The Christmas Joke Thread

I can only apologise for the quality of this inaugural Christmas joke...


In a small village near St Petersburg, Boris and Karla are out for a walk. As they stroll along, little specks begin to drift down from the sky.
"It's snowing!", says Karla, starting to get into the Christmas spirit.
"Don't be daft, dear,", says Boris. "it's raining."
"No, it's snow," says Karla.
"It's rain," says Boris.
They bicker like this for a while until they spot Rudolf, the village's former communist party member coming up the street towards them. Although communism has fallen, they have spent so many years getting the official version of events from Rudolf that they immediately agree to settle the argument by getting their Red friend to give them the official view.
"Rudolf", says Boris, "We were hoping you could settle an argument for us. According to your official opinion, is it raining or snowing?"
Rudolf looks up at the sky for a few moments, then announces "I can tell you that it's raining, not snowing." With this, he continues on his way.
Karla isn't terribly happy. "Didn't we get rid of communism so that we wouldn't have to get our information from jumped-up little Red men like that any more? What does he know anyway?" she asks.
"Well," replies Boris, "Rudolf the Red knows rain, dear."

HB - it's a JOKE. We don't need a critique of the damned thing. :rolleyes:

The X(mas) Files

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

Scully: Mulder, I hope you know what you are doing.

Mulder: Look, Scully, just like the other homes: Douglas fir,
truncated, mounted, transformed into some sort of shrine halls
decked with boughs of holly stockings hung by the chimney,
with care.

Scully: You really think someone's been here?

Mulder: Someone or some THING.

Scully: Mulder, over here -- it's fruitcake.

Mulder: Don't touch it! Those things can be lethal.

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

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

Scully: Who? What are you talking about?

Mulder: 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 its disbelievers with jagged chunks of
anthracite.

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

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

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

Mulder: It gorged itself, Scully. It fed without remorse.

Scully: But why would they leave it milk and cookies?

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

Scully: But if this thing does exist, how did it get in? The
doors and windows were locked. There's no sign of forced entry.

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

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

Mulder: But what if it could alter its shape, move in all directions.

Scully: You mean, like a bowl full of jelly?

Mulder: 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 strips of fur surrounding its ruddy, misshapen head. Its
bloated torso was red and white. I'll never forget the horror. I
turned away, and when I looked back it had somehow taken on the
facial features of my father.

Scully: Impossible.

Mulder: I know what I saw. And that night it read my mind. It
brought me a Mr. Potato Head, Scully. IT KNEW I WANTED A
MR. POTATO HEAD.

Scully: 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 are saying. Do you understand the
repercussions? If this gets out, they'll close the X-files.

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

Scully: But we have no proof.

Mulder: Last year, on this exact date, S.E.T.I. radio telescopes
detected bogeys in the airspace over twenty-seven states. The
White House ordered a Condition Red.

Scully: But that was a meteor shower.

Mulder: Officially. Two days ago, eight prized Scandinavian reindeer
vanished from the National Zoo in Washington, D.C. Nobody - not
even the zookeeper - 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, then the public would 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.

Scully: Mulder, I --

Mulder: Sh-h-h! Do you hear what I hear?

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

Mulder: The truth is up there. Let's see what's the matter.

John, woke up after the annual office Christmas party with a pounding headache, cotton-mouthed and utterly unable to recall the events of the preceding evening. After a trip to the bathroom, he made his way downstairs, where his wife put some coffee in front of him. "Louise," he moaned, "tell me what happened last night. Was it as bad as I think?"

"Even worse," she said, her voice oozing scorn. "You made a complete ass of yourself. You succeeded in antagonising the entire board of directors and you insulted the president of the company, right to his face."

"He's an *******," John said. "Piss on him."
"You did," came the reply. "And he fired you."
"Well, screw him!" said John.
"I did. You're back at work on Monday."

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

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!

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

Dec. 23, 1994
Northpole Standoff



A fierce battle ended in a stand-off today as a multi-jurisdictional task force of federal law enforcement agents tried to arrest the leader of a militant doomsday cult, who call themselves "Elves," living in a heavily fortified compound at the Northpole. According to witnesses, federal agents hid in livestock trailers as they drove up to the compound.
The approach was difficult in the snow using wheeled vehicles. Several agents were reportedly thrown from the trailer when it hit a snowbank. The agents were unable to use dogteams and sleds because the ATF agents shot all the dogs during training at a nearby recreational facility where agents had practiced for weeks on a mock-up of the compound in preparation for the raid.

As three National Guard helicopters approached, over 100 law officers stormed the main compound, a heavily fortified gingerbread structure, throwing concussion grenades and screaming "Come out!" Cult members and law officers negotiated a cease-fire about 45 minutes after the incident began.

For the next several hours, ambulances and helicopters swarmed the premises. The area was cordoned off and ATF agents with machine guns were posted in the roadways to keep reporters at least two miles from the main battle area.

In a lengthy report on the group Saturday, The Northpole Tribune-Herald said that the cult was known to have a large arsenal of high-powered weapons, probably produced in a workshop disguised as a "toy factory." This toy factory is also believed to be the sight of a mephamphetamine laboratory, according to sources inside the ATF.

The article quoted investigators as saying the crazed cult leader, who uses several aliases, "Santa Claus," "Saint Nick," "Sinterclaas," and "Saint Nicholas," age unknown, has abused children and claims to have at least 15 wives. Santa Claus denies these accusations of abuse and said he has had only one wife, Mrs. Santa Claus.

Authorities had a warrant to search the Northpole compound for guns and explosive devices and an arrest warrant for its leader, Santa Claus, said Mess Stanford of the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms in Washington, D.C. Mr. Stanford added it would be useless to attempt to get a copy of this warrant, however, because it had been sealed, "for national security reasons."

The assault came one day after the Northpole Tribune-Herald began publishing a series on the cult, quoting former members as saying the deranged cult leader, Santa Claus, abused children and had at least 15 wives.

ATF spokesman Jack Killchildren in Washington said the assault had been planned for several weeks, although he added, "I think the newspaper's investigation set up heightened tension." The cult's fortress, called "The Toy Factory," is dominated by a tower with lookout windows facing in all directions. Guards reportedly patrol the 77-acre grounds at night.

Attorney General Janet Reno ordered the raid after cult members refused to surrender documents relating to national security. A source inside the Justice Department said that the documents were lists of cabinet members and highly placed government officials who were naughty or nice. Despite preliminary, secret negotiations to obtain the list, the Elves refused to surrender the document to the Justice Department.

The raid was scheduled for December 23, because December 25 is believed to be a traditional cult holiday and all the militant elves would be engaged in cult rituals in preparation for the event.

At a press conference this afternoon, Attorney General Reno said, "These militants abuse children in the most vile manner, by teaching them to expect charity. They have even distributed free, working replicas of 'assault weapons' and 'handguns.' It is a matter of dire importance to our future and the future of all our children, that this peril be ended by every means at our disposal."

She went on to say that "I do not want to surround the compound and shoot everyone and then burn it to the ground in order to prevent this child abuse from occurring again, but that appears to be our only alternative."

According to Reno, the "Toy Factory" itself is a sweatshop and conditions inside were horrendous. The Department of Justice is also looking into allegations of animal cruelty. Former members of the cult have claimed that Santa Claus frequently uses leather restraints on at least eight reindeer, housed in sordid conditions on the compound. Witnesses reported seeing a reindeer with a protruding red nose, which Janet Reno said was further indication of the abusive conditions inside the compound.

Several of the elves were reported by the BATF to have been carrying automatic weapons. However, independant sources dispute this, claiming that the "automatic weapons" were nothing more than large candy canes.

ATF leader Ted Oyster, shaken after the ordeal, spoke to reporters as hundreds of agents, many of them in tears, were taken away from the Northpole in military airlifts, ambulances, and private vehicles.

"We had our plan down, we had our diversion down, and they were waiting..." Oyster said resignedly, shaking his head.

A hospital spokesman said that most of the wounded ATF agents appeared to be suffering from shrapnel wounds from broken candy canes, as well as frostbite, apparently suffered from wearing forest-green camoflage in the wintery terrain.

Attorney General Reno offered no comment on these reports.

Mack "the knife" McWarty was seen strolling across the White House lawn, chuckling to himself as he read what inside sources say was a copy of the naughty/nice list.

One highly placed government official was found dead in Marcy Park. His name and the cause of death are unknown at this time, however, the White House immediately issued a statement claiming the official had committed suicide after learning his name was not on the nice list.

Patsy Thomahawk refused to comment on the advice of her attorney on whether she had any part in removing copies of the naughty/nice list from a safe in the White House.

A spokesman from the MJTF said that it was indeed a tragedy that Santa Claus had caused this confrontation, but this should be a lesson to anyone who tries to give to everyone without permission from the welfare department, and that gathering sensitive data without a permit from official sources will be stopped by any means.

FBI spokesman Bob *****s, the former national Abortion Poster Child of 1944, relayed that "We are dealing with a madman. We have cut off all electricity, water, and communications to the compound. Santa Claus has demanded that we relay a message to the world. It reads, 'Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night.' FBI psychological experts are presently analyzing the message, however, preliminary reports indicate this is an encrypted threat to invade the neighboring towns near the Northpole. It may also be a doomsday message that the cult intends to commit suicide, like Jonestown."

Shortly after the raid, a smiling Reno was seen strolling through the pile of rubbish looking for anatomically correct Barbie dolls. She claimed that she was going to confiscate any that she found as "evidence" and that they were for a personal investigation that she was conducting.

Attorney General Reno also disclosed some information about plans to raid Mr. E. Ster Bunny sometime next spring. According to the FBI's report on Mr. Bunny, he has been hording food all year. This is in direct violation of a secret Presidential Directive. "This ingratitude for everything that we have done will stop, even if it means raiding every house in the USA to enforce these new laws that were made to insure your freedom...." Reno said.

This, boys and girls, should make us all sleep just a little bit better tonight. The government will protect us from overindulging in freedom. If they didn't step in and take control of that "naughty/nice" list, just think what shape we might be in.....

THREE PROOFS THAT JESUS WAS JEWISH
He went into his father’s business
He lived at home until he was 33
He was sure his Mother was a virgin,
and his Mother was sure he was God
>>> > >>

THREE PROOFS THAT JESUS WAS IRISH
He never got married
He was always telling stories
He loved green pastures

THREE PROOFS THAT JESUS WAS PUERTO RICAN
His first name was Jesus
He was bilingual
He was always being harassed by the authorities
>>> > >>

THREE PROOFS THAT JESUS WAS ITALIAN
He talked with his hands
He had wine with every meal
He worked in the building trades
>>> > >>

THREE PROOFS THAT JESUS WAS BLACK
He called everybody “brother”
He liked Gospel
He couldn’t get a fair trial
>>> > >>

THREE PROOFS THAT JESUS WAS A CALIFORNIAN
He never cut his hair
He walked around barefoot
He started a new religion
>>> > >>

THREE PROOFS THAT JESUS WAS A WOMAN
He had to feed a crowd, at a moments notice, when there was no food.
He kept trying to get the message across to a bunch of men who just
didn’t get it
Even when he was dead, he had to get up because there was more work for
him to do

Please accept with no obligation, implied or implicit our 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 2001, 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,
choice of computer platform, or sexual preference of the wishee.

(By accepting this greeting, you are accepting these terms. This
greeting is subject to clarification or withdrawal. It is freely
transferable with no alteration to the original greeting. It
implies no promise by the wisher to actually implement any of the
wishes for her/himself or others, and is void where prohibited by
law, and is revocable at the sole discretion of the wisher.
This wish is warranted to perform as expected within the usual
application of good tidings for a period of one year, or until
the issuance of a subsequent holiday greeting, whichever comes
first, and warranty is limited to replacement of this wish or
issuance of a new wish at the sole discretion of the wisher.)


Merry Christmas

I hate to be the one to defy sacred myth, but I believe he’s
a she.

Think about it. Christmas is a big, organized, warm, fuzzy,
nurturing, social deal, and I have a tough time believing a
guy could possibly pull it all off!

For starters, the vast majority of men don’t even think about
selecting gifts until Christmas Eve. Once at the mall, they
always seem surprised to find only Ronco products, socket
wrench sets, and mood rings left on the shelves. On this
count alone, I’m convinced Santa is a woman.

Surely, if he were a man, everyone in the universe would
wake up Christmas morning to find a rotating musical Chia
Pet under the tree, still in the bag.

Another problem for a he-Santa would be getting there.
First of all, there would be no reindeer because they would
all be dead, gutted and strapped on to the rear bumper of
the sleigh amid wide-eyed, desperate claims that buck
season had been extended. Blitzen’s rack would already
be on the way to the taxidermist.

Even if the male Santa DID have reindeer, he’d still have
transportation problems because he would inevitably get
lost up there in the snow and clouds and then refuse to
stop and ask for directions.

Other reasons why Santa can’t possibly be a man:

-Men can’t pack a bag.

-Men would rather be dead than caught wearing red velvet.

-Men would feel their masculinity is threatened... having to
be seen with all those elves.

-Men don’t answer their mail.

-Men would refuse to allow their physique to be described,
even in jest, as anything remotely resembling a “bowlful
of jelly.”

-Men aren’t interested in stockings unless somebody’s
wearing them.

-Having to do the Ho Ho Ho thing would seriously inhibit
their ability to pick up women.

-Finally, being responsible for Christmas would require a
commitment.

I can buy the fact that other mythical holiday characters are
men:

Father Time shows up once a year unshaven and looking
ominous. Definite guy.

Cupid flies around carrying weapons.

Uncle Sam is a politician who likes to point fingers.

Any one of these individuals could pass the testosterone
screening test.

But not St. Nick.

'Twas the night before Christmas when all through the house
I searched for the tools to hand to my spouse.
Instructions were studied and we were inspired,
In hopes we could manage "Some Assembly Required."
The children were quiet (not asleep) in their beds,
While Dad and I faced the evening with dread:
A kitchen, two bikes, Barbie's town house to boot!
And, thanks to Grandpa, a train with a toot!
We opened the boxes, my heart skipped a beat....
Let no parts be missing or parts incomplete!
Too late for last-minute returns or replacement;
If we can't get it right, it goes in the basement!
When what to my worrying eyes should appear,
But 50 sheets of directions, concise, but not clear,
With each part numbered and every slot named,
So if we failed, only we could be blamed.
More rapid than eagles the parts then fell out,
All over the carpet they were scattered about.
"Now bolt it! Now twist it! Attach it right there!
Slide on the seats, and staple the stair!
Hammer the shelves, and nail to the stand."
"Honey," said hubby, "you just glued my hand."
And then in a twinkling, I knew for a fact
That all the toy dealers had indeed made a pact
To keep parents busy all Christmas Eve night
With "assembly required" till morning's first light.
We spoke not a word, but kept bent at our work,
Till our eyes, they went bleary; our fingers all hurt.
The coffee went cold and the night, it wore thin
Before we attached the last rod and last pin.
Then laying the tools away in the chest,
We fell into bed for a well-deserved rest.
But I said to my husband just before I passed out,
"This will be the best Christmas, without any doubt.
Tomorrow we'll cheer, let the holiday ring,
And not have to run to the store for a thing!
We did it! We did it! The toys are all set
For the perfect, most perfect, Christmas, I bet!"
Then off to dreamland and sweet repose I gratefully went,
Though I suppose there's something to say for those self-deluded...
I'd forgotten that BATTERIES are never included!

‘Twas the Night Before Christmas: Stealth Version

‘Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the skies,
Air defenses were up, with electronic eyes.
Combat pilots were nestled in ready-room beds,
As enemy silhouettes danced in their heads.
Every jet on the apron, each SAM in its tube,
Was triply-redundant linked to the Blue Cube,

And ELINT and AWACS gave coverage so dense,
That nothing that flew could slip through our defense.
When out of the klaxon arose such a clatter,
I dashed to the screen to see what was the matter,
I dialed up the gain and then quick as a flash,
Fine-adjusted the filters to damp out the hash.

And there found the source of the warning we’d heeded,
An incoming blip, by eight escorts preceded.
“Alert status red!” went the word down the wire, as we gave every system the codes that meant “FIRE”!
On Aegis! Up Patriot, Phalanx and Hawk!
And scramble our fighters let’s send the whole flock!
Launch decoys and missiles!
Use chaff by the yard!
Get the kitchen sink up!
Call the National Guard!

They turned toward the target, moved toward it, converged,
Till the tracks on the radar all finally merged,
And the sky was lit up with a demonic light,
As the foe met his fate in the high Arctic night.
So we sent out some recon to look for debris,
Yet all that they found, both on land and on sea,
Were some toys, a red hat, a charred left leather boot,
Broken sleighbells, white hair, and a deer’s parachute.

Now it isn’t quite Christmas, with Saint Nick shot down.
There are unhappy kids in each village and town.
For the Spirit of Christmas can’t hope to evade,
All the web of defenses we’ve carefully made.
Just look how the gadgets we use to protect us,
In other ways alter, transform, and affect us.
They keep us from things that make life more worth living,
Like love for each other, and thoughts of just giving.

But a crash program’s on:
Working hard, night and day,
All the elves are constructing a radar-proof sleigh.
So let’s wait for next Christmas, in cheer and in health,
For the future has hope: Santa’s coming by stealth!

wintery if not christmassy

:eek:

> CHRISTMAS PARTY
> FROM: Patty Lewis, Human Resources Director
> TO: Everyone
> RE: Christmas Party
> DATE: December 1
>
> 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: Patty 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 which often
coincides
> with Christmas, though unfortunately not this year. However, from now
on
> we're calling it our "Holiday Party." The same policy applies to
> employees who are celebrating Kwaanza at this time. Happy now?
>
>
> FROM: Patty 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 if I 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: Patty Lewis, Human Resources Director
> DATE: December 7
> RE: Holiday Party
>
> What a diverse group 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 farthest from the dessert buffet and pregnant women
> will get the table closest to the rest rooms. Did I miss anything?
>
>
> FROM: Patty 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-worshiping" employees, but
> we'll try to accommodate your shamanic drumming circle during the
> band's breaks. Okay???
>
>
> FROM: Patty 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: Patty 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 furthest from the "grill of death,"
as
> you so quaintly put it, and you'll get your #$%^&*! salad bar,
> including hydroponic tomatoes.. But you know, they have feelings,
too.
> Tomatoes
> scream when you slice them. I've heard them scream. I'm hearing them
> scream right now!
>
>
> FROM: Teri Bishop, Acting Human Resources Director
> DATE: December 14
> RE: Patty Lewis and Holiday Party
>
> I'm sure I speak for all of us in wishing Patty 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 our Holiday Party and give everyone the afternoon of the 23rd
off
> with full pay.

Go Girl, Go girl ;)

Hi Erma,
This perfectly delightful note is being sent on paper I made myself
to tell you what I have been up to.
Since it snowed last night, I got up early and made a sled with old
barn wood and a glue gun. I handpainted it in gold leaf, got out my
loom, and made a blanket in peaches and mauves. Then to make the sled
complete, I made a white horse to pull it from DNA that I just had
sitting around in my craft room. By then, it was time to start making
the place mats and napkins for my 20 breakfast guests.

I'm serving the old standard Stewart twelve-course breakfast, but I'll
let you in on a little secret: I didn't have time to make the tables
and chairs this morning, so I used the ones I had on hand. Before I moved
the table into the dining room, I decided to add just a touch of the
holidays. So I repainted the room in pinks and stenciled gold stars on
the ceiling. Then, while the homemade bread was rising, I took antique
candle molds and made the dishes (exactly the same shade of pink) to
use for breakfast. These were made from Hungarian clay, which you can
get in almost any Hungarian craft store.

Well, I must run. I need to finish the buttonholes on the dress I'm
wearing for breakfast. I'll get out the sled and drive this note to the
post office as soon as the glue dries on the envelope I'll be making.
Hope my breakfast guests don't stay too long-I have 40,000 cranberries
to string with bay leaves before my speaking engagement at noon.

Love, Martha Stewart

P.S. When I made the ribbon for this typewriter, I used 1/8-inch gold
gauze. I soaked the gauze in a mixture of white grapes and blackberries
which I grew, picked, and crushed last week just for fun.

Response from Erma Bombeck:

Dear Martha,
I'm writing this on the back of an old shopping list, pay no attention
to the coffee and jelly stains. I'm 20 minutes late getting my daughter
up for school, packing a lunch with one hand, on the phone with the dog
pound, seems old Ruff needs bailing out, again. Burnt my arm on the
curling iron when I was trying to make those cute curly fries, how DO
they do that?

Still can't find the scissors to cut out some snowflakes, tried using
an old disposable razor . . . trashed the tablecloth. Tried that
cranberry thing, frozen cranberries mushed up after I defrosted them
in the microwave.

Oh, and don't use Fruity Pebbles as a substitute in that Rice Krispie
snowball recipe, unless you happen to like a disgusting shade that
resembles puke! The smoke alarm is going off, talk to ya later.

Love, Erma

Dear Santa,

I’ve been a good Mom all year.
I’ve fed, cleaned, and cuddled my children on demand; visited their doctor’s office more than my doctor; sold sixty-two cases of candy bars to raise money to plant a shade tree on the school playground and figured out how to attach nine patches onto my daughter’s girl scout sash with staples and a glue gun.
I was hoping you could spread my list out over several Christmases, since I had to write this letter with my daughter’s red crayon, on the back of a receipt in the laundry room between cycles, and who knows when I’ll find anymore free time in the next 18 years.

Here are my Christmas wishes:

I’d like a pair of legs that don’t ache after a day of chasing kids (in any color, except purple, which I already have) and arms that don’t flap in the breeze, but are strong enough to carry a screaming toddler out of the candy aisle in the grocery store.
I’d also like a waist, since I lost mine somewhere in the seventh month of my last pregnancy.
If you’re hauling big ticket items this year, I’d like a car with fingerprint resistant windows and a radio that only plays adult music; a television that doesn’t broadcast any programs containing talking animals, and a refrigerator with a secret compartment behind the crisper where I can hide to talk on the phone.

On the practical side, I could use a talking daughter doll that says, “Yes, Mommy” to boost my parental confidence, along with one potty-trained toddler, two kids who don’t fight, and three pairs of jeans that will zip all the way up without the use of power tools. I could also use a recording of Tibetan monks chanting, “Don’t eat in the living room” and “Take your hands off your brother”, because my voice seems to be just out of my children’s hearing range and can only be heard by the dog.

And please don’t forget the Play-Doh Travel Pak, the hottest stocking stuffer this year for mothers of preschoolers. It comes in three fluorescent colors and is guaranteed to crumble on any carpet making the In-law’s house seem just like mine. If it’s too late to find any of these products, I’d settle for enough time
to brush my teeth and comb my hair in the same morning, or the luxury of eating food warmer than room temperature without it being served in a Styrofoam container.

If you don’t mind I could also use a few Christmas miracles to brighten the holiday season. Would it be too much trouble to declare ketchup a vegetable? It will clear my conscience immensely.

It would be helpful if you could coerce my children to help around the house without demanding payment as if they were the bosses of an organized crime family; or if my toddler didn’t look so cute sneaking downstairs to eat contraband ice cream in his pajamas at midnight.

Well, Santa, the buzzer on the dryer is ringing and my daughter saw my feet under the laundry room door. I think she wants her crayon back. Have a safe trip and remember to leave your wet boots by the chimney and come in and dry off by the fire so you don’t catch cold. Help yourself to cookies on the table, but don’t eat too many or leave crumbs on the carpet.

Yours always.....Mom

PS: One more thing...you can cancel all my requests if you can keep my children young enough to believe in Santa.

Santa’s Check ride
>
> Santa Claus, like all pilots, gets regular visits from the
> Federal Aviation Administration, and it was shortly before Christmas
> when the FAA examiner arrived.
>
> In preparation, Santa had the elves wash the sled and bathe
> all the reindeer. Santa got his logbook out and made sure all his
> paperwork was in order.
>
> The examiner walked slowly around the sled. He checked the
> reindeer harnesses, the landing gear, and Rudolf’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 shoulder harness and checked the
> compass. 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.”>

From 1558 until 1829 Roman Catholics were not allowed to practice their
religion in England. Someone in this era wrote this Carol as a
catechism
song for young members of the church. Each element in the Carol has a
code
word for a religious belief that the children could remember.


The partridge in a pear tree was Jesus Christ.

Two Turtle Doves were the Old and New Testament.

Three French Hens stood for faith, hope and charity.

Four Calling Birds were the four gospels, Mathew, Mark Luke and John.

Five Golden Rings recalled the Torah, the first five books of the Old
Testament.

Six Geese a-laying stood for the six days of creation.

Seven Swans a -swimming represented the seven gifts of the Holly Spirit.

Eight Maids a-milking were the eight Beatitudes.

Nine Ladies Dancing. These are the nine truths of the Holly Spirit.
(Galatians 5:22-23 Love, Joy, Peace, Long Suffering, Kindness, Goodness,
Faithfulness, Gentleness and Self Control

Ten Lords a-leaping were the Ten Commandments.

Eleven Pipers Piping stood for the 11 faithful disciples.

Twelve Drummers Drumming symbolized the 12 points of belief in the
Apostolic Creed.

Passing through a small Southern town one evening last
December, I was impressed to see a "Nativity Scene"
that showed great skill and talent had gone into
creating it. It was so beautiful that I got out of my
car for a closer look.

One small feature did bother me, though: The three
Wise Men seemed to be wearing firemen's helmets.
Totally unable to come up with a reason or
explanation, I left, pondering.

At a "Quik Stop" on the edge of town, I asked the lady
behind the counter about the helmets. She exploded
into
a rage, yelling at me, "Y'all Yankees never do read
the Bible!" I assured her that I did, but simply
couldn't recall anything about firemen in the Bible.
She jerked her Bible from behind the counter and
ruffled through some pages, and finally jabbed her
finger at a passage. Sticking it in my face, she
announced triumphantly, "See, it says right here: The
three wise men came from afar".

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