For these books on Holiday humor, go to Amazon.com
December 14, 1994
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.
love and devotion,
December 15, 1994
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,
December 16, 1994
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.
December 17, 1994
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.
December 18, 1994
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,
December 19, 1994
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.
December 20, 1994
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.
December 21, 1994
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.
December 22, 1994
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.
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.
the police on you.
December 24, 1994
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.
December 25, 1994
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.
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.
conclusion - If Santa ever DID deliver presents on Christmas Eve, he's
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?"
thus the tradition of angels atop the Christmas trees came to pass.....
I'll make you shake like a bowl full of jelly.
the night before Christmas
night before Christmas, when all through the house
were nestled all snug in their beds
When up on
the hard drive there arose such a clatter,
on the screen, all a'flicker with snow,
With a little
print driver so lively and quick,
Format, now Rename, now Copy, and Enter!
that build up the CPU speed
in a twinkling I heard on the speaker,
I hit the
control, the alt, and delete.
how they twinkled; its pixels how merry,
its directory before my eyes
tried to read it, finally finding the FAT;
were spreading; the footers were headings;
600 meg wonder had crashed in the night;
night before Christmas and all through the house.
no fat elf, coming through my chimney.
one I know, as I'm surfing around.
As, I was
about to go check out the net.
if I didn't, then she would just leave.
the computer, was usually locked tight.
to tell me, about her whole life.
on and on, from one thing to the next.
wrote me something, that made my heart vex.
hours, my fingers were sore.
she would be on, the same time next year.
bye, and signed off...and i had to pause
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.
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!
Debbie's Famous Fruitcake
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
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.
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.
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...
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."
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
roasting on an open fire ..."
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.
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.
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.
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.
And that my friend,
is how the little angel came to be on top of the Christmas tree.
one can fracture a Christmas carol better than a kid. Sing along with
these new takes on some old favorites:
Santa answered his mail honestly...
they have no Christmas trees, instead they decorate small wooden pyramids
Christmas and Happy Chanukah to all!!!!
and ribbons just covered the floor, while
on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
to my wondering eyes should appear,
With a handful
of bills, he grinned like a fox
Dillard's, now Broadway's, now Penny's and Sears
and he whistled as he finished his work.
Then I heard
him exclaim with great holiday cheer,
night before Chreemas, on Toosday I theenk,
night before Christmas and all through the house,
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
night before Christmas in my redneck house;
went to sit on Santa's lap, and Santa asked him what he wanted for Christmas.
night before Christmas, and we, being Jews,
night before Christmas
Drunk's Night Before Christmas
to my bloodshot eyes should I see,
nearer those eight reindeer came,
on the roof, and get off this wall,
to my ears like the roll of a barrel,
He was both
plump and chubby, and tried to stand right,
his thumb to the end of his nose,
But I heard
him call back as he passed out of sight, "
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..."
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...."
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.
she chuckled, "I used to work in the maternity unit."
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.
- 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.
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,
Fowl-Americans producing stolen non-human animal products,
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)*
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.
I nibbled, the eggnog I tasted
When I got
on the scales there arose such a number!
the marvelous meals I'd prepared;
and the rum balls, the bread and the cheese
As I dressed
myself in my husband's old shirt
I said to
myself, as I only can
with the last of the sour cream dip,
bit of food that I like must be banished
have a cookie--not even a lick.
have hot biscuits, or corn bread, or pie,
I'm lonesome, and life is a bore---
giggle, no longer a riot.
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.
"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?"
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."
says the little girl. "She comes with G.I. Joe; she fakes it with
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.
"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."
grabbed his guitar and they both sang.....
is weird. What other time of the year do you sit in front of a dead tree
and eat candy out of your socks?"
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."
Q: Why doesn't
Santa have any children??
"Jesus Christ!" he shouted.
"Write that down, Mary; it's better than Moshe!"
night before Christmas,
were all bolted,
on the lawn
Up to the
on the crest
to my wondering
With a fat
Sure as I'm
Shithead, whoa Asshole,
out for the lamp post,
the old lamp post,
from the roof
I was donning
was all smelly
was some brothel,"
to the kitchen,
Back in the
thing he found
A box filled
A bra without
A cock ring,
ain't for kids,
to his sleigh,
In time he
was near gone
ring, are you listenin'?
tree? That's my fragrance.
In the meadow
dad will build a snowman,
from me to the fencepost,
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.
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.
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."
do I look like, a Puerto Rican?!"
* 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!
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?"
"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."
also very nice, Jimmy," she said.
"Well, we also sing carols," Moishe responded.
Surprised, Mrs. Jones questioned further. "Tell us what you sing."
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."
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.
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.