Christmas Sampler

"Santa’s Lap"

As a little girl climbed onto Santa’s lap, Santa asked the usual, "And what would you like for Christmas ?"

The child stared at him open mouthed and horrified for a minute, then gasped: "Didn’t you get my E-mail?"

"Christmas Pageant"

Two daughters had been given parts in a Christmas pageant at their Church. At dinner that night, they got into an argument as to who had the most important role.

Finally the 14 year old said to her 8 year old younger sister, "Well, you just ask Mom. She’ll tell you it’s much harder to be a virgin than it is to be an angel."

"The Nativity Scene"

A 7-year old child was drawing a picture of the Nativity. The picture was very good, including Mary, Joseph and, of course, baby Jesus.

However, there was a fat man standing in the corner of the stable, that just did not seem to fit in. When the child was asked about it, she replied, "Oh, That’s Round John Virgin."

"The Lost Purse"

A lady lost her handbag in the bustle of Christmas shopping. It was found by an honest little boy and returned to her. Looking in her purse, she commented, "Hmmm…. That’s funny. When I lost my bag there was a $20 bill in it. Now there are twenty $1 bills."

The boy quickly replied, "That’s right, lady. The last time I found a lady’s purse, she didn’t have any change for a reward."

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How Santa Wishes He Could Answer Letters

Santa List

Dear Santa,

I wud like a kool toy space ranjur for Xmas. Iv ben a good boy all yeer.


Dear Billy,
Nice spelling. You’re on your way to being a career lawncare specialist.

How ’bout I send you a fucking book so you can learn to read and write? I’m giving your older brother the space ranger, at least HE can spell!


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

Dear Sarah,
You’re parents smoked pot when they had you, didn’t they?

Dear Santa,
I’ve written you for three years now asking for a fire truck. Please, I really really want a fire truck this year!

Dear Joey,
Let me make it up to you. While you sleep, I’m gonna torch your house. You’ll have more fire trucks than you’ll know what to do with.

Dear Santa,
Can you please get my parents back together. Please see what you can do.

Dear Teddy,
What, and ruin that hot affair your dad’s still having with the babysitter? He’s banging her like a screen door in a hurricane, son! Let me get you some nice Legos instead.

Dear Santa,
I need more Pokemon cards please! All my friends have more Pokemon cards than me. Please see what you can do.

Dear Michelle,
It blows my fucking mind. Kids are forcing their parents to buy hundreds of dollars worth of these stupid cards, and none of you snot-nosed brats are even learning to play the game. Let me get you something more your speed, like "Chutes and Ladders."

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

Dear Francis,
Who names their kid "Francis" nowadays?

Dear Santa,
I left milk and cookies for you under the tree, and I left carrots for your reindeer outside the backdoor.

Dear Susan,
Milk gives me the shits and carrots make the deer fart in my face. You want to be a kiss-ass? Leave me a glass of Chivas Regal and some Toblerone.

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

Dear Thomas,
All toys get made in China. I have a condo in Vegas, where I spend most my time squeezing cocktail waitresses asses, and losing all my cash at the craps table. Hey, YOU wanted to know!

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

Dear Jessica,
You are that gullible? Good luck in whatever you do, I’m skipping your house…

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

That whiney begging shit may work with your folks, but that crap don’t work up here. You’re getting a sweater again.

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

Firstly, stop calling yourself "Marky," that’s why you’re getting your ass whipped at school. Secondly, you don’t live in a house, that’s a low-rent apartment complex you’re living in. Thirdly, I get inside your pad just like all the burglars do, through your bedroom window.
Sweet Dreams!

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Dear Santa from Billy Gates

Author Unknown

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

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English Xmas Kitties

Stacy Mineart

Today was yet another day in that inevitable annual melee we call christmas preparation. The rarity of Sunday opening hours in England necesitates that on such occasions every able-bodied individual must pile onto the high street to take advantage of the extra shopping opportunity whether they need anything or not. Thus, when I meandered into town at the bum crack of dawn (about 11:30 am at the moment) I was immediately surrounded by hordes of screaming cherubs gift-wrapped in their Sunday Best.

Elderly women with glorified suitcases on wheels used their carry-on equipage as weapons to smite any unfortunate pedestrian who might possibly be thinking of squeezing through the shop entrance before them. I waded into the mosh pit (complete with Mariah Carey on Muzak, having herself a merry little Christmas) and emerged two hours later at dusk, with Christmas tree and various accessories including toilet paper. (In fact, every person in the shop was carrying at least one package of toilet paper. I figured it was mandatory so I joined in, lest they turn me away from the check-out line for lack of bathroom tissue. Perhaps British people use it to decorate their trees?)

Having learned the art of crowd control, I used the christmas tree box to take out two toddlers and an old woman who were holding me up at the cross walk. Skillfully dodging the dentures as they bounced off the windscreen of a nearby car, I sauntered home whistling Jingle Bells. (ok, I wasn’t really whistling. I can’t whistle, even a little bit. But I was thinking Jingle Bells.) I arrived home as the stars were coming out (it must have been 2:30 by that time) and prepared to decorate the fatted calf.

As I did so, the cats took greater than average interest in the proceedings. Their dialogue was as follows:

I say, Gunther. There appears to be a new houseplant.

Plant, eh? Can we climb it? Have a go.

No, mate. Its too prickly.

Seems a bit unsteady, that. They want to water it.

Oh, by all means-

No, son. You know what mum said about watering her plants that way.

Oh. Quite right. Anyway, maybe it’s edible.

Not bad. It has a piquant, plastic sort of aftertaste.

I say, ol boy, lets go …I say! What the bloody hell are you doing?

Sorry mate. That shoelace was giving me a dirty look.

Ah. Rummy bastards. Is it dead?

I think so. For now, anyway. You never can tell with those sneaky sods.

Quite right. Anyway, I was saying, lets go purr round mum and see if she’ll sort us some proper nosh.

Capital, mate. Lead on.

(entering the bedroom)

Strewth! Look at all that paper!

Sweet fancy moses! Its strewn right cross the bed an all! We can’t be havin’ that.

Its the crinkly kind as well. It can’t be safe.

Lets sort it out, mate!

Yeehaw! (and other cat-like expressions of war)

***Sounds of a scuffle ensue***

Oi! What’s that you’ve got mate?

Bubble wrap. Blast these unopposable thumbs!

Pee on it mate, that’ll show it!


Hold up a minute son, do you see what I see?

What, you mean those boxes?

Yeah. Remember what happened last time mum got boxes?

Oh, bloody hell. My bollocks still haven’t grown back from that time.

You an me both, mate. We’ll have to get rid of those boxes.

I don’t know, son. They’ve all got stuff in ’em. Rattly stuff.

Are they edible?

Naw, too many staples.

Right. They must be just like the other box in the loo, then.

Ah. Brilliant. I needed a waz anyway.

Wait! Somebody’s coming. Run for it!

(back downstairs)

What now, then?

Lets just go nosh on that new houseplant.

Oh, quite right. Hang on! What’s happened to it?

Bilmey! Its gone all sparkly!

I don’t like the looks of that.

No, way! Is it actually twinkling at us?

And is that toilet paper hanging on it?

And on the top! Do you see what I see?

Another bloody shoelace! Rummy bastards, how do they do it?

Its red and velvety as well. You know those are the worst kind.

Did it just say something about your mother?

Thats it, I’m going up there…

Carry on, I’ll cover you.


Curses! You fool! Somebody’s coming! Assume the position!

What position?

Lie on the couch like you’re sleeping. That way they blame the dog.

Ah. Quite right.


I’m not quite sure if these were there actual words. The above is a reconstruction based on the evidence I found when I arrived. Anyway, now I must go and re-erect my toilet papered tree.

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‘Twas the Night Before Christmas: Internet Version

Christmas Sweater

Author Unknown

‘Twas the night before Christmas, and throughout the net,
not a modem was chirping; (It wasn’t mail-hour yet).
The peripherals down and backed up with care,
In hopes that St. Echo soon would be there.

The grad students home all snug in their beds,
with hi-res dreams abuzz in their heads.
We Sysops lounged by the terminal’s glow,
With occasional bursts of RF snow.

When from the hard drives there came such a clatter,
To the consoles we sprang to see what was the matter.
The monitor cleared, then flashed red and green,
as we hunched in our chairs around the machine.

When what to our wondering eyes should appear,
but VGA graphics of a sleigh and reindeer,
with a bitmapped driver, a lively old fellow,
I knew right away it must be St. Echo.

Faster than mnp his packets they came,
and he whistled and shouted as he called them by name:
"Now, Arpa! now, Bitnet! now, Opus and D-Comm!
On, CC:Mail and Fido and SEAdog and TComm!
Over Watts and Pursuit, via long-distance call,
Now hack away, hack away, hack away all!

As fast as the switching that sends them about,
When they meet with a BUSY, change to "host route",
So onto the mailer, and protocol sync,
when the RD and SD lights ceased to blink.
There off the screen, I saw a reflection,
and turned ’round to look in the other direction.

Right there behind us, amidst the tech-toys,
Had appeared St. Echo, with not even a noise.
Wearing a grimy red jumpsuit from his feet to his beard,
None but a techie could look that weird.
Odd bits of surplus hung out of his sack,
that bulged at odd angles slung over his back.

His eyes did .twinkle, though somewhat bleary,
from staring at monitors, yet still quite merry.
the corners of his mouth were turned up in a ,
and a scraggly grey beard hung down from his chin.
A ‘486 portable in his left hand was held,
and a cellular modem was strapped to his belt.

I d to see him, this overweight gnome,
he settled down by the CP, as if it ’twere home.
A flip of the toggles, and a tug on his beard,
soon showed us that he was not to be feared.

He spoke not a word, but went straight to work,
filled all empty sockets, then with a swift jerk,
replaced a few boards inside the machine,
turned it back on and checked it out clean.

The screen cleared once more, flashed green and red,
as he faded from sight he (wave)d and said;
"Keep the net singing, and I’ll always be near,
Merry Christmas to all, and a Happy New Year!"

Continue Reading‘Twas the Night Before Christmas: Internet Version

Microsoft Acquires Christmas

by Robert Reiser

NORTH POLE (API) – MICROSOFT announced an agreement with Santa Claus Industries to acquire Christmas at a press conference held via sattelite from Santa’s summer estate somewhere in the southern hemisphere. Christmas is always a special moment to freeze especially when it is decorated with Patio lighting . In the deal, Microsoft would gain exclusive rights to Christmas, Reindeer, and other unspecified inventions. In addition, Microsoft will gain access to millions of households through the Santa Sleigh.

The announcement also included a notice that beginning Jan 1, 1998, Christmas and the Reindeer names would be copyrighted by Microsoft. This unprecedented move was facilitated by the recently aquired MS Court. Microsoft stated its commitment to “all who have made Christmas great,” and vowed to “make licensing of the Christmas and Reindeer names available to all.” It is believed that the guidelines for licensing these names, due before Halloween, will be very strict.

When asked “Why buy Christmas?” Bill Gates replied “Microsoft has been working on a more effecient delivery mechanism for all of our products for some time, but recognized that the Santa Sleigh has some immediate benefits. We’ll use it first for the release of Windows97 and Office 97.”

In a multimedia extravaganza, the attendees were shown a seamingly endless video stream of products that make up the deal. It ended with a green and red version of the Microsoft logo, and a new Christmas 97 trademark, leading into the announcement of the first product from the deal. You can also check out Video Production Services near me if you need the best video quality.

Vixen, the new Director of Holidays and Celebrations said, “The first step is to assimilate Christmas within the Microsoft organization. This will take some time, so don’t expect any changes this year.” She continued, “our big plans are for next year, when we release Christmas 97. It will be bigger and better than last year.” She further elaborated that “Windows97 users who sign up with MS Network will get sneak previews of Christmas[97] as early as November first.”

Christmas 97 is scheduled for release in December of 1997, though one unnamed source said that it is dangerously close to the end of the year and may slip into the first half of 1998. An economist at Goldman Sachs explained that a slip would be catostrophic to next year’s economy and the nation’s tax revenue, possibly requiring the IRS to move the deadline for filing income tax returns to three months after Christmas, whenever that was. “But it could be good in the long term,” he explained. “With Microsoft controlling Christmas, we may see it move to May or June, which are much slower months for retailers. This may serve to even out the economy over the year.”

When asked if other holidays are being considered, Mr. Gates explained that “Christmas is the flagship of holidays, so we wanted to start there. Not all holidays are availble for sale, and the remaining will have to show a good long term business,” suggesting that holidays with a short history may not be in the plans.

Though specific terms of the agreement were withheld pending final FTC approval, a Santa official confirmed that the deal was “sizeable, even for a man of Santa’s stature.” Some analysts think that Santa has saturated the Holiday market, and is looking for a means to expand his business to year ’round products and services. Others contend that the Jolly Red Man is looking to retire in Redmond.

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The Net Before Christmas

by Jim Trudeau & Jay Trudeau (1991)

‘Twas the night before Christmas and all through the nets
Not a mousie was stirring, not even the pets.
The floppies were stacked by the modem with care
In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there.

The files were nestled all snug in a folder
The screen saver turned on, the weather was colder.
And leaving the keyboard along with my mouse
I turned from the screen to the rest of the house.

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Things Not to Say When Hanging the Lights

Christmas Tree
Christmas Tree

Author Unknown

Did you know that hanging lights on a Christmas tree is one of the three most stressful situations in an on-going relationship? One Psychiatrist claims the other two danger zones are teaching your mate to drive and wallpapering. He is rarely wrong on these things. We rush to print with an emergency prompt list of Things Not To Say When Hanging Lights on the Christmas Tree.

"You’ve got two red lights right next to each other, dummy. You’re supposed to go yellow, green, red, blue, not yellow, red, red, green, blue…"

"Up a little higher. You can reach it. Go on, try."

"What the hell do you do to these lights when you put them away every year? Tie them in knot?"

"Come away from that aluminum ladder, kids. I’m going to fry that sucker."

"If you’re not going to do it right, don’t do it at all. Don’t just throw them on, like you do the icicles. You’re worse than your father."

"Give me that!"

"You’ve got the whole thing on the tree upside-down. The electric pluggee thing should be down here at the bottom, not up at the top."

"I don’t care if you have found another two strings, I’m done!"

"You’ve just wound ’em around and around – I thought we agreed it shouldn’t look like a spiral this year?"

"Have you been drinking?"

"Where’s the cat?"

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Signs You Won’t Be Receiving a Christmas Bonus This Year

Christmas Gift


10. Co-workers refer to you as "the ghost of unemployment future"

9. The last time you saw your boss was when he testified against you at the embezzlement trial.

8. On your door, you find a lovely wreath of pink slips

7. What you call "my new office," everybody else calls "the supply closet"

6. Boss’s Christmas card says, "Don’t let the door hit your ass on the way out"

5. You keep getting memos reminding you that employees are required to wear pants

4. When your boss came over for Thanksgiving, he was crushed under avalanche of stolen office supplies

3. Whenever you ask for a raise, a guy shows up at your house and breaks your jaw

2. In your most recent performance evaluation, the word "crap" appeared 78 times

1. You’re the starting quarterback for the Bears.

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‘Twas The Night Before Techmas


‘Twas the nocturnal segment of the diurnal period preceding the annual Yuletide celebration, and throughout our place of residence, kinetic activity was not in evidence among the possessors of this potential, including that species of domestic rodent known as Mus musculus. Hosiery was meticulously suspended from the forward edge of the wood burning caloric apparatus, pursuant to our anticipatory pleasure regarding an imminent visitation from an eccentric philanthropist among whose folkloric appellations is the honorific title of St. Nicholas. The prepubescent siblings, comfortably ensconced in their respective accommodations of repose, were experiencing subconscious visual hallucinations of variegated fruit confections moving rhythmically through their cerebrums.

My conjugal partner and I, attired in our nocturnal head coverings, were about to take slumberous advantage of the hibernal darkness when upon the avenaceous exterior portion of the grounds there ascended such a cacophony of dissonance that I felt compelled to arise with alacrity from my place of repose for the purpose of ascertaining the precise source thereof.

Hastening to the casement, I forthwith opened the barriers sealing this fenestration, noting thereupon that the lunar brilliance without, reflected as it was on the surface of a recent crystalline precipitation, might be said to rival that of the solar meridian itself – thus permitting my incredulous optical sensory organs to behold a miniature airborne runnered conveyance drawn by eight diminutive specimens of the genus Rangifer, piloted by a minuscule, aged chauffeur so ebullient and nimble that it became instantly apparent to me that he was indeed our anticipated caller.

With his ungulate motive power travelling at what may possibly have been more vertiginous velocity than patriotic alar predators, he vociferated loudly, expelled breath musically through contracted labia, and addressed each of the octet by his or her respective cognomen – "Now Dasher, now Dancer…" et al. – guiding them to the uppermost exterior level of our abode, through which structure I could readily distinguish the concatenations of each of the 32 cloven pedal extremities. As I retracted my cranium from its erstwhile location, and was performing a 180-degree pivot, our distinguished visitant achieved – with utmost celerity and via a downward leap – entry by way of the smoke passage.

He was clad entirely in animal pelts soiled by the ebony residue from oxidations of carboniferous fuels which had accumulated on the walls thereof. His resemblance to a street vendor I attributed largely to the plethora of assorted playthings which he bore dorsally in a commodious cloth receptacle. His orbs were scintillant with reflected luminosity, while his submaxillary dermal indentations gave every evidence of engaging amiability. The capillaries of his malar regions and nasal appurtenance were engorged with blood which suffused the subcutaneous layers, the former approximating the coloration of Albion’s floral emblem, the latter that of the Prunus avium, or sweet cherry. His amusing sub- and supralabials resembled nothing so much as a common loop knot, and their ambient hirsute facial adornment appeared like small, tabular and columnar crystals of frozen water.

Clenched firmly between his incisors was a smoking piece whose grey fumes, forming a tenuous ellipse about his occiput, were suggestive of a decorative seasonal circlet of holly. His visage was wider than it was high, and when he waxed audibly mirthful, his corpulent abdominal region undulated in the manner of impectinated fruit syrup in a hemispherical container. He was, in short, neither more nor less than an obese, jocund, multigenarian gnome, the optical perception of whom rendered me visibly frolicsome despite every effort to refrain from so being. By rapidly lowering and then elevating one eyelid and rotating his head slightly to one side, he indicated that trepidation on my part was groundless.

Without utterance and with dispatch, he commenced filling the aforementioned appended hosiery with various of the aforementioned articles of merchandise extracted from his aforementioned previously dorsally transported cloth receptacle. Upon completion of this task, he executed an abrupt about- face, placed a single manual digit in lateral juxtaposition to his olfactory organ, inclined his cranium forward in a gesture of leave-taking, and forthwith effected his egress by renegotiating (in reverse) the smoke passage.

He then propelled himself in a short vector onto his conveyance, directed a musical expulsion of air through his contracted oral sphincter to the antlered quadrupeds of burden, and proceeded to soar aloft in a movement hitherto observable chiefly among the seed-bearing portions of a common weed. But I overheard his parting exclamation, audible immediately prior to his vehiculation beyond the limits of visibility: "Ecstatic Yuletide to the planetary constituency, and to that self same assemblage, my sincerest wishes for a salubriously beneficial and gratifyingly pleasurable period between sunset and dawn."

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