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Sick of the Holidays
Signs You're Sick of the Holidays
8. You've got red and green bags under your eyes
7. You're serving reindeer pot pie
6. When you hear, "Sleigh bells ring, are you listenin'?," you scream, "No! I'm
not listening!"
5. You climb on your roof and start shooting carolers with your air gun
4. You think you hear your Christmas tree taunting you.
3. Instead of spending time with family, you're watching some guy make photo
copies
2. You've got eggnog coming out of your ears
1. Two words: tinsel rash
The Christmas diet song
'Twas the night before Christmas and all round my hips were Fannie
May candies that sneaked past my lips. Fudge brownies were stored in the freezer
with care in hopes that my thighs would forget they were there.
While Mama in her girdle and I in chin straps had just settled down to
sugar-borne naps. When out in the pantry there arose such a clatter I sprang
from my bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the kitchen I flew like a flash tore open the icebox then threw up the
sash. The marshmallow look of the new-fallen snow sent thoughts of a binge to my
body below.
When what to my wandering eyes should appear: a marzipan Santa with eight
chocolate reindeer! That huge chunk of candy so luscious and slick I knew in a
second that I'd wind up sick.
The sweet-coated Santa, those sugared reindeer I closed my eyes tightly but
still I could hear; On Pritzker, on Stillman, on weak one, on TOPS a Weight
Watcher dropout from sugar detox.
From the top of the scales to the top of the hall now dash away pounds now dash
away all. Dressed up in Lane Bryant from my head to nightdress my clothes were
all bulging from too much excess.
My droll little mouth and my round little belly they shook when I laughed like a
bowl full of jelly. I spoke not a word but went straight to my work ate all of
the candy then turned with a jerk.
And laying a finger beside my heartburn I gave a quick nod toward the bedroom I
turned. I eased into bed, to the heavens I cry if temptation's removed I'll get
thin by and by.
And I mumbled again as I turned for the night in the morning I'll starve . . .
'til I take that first bite.
The Police Officer's Christmas
Twas the night before Christmas
and throughout the substation,
Not a deputy stirred,
they were all on vacation.
The stockings were hung
on the wall with great care,
Next to some T-shirts
and old underwear.
I was working the night shift
compiling stats,
Answering the phone,
and feeding the rat.
When all of a sudden
there arose such a clatter,
I leapt from my desk
to see what was the matter!
I opened the door
with a creak and a crick,
And saw a jolly red fat man
I knew must be St. Nick.
I had seen his picture
a time or two,
He was wanted:
Article 27 - Section 342.
I threw open the door
and commanded him "Freeze!"
"Put your hands on you head
and get down on your knees."
But he turned and he ran,
up the chimney he flew,
With me in pursuit,
toward Booth St. I knew.
When we got to the roof
Santa made for his sleigh,
Throwing down toys
and blocking my way.
As I got to the peak,
he threw down some crack,
I slipped and I fell
landing flat on my back.
To my front I was faced
with a toy M-1 tank,
And Pink Power Rangers
covering my flank.
"On Dasher, on Dancer!",
he cried loud and clear.
Then I got off three rounds
and dropped the lead deer.
And I heard Santa say
as he sailed into the blue,
"Merry Christmas to all!
My Lawyers will sue!"
I want to see something really
cheap
After being away on business for a week before Christmas, Tom thought
it would be nice to bring his wife a little gift.
"How about some perfume?" he asked the cosmetics clerk. She showed him a bottle
costing $50.
"That's a bit much," said Tom, so she returned with a smaller bottle for $30.
"Thats still quite a bit," Tom groused.
Growing disgusted, the clerk brought out a tiny $15 bottle.
Tom grew agitated, "What I mean," he said, "is I'd like to see something real
cheap."
So the clerk handed him a mirror.
The FAA Inspection
With the number of airline disasters lately, the FAA now sends an
inspector to the North Pole to check out Santa Claus's sleigh before allowing
him to fly on Christmas eve.
The inspector arrives and checks the reindeer and they look good, he checks the
harness and it looks okay, he checks the sleigh and it is also okay. Then he
says, "Santa, lets take it up for a check ride and if everything looks good I'll
certify you to fly."
Santa hitches the reindeer up and taxis onto the runway and just as he's
starting his takeoff roll he looks over and notices the inspector has a pump
shotgun on his lap. "Hey! Whats the shotgun for!?" Santa yells.
The inspector says, "Well, Santa, I'm really not supposed to tell you this, but
there is going to be an engine failure on takeoff."
The politically correct
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,
(NOTE: after members of the Animal Liberation Front threatened to throw red
paint at my computer, the calling birds, French hens and partridge have been
reintroduced to their native habitat. To avoid further Animal-American
enslavement, the remaining gift package has been revised.)
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.
Rating your Christmas parties
If you threw a party, the worst thing you could have done was throw
the kind of party where your guests, the next day, call you up to say they had a
nice time. Now you'll be expected to throw another great party next year.
What you should have done was throw the kind of party where your guests wake up
several days from now and call their lawyers to find out if they've been
indicted for anything. You want your guests to be so anxious to avoid a
recurrence of your party that they immediately start planning parties of their
own, a year in advance, just to prevent you from having another one.
So next time, make sure your party reaches the correct Festivity Level:
Festivity Level One:
Your guests are chatting amiably with each other, admiring your Christmas-tree
ornaments, singing carols around the upright piano, sipping at their drinks and
nibbling at hors d'oeuvres.
Festivity Level Two:
Your guests are talking loudly--sometimes to each other and sometimes to nobody
at all, rearranging your Christmas-tree ornaments, singing "I Gotta Be Me"
around the upright piano, gulping their drinks and wolfing down hors d'oeuvres.
Festivity Level Three:
Your guests are arguing violently with inanimate objects, singing "I Can't Get
No Satisfaction," gulping other people's drinks, wolfing down Christmas-tree
ornaments, and placing hors d'oeuvres in the upright piano to see what happens
when the little hammers strike them.
(You want to keep your party somewhere around Level Three, unless you rent your
home and own firearms, in which case you can go to Level Four.)
Festivity Level Four:
Your guests have hors d'oeuvres smeared all over their bodies, are performing a
ritual dance around the burning Christmas tree, and have consumed all ten
gallons of alcohol at the party. The piano is missing.
The best way to get to Level Four is eggnog. To make eggnog, you'll need rum,
whiskey, wine, gin and, if they are in season, eggs. Combine all ingredients in
a large, festive bowl. If you use enough alcohol you won't have to worry about
them getting salmonella poisoning--their alcohol toxicity level will eliminate
that possibility. Then induce your guests to drink this potent mixture.
If your party is successful, the police will knock on your door. If your party
is very successful, the police will then lob tear gas through your living-room
window. As host, your job is to make sure they don't arrest anybody. Or, if
they're dead set on arresting someone, your job is to make sure it isn't you.
The best way to do this is to show a lot of respect for their uniforms and
assure them you're not doing anything illegal. Here's how to handle it:
Police: "Good evening. Are you the host?"
You: "No."
Police: "We've been getting complaints about this party."
You: "About the drugs?"
Police: "No."
You: "About the guns, then? Is somebody complaining about the guns?"
Police: "No, the noise."
You: "Oh, the noise. Well, that makes sense, because there are no guns or drugs
here. (An enormous explosion is heard in the background.) Or fireworks. Who's
complaining about the noise? The neighbors?"
Police: "No, the neighbors fled inland hours ago. Most of the recent complaints
have come from several miles away. Do you think you could ask the host to quiet
things down?"
You: "No problem. (At this point, a Volkswagen bug with primitive religious
symbols drawn on the doors emerges from the living room and roars down the hall,
past the police and out the front door onto the lawn, where it smashes into a
tree. Eight guests tumble out onto the grass, moaning.) See? Things are starting
to wind down."
The Twelve Days of Windows 95
On the 1st day of Christmas, my true love gave to me . . .
Windows 95 for my PC
On the 2nd day of Christmas, my true love gave to me . . .
2 GPFs
and Windows 95 for my PC
On the 3rd day of Christmas, my true love gave to me . . .
3 ports not responding
2 GPFs
and Windows 95 for my PC
On the 4th day of Christmas, my true love gave to me . . .
4 sectors bad
3 ports not responding
2 GPFs
and Windows 95 for my PC
On the 5th day of Christmas, my true love gave to me . . .
5 eighty six
4 sectors bad
3 ports not responding
2 GPFs
and Windows 95 for my PC
On the 6th day of Christmas, my true love gave to me . . .
6 ints conflictin'
5 eighty six
4 sectors bad
3 ports not responding
2 GPFs
and Windows 95 for my PC
On the 7th day of Christmas, my true love gave to me . . .
7 files missin'
6 ints conflictin'
5 eighty six
4 sectors bad
3 ports not responding
2 GPFs
and Windows 95 for my PC
On the 8th day of Christmas, my true love gave to me . . .
8 Megs overflowin'
7 files missin'
6 ints conflictin'
5 eighty six
4 sectors bad
3 ports not responding
2 GPFs
and Windows 95 for my PC
On the 9th day of Christmas, my true love gave to me . . .
9 apps a crashin'
8 megs overflowin'
7 files missin'
6 ints conflictin'
5 eighty six
4 sectors bad
3 ports not responding
2 GPFs
and Windows 95 for my PC
On the 10th day of Christmas, my true love gave to me . . .
10 modes not supported
9 apps a crashin'
8 Megs overflowin'
7 files missin'
6 ints conflictin'
5 eighty six
4 sectors bad
3 ports not responding
2 GPFs
and Windows 95 for my PC
On the 11th day of Christmas, my true love gave to me . . .
11 instructions faulty
10 modes not supported
9 apps a crashin'
8 Megs overflowin'
7 files missin'
6 ints conflictin'
5 eighty six
4 sectors bad
3 ports not responding
2 GPFs
and Windows 95 for my PC
On the 12th day of Christmas, my true love gave to me . . .
12 illegal operations
11 instructions faulty
10 modes not supported
9 apps a crashin'
8 Megs overflowin'
7 files missin'
6 ints conflictin'
5 eighty six
4 sectors bad
3 ports not responding
2 GPFs
and Windows 95 for my PC
The Australian Christmas
Here comes Santa Claus, here comes Santa Claus,
Sweating his fat away
Here comes Santa Claus, here comes Santa Claus,
Water-skis on his sleigh
Never have a white Christmas
When you in Melbourne live
Wearing hot pants on the beach
When you your presents give
Here comes Santa Claus, here comes Santa Claus,
Sweating his fat away
Here comes Santa Claus, here comes Santa Claus,
Water-skis on his sleigh
Chestnuts roasting on the sidewalk
Castles in the sand
Eating ice-cream, having good talks
Warm Christmas, isn't that grand?
The Shopping Criminal
It was Christmas and the judge was in a merry mood as he asked the
prisoner,"What are you charged with?"
"Doing my Christmas shopping early", replied the defendant.
"That's no offense", said the judge. "How early were you doing this shopping?"
"Before the store opened."
You Need to Join the Lord's Army
Jack was in front of me coming out of church one day, and the
preacher was standing at the door as he always is to shake hands. The preacher
grabbed Jack by the hand and pulled him aside.
The Pastor said to him, 'You need to join the Army of the Lord!'
Jack replied, 'I'm already in the Army of the Lord, Pastor.'
Pastor questioned, 'How come I don't see you except at Christmas and Easter?'
He whispered back, 'I'm in the secret service.'
The Chinese Pay Off Their Debts
Jones: "The chinese make it an invariable rule to settle all their debts on New
Year's Day."
Smith: "So I understand, but, then again, the Chinese don't have a Christmas the
week before!"
Billy Gates writes to Santa
Dear Santa,
How are you doing? I hope you've had a successful year and have come up with a
lot of interesting toys. It's really neat how you're able to do that year after
year. I guess that's how you stay number one in the Christmas presents business
business.
Actually, I admire the way you run Christmas. You really have a handle on it.
You find out what people want (with letters like this and having kids tell you
in person), and then you make the presents and control how they are delivered.
It's an impressive operation.
I also like how you've got it to where when somebody says "Christmas presents,"
people automatically think Santa Claus. What a marketing advantage. Best of all,
even though you're a huge success, people still don't know much about your
private life. It's just rumors. That's so neat.
I think being at the North Pole helps. That was a good move. For example, when
you're designing toys, only your elves know what you're doing, and you're way up
there where nobody can spy on you and steal your ideas. And even if they do, you
can always just let it out that you're making the same stuff to bring to people
for free, so why would they buy the other guy's stuff?
Also, other people who make Christmas presents can't deliver them like you can.
Yours is the only sleigh on the distribution highway. You must get some great
discounts from them, because if they don't play ball you can just refuse to give
out their presents. Very Sharp.
What I don't get is why you give away stuff. That's the dumbest idea I've ever
heard. I admit, its why you're number one- who could compete with a deal like
that? But it must make it hard to stay in business, especially when you have to
visit every kid in the world. You have to keep growing or fail.
Here's an idea on how you can help finance your operation: Give everybody at
least one present at Christmas, then you could make batteries and sell them the
rest of the year. It would create a demand: You give people something and then
sell them what they need to make it work.
Another thing, about you coming down the chimney. That's so slow and
inefficient. And what about all the people who don't have chimneys? Santa. I
have one word for you--windows. Everybody has windows.
That's about all I have to say. You're probably wondering if I was good or bad
this year, but I don't really like to talk about my personal life, if that's
O.K. (Just out of curiosity: When you were a boy, did any of the other kids call
you a nerd?) Anyway, I don't really have anything to ask for. Mostly I think up
something to play with and then build it myself. I guess I'm sort of like you--I
make my own toys.
Best of luck,
Billy Gates
What is a stable?
Every Christmas morning, when my kids were little, I read them the
nativity story out of the big family bible.
When my son was old enough to talk, he asked me what a stable was.
I thought for a moment how to explain it to him in terms he could understand,
then told him, "It's something like your sister's room, but without a stereo."
Italian Night Before Christmas
Twas the night before Christmas,
Da whole house was mella,
Not a creature was stirrin',
Cuz I had a gun unda da pilla.
When up on da roof
I heard somethin' pound,
I sprung to da window,
To scream, "YO! Keep it down!"
When what to my
Wanderin' eyes should appear,
But da Don of all elfs,
And eight friggin' reindeer!
Wit' slicked back black hair,
And a silk red suit,
don Christopher wuz here,
And he brought da loot!
Wit' a slap to dare snouts,
And a yank on dare manes,
He cursed and he shouted,
And he called dem by name.
"Yo Tony, Yo Frankie,
Yo Vinny, Yo Vito,
Ay Joey, Ay Paulie,
Ay Pepe, Ay Guido!"
As I drew out my gun
And hid by da bed,
He flew troo da winda
And slapped me 'side da head.
"What da heck you doin'
Pullin' a gun on da Don?
Now all you're gettin' is coal,
You friggin' moron!"
Den pointin' a fat finga
Right unda my nose,
He twisted his pinky ring,
And up da chimney he rose.
He sprang to his sleigh,
Obscenities screamin',
Away dey all flew,
Before he troo dem a beatin'.
Den I heard him yell out,
What I did least expect,
"Merry Friggin' Christmas to all,
And yous better show some respect!"