CHRISTMAS FUNNIES

[pojack]

Santa’s Bad Day

One particular Christmas season a long time ago, Santa was getting ready
for is 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. So, frustrated, Santa went into the house for a cup of apple cider and a shot of rum.
When he went to the cupboard, he discovered that the elves had hidden the
liquor, and there was nothing to drink. In his frustration, he accidentally
dropped the cider 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 end of the broom.Just then the doorbell rang, and irritable Santa trudged to the door. He opened the door, and there was a little angel with a great Christmas tree.

The angel said, very cheerfully, “Merry Christmas, Santa. Isn’t it a lovely
day? I have a beautiful tree for you. Where would you like me to stick it?”
Thus began the tradition of the little angel on top of the Christmas
tree.

[pojack]

Tragedy begets comedy

Three men die in a car accident Christmas Eve. They all find themselves at
the pearly gates waiting to enter Heaven. On entering they must present
something “Christmassy”.

The first man searches his pocket, and finds some Mistletoe, so he is
allowed in.

The second man presents a cracker, so he is also allowed in.

The third man pulls out a pair of panties.
Confused at this last gesture, St. Peter asks, “How do these represent
Christmas?”
The third man answered “They’re Carol’s.”

[pojack]

Press Release: Christmas Downsizing

Today’s global challenges require the North Pole to continue to look for
better, more competitive steps. Effective immediately, the following economy
measures are to take place in the “Twelve Days of Christmas” subsidiary:

1. The partridge will be retained, but the pear tree never turned out to be the cash crop forecasted. It will be replaced by a plastic hanging plant, providing considerable savings in maintenance.
2. The two turtle doves represent a redundancy that is simply not cost
   effective. In addition, their romance during working hours could not be condoned. The positions are therefore eliminated.
3. The three French hens will remain intact. After all, everyone loves the
   French.
4. The four calling birds were replaced by an automated voice mail system, with a call waiting option. An analysis is underway to determine who the birds have been calling, how often and how long they talked.
5. The five golden rings have been put on hold by the Board of Directors. Maintaining a portfolio based on one commodity could have negative implications for institutional investors. Diversification into other precious metals as well as a mix of T-Bills and high technology stocks appear to be in order.
6. The six geese-a-laying constitutes a luxury which can no longer be
   afforded. It has long been felt that the production rate of one egg per goose per day is an example of the decline in productivity. Three geese will be let go, and an upgrading in the selection procedure by personnel will assure
   management that from now on every goose it gets will be a good one.
7. The seven swans-a-swimming is obviously a number chosen in better times. Their function is primarily decorative. Mechanical swans are on order. The current swans will be retrained to learn some new strokes and therefore enhance their outplacement.
8. As you know, the eight maids-a-milking concept has been under heavy
   scrutiny by the EEOC. A male/female balance in the workforce is being sought. The more militant maids consider this a dead-end job with no upward mobility. Automation of the process may permit the maids to try a-mending, a-mentoring or a-mulching.
9. Nine ladies dancing has always been an odd number. This function will be phased out as these individuals grow older and can no longer do the steps.
10. Ten Lords-a-leaping is overkill. The high cost of Lords plus the expense of international air travel prompted the Compensation Committee to suggest replacing this group with ten out-of-work congressmen. While leaping ability may be somewhat sacrificed, the savings are significant because we expect an oversupply of unemployed congressmen this year.
11. Eleven pipers piping and twelve drummers drumming is a simple case of the band getting too big. A substitution with a string quartet, a cut back on new music and no uniforms will produce savings which will drop right down to the bottom line.
12. We can expect a substantial reduction in assorted people, fowl, animals and other expenses. Though incomplete, studies indicate that stretching deliveries over twelve days is inefficient. If we can drop ship in one day, service levels will be improved.

Regarding the lawsuit filed by the attorney’s association seeking expansion
to include the legal profession (”thirteen lawyers-a-suing”), action is
pending.

Lastly, it is not beyond consideration that deeper cuts may be necessary in
the future to stay competitive. Should that happen, the Board will request
management to scrutinize the Snow White Division to see if seven dwarfs is the right number.

[pojack]

Walking in a Doggie Wonderland

Dogs tags ring, are you listening?
In the lane, snow is glistening
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 property!
Marked up as my winter wonderland."

In the meadow dad will build a snowman,
Following the classic 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 my turf, this small piece of earth,
I mark it as my winter wonderland."

[pojack]

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?

[pojack]

A Christmas Recipe

.... a drink to help you get through the family gatherings:

1 quart apple cider
5 apples
cinnamon
3 oranges
4 cloves
1 bottle Jim Beam

Give the cider, apples, cinnamon, oranges, and cloves to the children to keep them occupied. Drink the Jim Beam straight from the bottle. Guaranteed holiday cheer for all!

[pojack]

Xmas shopping

Late last week, I was rushing around trying to get some last minute shopping done.

I was stressed out and not thinking very fondly of the Christmas season right then. It was dark, cold, and wet in the parking lot as I was loading my car up with gifts that I felt obligated to buy. I noticed that I was missing a receipt that I might need later. So mumbling under my breath, I retraced my steps to the mall entrance.

As I was searching the wet pavement for the lost receipt, I heard a quiet sobbing. The crying was coming from a poorly dressed boy of about 12 years old.

He was short and thin. He had no coat. He was just wearing a ragged flannel shirt to protect him from the cold night's chill.

Oddly enough, he was holding a hundred dollar bill in his hand. Thinking that he had gotten lost from his parents, I asked him what was wrong. He told me his sad story. He said that he came from a large family. He had three brothers and four sisters. His father had died when he was nine years old. His mother was poorly educated and worked two full time jobs. She made very little to support her large family.

Nevertheless, she had managed to skimp and save two hundred dollars to buy her children Christmas presents. The young boy had been dropped off, by his mother, on the way to her second job. He was to use the money to buy presents for all his siblings and save just enough to take the bus home. He had not even entered the mall, when an older boy grabbed one of the hundred dollar bills and disappeared into the night.

"Why didn't you scream for help?" I asked.

The boy said, "I did."

"And nobody came to help you?" I wondered.

The boy stared at the sidewalk and sadly shook his head.

"How loud did you scream?" I inquired.

The soft-spoken boy looked up and meekly whispered, "Help me!"

I realized that absolutely no one could have heard that poor boy cry for help. So I grabbed his other hundred and ran to my car.

[pojack]

LEGAL SEASON'S GREETINGS, LEGALLY REVISED

Please accept with no obligation, implied or implicit, my best wishes for an environmentally conscious, socially responsible, low-stress, non-addictive, gender-neutral celebration of the winter solstice holiday, practiced within the most enjoyable traditions of the religious persuasion of your choice, or secular practices of your choice, with respect for the religious/secular persuasions and/or traditions of others, or their choice not to practice religious or secular traditions at all...

and a fiscally successful, personally fulfilling, and medically uncomplicated recognition of the onset of the generally accepted calendar year 2004, but not without due respect for the calendars of choice of other cultures whose contributions to society have helped make America great (not to imply that America is necessarily greater than any other country or is the only "America" in the Western hemisphere), and without regard to the race, creed, color, age, physical ability, religious faith, or sexual orientation of the wishee.

This wish is limited to the customary and usual good tidings for a period of one year, or until the issuance of a subsequent holiday greeting, whichever comes first. "Holiday" is not intended to, nor shall it be considered, limited to the usual Judeo-Christian celebrations or observances, or to such activities of any organized or ad hoc religious community, group, individual, or belief (or lack thereof).

Note: By accepting this greeting, you are accepting these terms. This greeting is subject to clarification or withdrawal and is revocable at the sole discretion of the wisher at any time, for any reason or for no reason at all. This greeting is freely transferable with no alteration to the original greeting. This greeting implies no promise by the wisher to actually implement any of the wishes for the wishee her/himself or others, or responsibility for the consequences which may arise from the implementation or non-implementation of same. This greeting is void where prohibited by law.

[pojack]

CHRISTMAS PARROT

A few days before Christmas, a man enters a pet store looking for a unique gift for his wife. The store manager tells him he has just what he's looking for! A beautiful parrot named Chet that sings Christmas carols.

He brings the husband over to a colorful but quiet bird. The man agrees that Chet certainly is pretty, but he doesn't seem to be much for singing.

The manager tells him to watch as he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a lighter. The manager then clicks the lighter and holds it under Chet's left foot. Immediately, Chet starts singing; "Silent Night, Holy Night."

The husband is very impressed with Chet's singing abilities and watches as the manager moves the lighter underneath Chet's right foot. Chet now starts to sing "Jingle Bells, Jingle All the Way." The husband says Chet is perfect and that he'll take him. The husband rushes home to his wife and insists upon giving her this wonderful gift immediately.

He presents Chet and starts to explain the parrot's special talent. Demonstrating, he holds a lighter under Chet's left foot and the bird sings "Silent Night." He then moves the lighter under the right foot and Chet lets loose a round of "Jingle Bells." The wife is absolutely impressed, and with a mischievous grin asks her husband what happens if he holds the lighter between Chet's legs instead. Curious, the husband moves the lighter between the bird's legs, and the bird begins to sing..."Chet's Nuts Roasting on an Open Fire!"

[pojack]

SCROOGE?

If your only contact with three spirits on Christmas Eve is gin, vodka and bourbon - you just might be a Scrooge

If you turn on the lawn sprinklers on Christmas Eve to keep carolers away - you just might be a Scrooge

If you buy all of your Christmas gifts at a store that also sells gas - you just might be a Scrooge

If your favorite version of "Babes in Toyland" stars Michael Jackson - you just might be a Scrooge

If you get your Christmas Tree at a rest stop at night - you just might be a Scrooge

If your idea of Christmas dinner is a six pack of beer and a cheese log - you just might be a Scrooge

If you think "Ho, Ho, Ho" is a line from a Rocky movie - you just might be a Scrooge

If your only holiday decoration is a rotting pumpkin - you just might be a Scrooge

[pojack]

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. 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 31 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.

7p.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."

7:30p.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.

8:00p.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."

8:30p.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.

10:00p.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 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 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 B*tch out of my house. " Sounds fine to me.

[pojack]

12 DAYS OF A CAJUN CHRISTMAS

Down in da Louisiana Bayou....

Day 1

Dear Emile,

Thanks for da bird in the Pear tree. I fixed it las night with dirty rice an' it was delicious. I doan tink the Pear tree would grow in de swamp, so I swapped it for a Satsuma.

Day 2

Dear Emile,

Your letter said you sent 2 turtle dove, but all I got was 2 scrawny pigeon. Anyway, I mixed them with andouille and made some gumbo out of dem.

Day 3

Dear Emile,

Why doan you sen me some crawfish? I'm tired of eating dem darned bird. I gave two of those prissy French chicken to Mrs. Fontenot over at Grand Chenier, and fed the tird one to my dog, Phideaux. Mrs. Fontenot needed some sparring partners for her fighting rooster.

Day 4

Dear Emile,

Mon Dieu! I tole you no more of dem bird. Deez four, what you call "calling bird" wuz so noisy you could hear dem all da way to Lafayette. I used they necks for my crab traps, and fed the rest of dem to the gators.

Day 5

Dear Emile,

You finally sent something useful. I liked dem golden rings, me. I hocked dem at da pawn shop in Sulphur and got enough money to fix the shaft on my shrimp boat, and to buy a round for da boys at the Raisin' Cane Lounge. Merci Beaucoup!

Day 6

Dear Emile,

Couchon! Back to da birds, you coonass turkey! Poor egg sucking Phideaux is scared to death ah dem six goose. He try to eat they eggs and they pecked the heck out ah his snout. Dem goose are damm good at eating cockroach around da' house, though. I may stuff one ah dem goose with erster dressing to serve him on Christmas Day.

Day 7

Dear Emile,

I'm gonna wring your fool neck next time I see you. Ole Boudreaux, da mailman, is ready to kill you, too. The crap from all dem bird is stinkin up his mailboat. He afraid someone will slip on dat stuff and gonna sue him. I let dem seven swan loose to swim on da bayou and some stupid duck hunter from Mississippi done blasted dem out da water. Talk to you tomorrow.

Day 8

Dear Emile,

Poor ole Boudreaux had to make 3 trips on his mailboat to deliver dem 8 maids-a-milking & der cows. One of dem cows got spooked by da alligators and almost tipped over da boat. I doan like dem shiftless maids, me. I told dem to get to work gutting fish and sweeping my shack--but dey say it wasn't in their contract. They probably tink they too good to skin all dem nutria I caught las night.

Day 9

Dear Emile,

What you trying to do? Boudreaux had to borrow da Cameron Ferry to carry these jumping twits you call lords-a-leaping across da bayou. As soon as dey got here dey wanted a tea break and crumpets. I doan know what dat means but I says, "Well la di da. You get chicory coffee or nuthin." Mon Dieu, Emile, what I'm gonna feed all these bozos? They too snooty for fried nutria, and da cow ate up all my turnip green.

Day 10

Dear Emile,

You got to be out of you mind. If da mailman don't kill you, I will. Today he deliver 10 half nekkid floozies from Bourbon Street. Dey said they be "ladies dancing" but they doan act like ladies in front of dem Limey sailing boys. Dey almost left after one of them got bit by a water moccasin over by my outhouse. I had to butcher 2 cows to feed tout le monde and get toilette paper rolls. The Sears catalog wasn't good enough for dem hoity toity lords. Talk at you tomorrow.

Day 11

Dear Emile,

Where Y'at? Cheerio and pip pip. You 11 Pipers Piping arrived today from the House of Blues, second lining as dey got off da boat. We fixed stuffed goose and beef jambalaya, finished da whiskey, and we're having a fais-do-do. Da new mailman drank a bottle of Jack Daniel, and he's having a good old time dancing with the floozies. Da old mailman done jump off the Moss Bluff Bridge yesterday, screaming you name. If you happen to get a mysterious looking, ticking package in da mail, don't open it.

Day 12

Dear Emile,

Me I'm sorry to tell you--but I am not your true love anymore. After de fais-do-do, I spent da night with Jacque, the head piper. We decide to open a restaurant and gentlemen's club on the bayou. The floozies--pardon me--ladies dancing can make $20 for table dance, and da lords can be de waiters and valet park da boats. Since da maids got no more cows to milk, I trained dem to set my crab traps, watch my trotlines, and run my shrimping business. We probably gross a million dollar next year.

Joyeux Noel et Bonne Annee!