my taxes."

"Right! I guess your name is Joseph, too."

"How did you guess?"

Driver, "I'll bet you're going to tell me that that is your wife, named Mary, riding on the donkey, and that she is going to have her baby in Bethlehem."

Joseph, "Right, again."

Driver, "And when the baby comes, you are going to name him Jesus, right."

Joseph, "What do I look like, a Puerto Rican?!"
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Signs Your Wife Is Sleeping With Santa

* Instead of cookies and milk, she leaves out a fifth of Scotch and edible panties.

* Comes home with tinsel stuck between her teeth and Claus marks on her back.

* Of the 200 presents for her under the tree, you bought three of them.

* Never very adventuresome in bed, she suddenly asks if you want to do it "reindeer style."

* Her picture is prominently featured on santasbitches.com.

* Every day after work, elves block you in traffic to keep you from getting home too early.

* She's shaved her pubic hair into the shape of a little chimney.

* Tells you that you would look a lot sexier if you grew a beard and added 150 pounds.

* Every December 24th it's the same routine: She puts on a teddy and sits on the roof.

* Her ears perk up every time she hears Ho Ho Ho!
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Christmas for Patrick, Jimmy and Moishe

The teacher, Mrs. Jones, asked each of her students how they celebrated Christmas. She called first on young Patrick Murphy. "Tell me, Patrick, what do you do at Christmas time?"

Patrick addressed the class: "Me and my twelve brothers and sisters go to midnight Mass and we sing hymns. Then we come home very late and we put mince pies by the back door and hang up our stockings. Then we go to bed and wait for Father Christmas to come with all our toys."

"Very nice, Patrick," she said. "Now, Jimmy Brown, what do you do at Christmas?

"Me and my sister also go to church with Mum and Dad, and we sing carols. When we get home, we put cookies and milk by the chimney and hang up our stockings. We hardly sleep waiting for Santa Claus to bring our presents."

"That's also very nice, Jimmy," she said.

Realizing that there was a Jewish boy in the class and not wanting to leave him out of the discussion, she asked him the same question. "Now, Moishe Cohen, what do you do at Christmas?"

"Well, we also sing carols," Moishe responded.

Surprised, Mrs. Jones questioned further. "Tell us what you sing."

"Well, it's the same thing every year. Dad comes home from the office. We all pile into the Rolls Royce and drive to his toy factory. When we get inside, we look at all the empty shelves and sing, 'What a friend we have in Jesus.' Then we all go to the Bahamas."
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Odd Christmas Traditions

It is a British Christmas tradition that a wish made while mixing the Christmas pudding will come true only if the ingredients are stirred in a clockwise direction.

A traditional Christmas dinner in early England was the head of a pig prepared with mustard.

Sending red Christmas cards to anyone in Japan constitutes bad etiquette, since funeral notices there are customarily printed in red.

In Norway on Christmas Eve, all the brooms in the house are hidden because long ago it was believed that witches and mischievous spirits came out on Christmas Eve and would steal their brooms for riding.

 

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