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Yucks Digest V8 #18 (Christmas edition)
Yucks Digest Fri, 25 Dec 98 Volume 8 : Issue 18
Today's Topics:
[Fwd: A letter to santa .. Re:My Wish CC:Martha Stewart]
[Fwd: Martha Stewart is alive and well ind living in Jor'sey]
[scream_of_the_crop] SCREAM OF THE CROP JOKES & QUOTES
And a Merry Feast of Sol Invictus!
Cement Cuddlers
Christmas (2 msgs)
Christmas Carols (2 msgs)
Christmas Decorations
Christmas Gifts (3 msgs)
Christmas is coming.......Erma Bombeck / Martha Stewart
Christmas Shopping
Comedy On Tap for Wed 12-23
Holidays & Relatives
Home for the Holidays
Merry Christmas, y'all...
Merry Christmas / Happy Hanukah / Kool Kwanzaa / Happy New Year / Silly Solstice . . .
More Christmas
More Santa
Ruminations -- December 14, 1998
Santa
Santa Claus
Santa Satire
Star Wars (Pun)
Top 10 Reasons to like Hanukkah.
Top5 - 12/22/98 - *Other* Signs Santa is a Woman
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----------------------------------------------------------------------
Date: Tue, 22 Dec 1998 13:00:23 -0800
From: Mari L Schupp <mschupp@worldnet.att.net>
Subject: [Fwd: A letter to santa .. Re:My Wish CC:Martha Stewart]
From: Shadow <shadow@shadowsrealm.com>
(Disclaimer: I didn't write this. Goodness knows, I wish I HAD....but
unfortunately, the source wasn't quoted. And I'm in line to smack
Martha too, right behind the friend who sent me this..... read
on.....)
Dear Santa,
I rarely ask for much. This year is no exception. I don't need diamond
earrings, handy slicer-dicers or comfy slippers. I only one one little
thing, and I want it deeply.
I want to slap Martha Stewart.
Now, hear me out, Santa. I won't scar her or draw blood or anything.
Just
one good smack, right across her smug little cheek.
I get all cozy inside just thinking about it.
Don't grant this wish just for me. do it for thousands of women across
the
country.
Through sheer vicarious satisfaction, you'll be giving a gift to us all.
Those of us leading average, garden variety lives aren't concerned with
gracious living.
We feel pretty good about ourselves if our paper plates match when we
stack them on the counter, buffet-style for dinner.
We're tired of Martha showing us how to make centerpieces from hollyhock
dipped in 18 carat gold. We're plumb out of liquid gold. Unless it's of
the furniture polish variety.
We can't whip up Martha's creamy holiday sauce, spiced with turmeric.
Most
of us can't even say turmeric, let alone figure out what to do with it.
OK, Santa, maybe you think I'm being a little harsh. But I'll bet with
all
the holiday rush you didn't catch that interview with Martha in last
week's USA Weekend.
I'm surprised there was enough room on the page for her ego.
We discovered that not only does Martha avoid take-out pizza (she's only
ordered it once), she refuses to eat it cold (No cold pizza? Is Martha
Stewart Living?) When it was pointed out that she could microwave it,
she
replied, "I don't have a microwave." The reporter, Jeffrey Zaslow, noted
that she said this "in a tone that suggests you shouldn't either."
Well lah-dee-dah.
Imagine that, Santa. That lovely microwave you brought me years ago, in
which I've learned to make complicated dishes like popcorn and hot
chocolate, has been declared undesirable by Queen Martha.
What next? The coffee maker?
In the article, we learned that Martha has 40 sets of dishes adorning an
entire wall in her home. Forty sets. Can you spell "overkill"? And
neatly
put way, no less. If my dishes make it to the dishwasher, that qualifies
as "put away" in my house.
Martha tells us she's already making homemade holiday gifts for friends.
"Last year, I made amazing silk-lined scarves for everyone," she boasts.
Not just scarves, mind you. Amazing scarves. Martha's obviously not shy
about
giving herself a little pat on the back. In fact, she does so with such
frequency that one has to wonder if her back is black and blue.
She goes on to tell us that "homemaking is glamour for the 90s" and says
her most glamorous friends are "interested in stain removal, how to iron
a
monogram, how to fold a towel."
I have one piece of advice, Martha: get new friends.
Glamorous friends fly to Paris on a whim. They drift past the Greek
Islands on yachts, sipping champagne from crystal goblets. They step out
for
the
evening in shimmering satin gowns, whisked away by tuxedoed chauffeurs.
They do not spend their days pondering the finer art of toilet bowel
sanitation.
Zaslow notes that Martha was named one of America's 25 most influential
people by Time magazine (nosing out Mother Thersa, Madeline Allbright
and
Maya Angelou, no doubt) The proof of Martha's influence: after she
bought
white-fleshed peaches in the supermarket, Martha says, "People saw me
buy them. In an instant, they were all gone."
I hope Martha never decides to jump off a bridge.
A guest in Martha's home told Zaslow how Martha gets up early to roller
blade with her dogs to pick fresh wild blackberries for breakfast.
This confirms what I've suspected about Martha all along: She's
obviously
got too much time on her hands. Teaching the dogs to roller blade. What
a
show off.
If you think the dogs are spoiled, listen to how Martha treats her
friends:
She gave one friend all 272 books from the Knopf Everyman Library. It
didn't cost much. Pocket change, really. Just $5,000. But what price
friendship,
right?
When asked if others should envy her, Martha replies, "Don't envy me.
I'm
doing this because I'm a natural teacher. You shouldn't envy teachers.
You
should listen to them."
Zaslow must have slit a seam in Martha's ego at this point, because once
the hot air came hissing out, it couldn't be held back. "Being an
overachiever is nothing despicable. It is only admirable. Never lower
your
standards,"
says Martha.
And of her Web Page on the Internet, Martha declares herself an
"important
presence" as she graciously helps people organize their sad, tacky
little
lives.
There you have it, Santa. If there was ever someone who deserved a good
smack, it's Martha Stewart.
But I bet I won't get my gift this year.
Shadow-
Rogue #150
http://www.shadowsrealm.com
------------------------------
Date: Tue, 22 Dec 1998 13:08:57 -0800
From: Mari L Schupp <mschupp@worldnet.att.net>
Subject: [Fwd: Martha Stewart is alive and well ind living in Jor'sey]
From: SharonMatt@webtv.net (Sharon Matthews)
"Martha Stewart Holiday Calendar"
December 1 Blanch carcass from Thanksgiving turkey. Spray paint gold,
turn upside down and use as a sleigh to hold Christmas Cards.
December 2 Have Mormon Tabernacle Choir record outgoing Christmas
message for answering machine.
December 3 Using candlewick and hand gilded miniature pinecones,
fashion cat-o-nine-tails. Flog Gardener.
December 4 Repaint Sistine Chapel ceiling in ecru, with mocha trim.
December 5 Get new eyeglasses. Grind lenses myself.
December 6 Fax family Christmas newsletter to Pulitzer Committee for
consideration.
December 7 Debug Windows '95
December 10 Align carpets to adjust for curvature of Earth.
December 11 Lay Faberge egg.
December 12 Take Dog apart. Disinfect. Reassemble.
December 13 Collect Dentures. They make excellent pastry cutters,
particularly for decorative pie crusts.
December 14 Install plumbing in gingerbread house.
December 15 Replace air in mini-van tires with Glade "holiday scents"
in case tires are shot out at mall.
December 17 Child-proof the Christmas tree with garland of razor wire.
December 19 Adjust legs of chairs so each Christmas dinner guest will
be same height when sitting at his or her assigned seat.
December 20 Dip sheep and cows in egg whites and roll in confectioner's
sugar to add a festive sparkle to the pasture.
December 21 Drain city reservoir; refill with mulled cider, orange
slices and cinnamon sticks.
December 22 Float votive candles in toilet tank.
December 23 Seed clouds for white Christmas.
December 24 Do my annual good deed. Go to several stores. Be seen
engaged in last minute Christmas shopping, thus making many people feel
less inadequate than they really are.
December 25 Bear son. Swaddle. Lay in color-coordinated manger scented
with homemade potpourri. Prepare and serve a sumptuous 7 course feast
for 26 guest, representing a wide cross range of socio-economic classes
of mankind, drawn from far and wide to see what Martha could produce
using only the simple things found in her lowly stable.
December 26 Choreograph and oversee the ceremonial burning of the
placecards, complete with 20 authentic Dung Dancers from a little known
tribe from way, waaaay up river on the banks of the Congo.
December 27 Build snowman in exact likeness of G-d.
December 28 Choke the living daylights out of three elves who were
still hanging around, hoping for leftovers from THE FEAST and were
caught peeing on the snowman.
December 29 Organize spice racks by genus and phylum.
December 30 From toothpicks and popcycle sticks, design and build a
3D mock-up of living quarters to be constucted for the 20 Dung Dancers
who have refused to return up river, applied for greencards and are
hoping to make it big on Brodway.
December 31 New Year's Eve! Give staff their resolutions. Call a friend
in each time zone of the world as the clock strikes midnight in that
country and blessing their New Year with a few words in their native
tongue. There by bring peace to the all mankind. It's a good thing.
------------------------------
Date: Sat, 19 Dec 1998 21:12:45 -0500
From: smock <smock@flatoday.infi.net>
Subject: [scream_of_the_crop] SCREAM OF THE CROP JOKES & QUOTES
To: scream_of_the_crop@egroups.com
>From Kelli-7 Ways to Annoy at Christmas
1. Sit in a corner in the fetal position rocking back and forth
chanting, "Santa Claus is coming to town, Santa Claus is coming to
town..."
2. Hang a stocking with your roommate's name on it. Collect coal and
sharp objects in it.
3. Paint your nose red and wear antlers. Constantly complain about
how you never get to join in on the reindeer games.
4. Sing: "All I want for Christmas is your two front teeth..."
5. Make anatomically correct gingerbread people and eat the best parts
first.
6. Smoke mistletoe. Do what comes naturally.
7. Take some miniature marshamallows and put them in a little baggie.
Attach a note to the bag that has a picture of a snow man and this poem:
'You have been naughty, and here's the scoop: All you get is the
snowman's poop!'
------------------------------
Date: Mon, 5 Jan 1998 13:05:02 -0500 (EST)
From: Nev Dull <nev@bostic.com>
Subject: And a Merry Feast of Sol Invictus!
To: nev@bostic.com (/dev/null)
Forwarded-by: Dan Wallach <dwallach@CS.Princeton.EDU>
Forwarded-by: Chris Liles <cliles@microsoft.com>
Tom Sito's Christmas Trivia
As you sit back in your chair this Christmas (the biggest
holiday of the Ancient Roman World called Saturnalia and the birth of the
Persian Sun God Mithras was named the birth festival of Jesus by Pope Leo
the Great in 885 A.D. December 25th was also the Feast of Sol Invictus,
the Invincible Sun, a cult popular to Romans like Constantine, the first
Christian emperor. Modern estimates based on the census records of
Augustus calculate Jesus' actual birth in July although Christians had
started to use the Saturnalia as the birthday feast as early as the 300's
A.D.) by your yule log (pagan German custom), wrapping your presents in
pretty paper (Roman Saturnalia custom) with your house all decorated with
lights (Roman New Year custom) under your mistletoe (Druid custom),
drinking from your Wassel Bowl (Anglo-German hot beer with toast floating
in which is why we "toast" with the words "was-heil" -- here's to ya).
You're looking at your Christmas tree (besides the Celtic tree
worship, the 24th of December was the feast day of Saints Adam and Eve
when Medieval Churches act out the Genesis story and set up a tree
representing the "tree of life" with glass balls representing the fruit.
This custom was later associated with Christmas and was taken from Germany
to England by Prince Albert and to America by Hessian soldiers and later
German immigrants) (In an 1883 editorial about the newfangled custom the
New York Times called the Christmas Tree -- "A rootless, lifeless corpse
-- unworthy of the Day..."),
And you dream of a visit from Santa Claus (a hybrid of anglo-dutch
customs appearing in it's modern form in New York in the late 1850's.
The English form was St. Nicholas, a big jolly Bishop in a red suit and
the Dutch had Kris Kringle, the elf who dropped down your chimney and was
also known as "Klaus-in-the-Cinders" or "Cinder-Klaus'". The first image
of him was drawn in 1859 in the New York Sun by cartoonist Thomas Nast
for the Clement Moore poem (Nast also created the Democratic Donkey and
Republican elephant). The modern image was created for a 1930's ad
campaign for Coca-Cola by illustrator Haddon Sundblom.)
{A Welsh friend told me the Druid priest who distributed magic
mushrooms wore a red robe with white fur trim. The reindeer had a habit
of eating these mushrooms which gave you a high when you drank their
urine.}
So here's wishing you hopes for a "White Christmas" (song written
by Russian-Jewish composer Irving Berlin) and a very Happy New Year
(courtesy of the 12 month calendar reformed by the Hellenic-Egyptian
Sosigenes for Julius Caesar and modified by Pope Gregory in 1582, else
we'd be celebrating in March.)
Merry Christmas, Freylich Chaunnakah, Happy Solstice, Happy Birth
of Mithras, Io, Saturnalia, Joyeux Noel, Bozego Narodzenia, Frohe
Weinacht, Happy Birth of Sol Invictus the Sungod, Happy death and rebirth
of Baldur son of Odin, Happy beginning of the rise of Porsephone back from
Hades to her mother Demeter, and pass the reindeer pee!
-- Enjoy! Tom Sito
------------------------------
Date: Fri, 8 May 1998 10:05:01 -0400 (EDT)
From: Nev Dull <nev@bostic.com>
Subject: Cement Cuddlers
To: nev@bostic.com (/dev/null)
Forwarded-by: "Jascha Franklin-Hodge" <joeshmoe@mit.edu
Forwarded-by: Lone Locust of the Apocalypse[SMTP:zorak@netcom.com]
Forwarded-by: Tony Pierce <tony@goodcompany.com
An "Anti-shopping" Trip with the Los Angeles Cacophony Society
by Rev. Al
I had been thinking for a long time about making cement filled teddy
bears. I wasn't exactly sure why. At first it was just a perceptual
curiosity I wanted to experience, and I wanted others to experience:
the idea of being handed what appeared to be a fluffy stuffed animal,
only to have it go tearing through your relaxed fingers like a lead
meteor.
The Christmas shopping season seemed an ideal time to get them on the
shelves of Los Angeles toy stores, so late in November, members of the
Los Angeles Cacophony Society gathered in my backyard to gut several
dozen plush toys and replace their innards with Portland's finest.
We called them, "Cement Cuddlers".
Each bear wore a full-color laminated label identifying it as such
complete with bar code from another toy. Inside the folded tag was
the text:
Unfortunate Child, do not mistake me for a living thing,
nor seek in me the warmth denied you by your parents. For
beneath my plush surface lies a hardness as impervious and
unforgiving as this World's own indifference to your mortal
struggle. Hold on to me when you are sad, and I will weigh
you down, but bear this weight throughout your years, and
it will strengthen your limbs and harden your will so that
one day no man dare oppose you.
The target was easy to select. Not far away was a large not-to-be-named
toystore, the biggest and newest of the chain in Southern California, a
massive thing like the newly christened Titanic just begging for its
iceberg.
By 10:30, around a dozen Cacophonists had slipped in managing to place
several bears on the shelves without arousing suspicion. Not content to
just leave them there we appointed Cacophonist Todd to help direct the
management's attention to our prank. At 10:35 Todd entered, located a
Cuddler, and brought it to the register, informing the cashier he couldn't
find the price.
Predictably, as he placed the innocent looking toy in those unwary
hands, it went crashing to the floor like a particularly heavy bowling
ball. After this, it just got worse. Todd began to demand a speedier
price check, insisting that he had only minutes to complete this
transaction before it would be too late to bring the bear to his
nephew who was, as he repeated many times for our benefit, "in the
hospital with a skin rash." This element of his story, however, did
not appear to provoke the suspicion of the clerk, who apparently had
no difficulty in imagining her customer entering the children's ward
not long before 11 PM to dump a lump of fur-covered construction
material in the lap of an ailing youngster.
However, as Todd's volume increased, backups arrived. One of the more
astute clerks commented that she had never seen this toy before and
wished to know what shelf it had come from. Indignantly Todd led them
to the appropriate place. A half dozen clerks, and several customers
gathered round in bewilderment, passing the four bears amongst
themselves and shaking their heads.
I eventually moved into earshot, and heard one woman reading the tag
aloud. "That's really deep!" she exclaimed. I could no longer resist.
I moved in to express curiosity about this toy.
"Oh! That's a cute bear," I remarked as I reached for a Cuddler.
Without warning, it was placed in my hands, which naturally were
prepared to be unprepared for its weight. Another thunderous crash!
Now I was outraged! "Look here!" I said. "The labels say, for ages
2-10! How could "Nameless Toystore Chain" sell such a dangerous toy
to 2-year-olds!"
Eventually I was calmed and began contemplating buying one for an
older nephew. Cacophonist Frank became interested in buying one too.
We all went to the register.
Thanks to the fully functional bar code, the farce continued. However,
the bar code used was from another toy, and so the computer identified
the toy as: Alien Face Hugger $1.99. More panic and confusion. The
manager was called. In the chaos, the bears are handed back and forth
a few times more giving Todd one more opportunity to let one fall,
this time "on his foot" (about 4 inches from his toes). He begins to
wail and pulls off his shoe and sock. The clerks are incredulous.
"Would you say he dropped that on his foot?" one says to me.
"I don't want to get involved," I say, secretly gesturing that Todd
seems crazy.
The manager arrives, and he is young and sour-looking. Easily a
control freak. We feel he is our divinely ordained victim.
They explain the difficulty with the scans, but he seems to pay little
attention to the computer. Instead his eyes keep darting to Todd as he
leaps around on one foot howling about the lethal bears to other
customers.
"Come with me, sir. We'll see what we can do for you," he snaps,
dragging Todd off to his little manager pen.
Frank and I continue as good cops to Todd's bad cop routine, but
continue to hover at the register insisting on the purchase. We
discuss with the clerks how troubled Todd seems and reread the label.
"This is weird," one clerk finally realizes, "a Teddy Bear literally
filled with cement."
I suggest it might be a doorstop for children's bedrooms.
Then a ray of light descends on Nameless Toystore. "It's like a joke
someone's playing or something," says one of our blue-vested assistants.
"You mean," asks Frank, with wonderfully stylized naivete, "like
someone made them themselves? Maybe just this weekend? Took out the
stuffing and replaced it with cement?"
"Or maybe that crazy guy did," says the clerk.
"No, no. Can't be," I say. "Why would he insist on buying from you
something he made himself. That's illogical!"
Suddenly we hear Todd's voice booming again from the front of the
store. They have emerged from the manager pen.
This will mean so much to Bobby. God Bless you!" And he leaves with
the bear in bag. $1.99! Lucky bastard!
Manager-man hurries to the counter with his panicky stick-up-the-ass
gait, one ear pressed to a cellular, doubtlessly consulting the
Nameless Toystore overlords. We mob him, insisting to know the price
arrived at.
"They're not for sale."
We are incredulous, indignant. "This item is discontinued." He bites
off the word and rushes to the shelves to haul the Cuddlers away. We
continue to needle him as he gathers the bears. Suddenly, he swings
around holding the furry blocks of cement as if he might do some harm.
Perspiration has appeared on his forehead.
"Look!" he sputters, "I don't know how these things got on the shelves!
They DON'T track correctly on the computer. I've never seen them before.
I have NO explanation. It's like someone's playing a joke on MY STORE!"
It's in that word "my". You can tell. He's gotten that look like he's
just seen the first crack in the brand new ceiling. We understand that
if that crack widens by even a hairline, he's going to see through it.
He already suspects Todd. He is probably 90 seconds from realizing
that we're all part of it.
And so we decide to take advantage of our time.
"Could you at least tell us the manufacturer so maybe we could order
the toy?"
He whips the label over, and reads, Brutal Truth Toys.
This is a good time to leave. There's still a half hour before midnight,
so we take advantage of the energy we've gathered to make a few prank
phone calls. I call a rival Nameless Toystore asking for Cement Cuddlers.
I'm put on hold and another clerk picks up the phone and claims to have
actually pulled up the info on my Cement Cuddlers on the computer. He
tells me I can get a raincheck. Sadly, when I ask for the stock number,
he suddenly loses the record that he "just had, just a minute ago".
After going through three or four baffled and fairly easy to baffle
clerks, I finally get to the manager. I am slightly indignant at the
delays and feigned ignorance of a product I JUST PURCHASED THAT VERY
NIGHT at their rival, the new Burbank store, we'd just invaded. The
manager explains that this new store carries certain promotional items
not available to the other stores because it is the newest and
largest. I detect a note of envy in his voice, and soften my approach.
I become confidential and ask if the new store hired away a lot of
good workers.
"You know," I tell him, "I know it's big and everything, but it's so
new... I mean, they didn't quite seem to have it all together yet." He
agrees. He's heard rumors to this effect. "All the employees seemed,
I don't know... nervous somehow. It's like the store's too big for
them to handle. I get a nervous feeling when I go in there."
He knows what I mean.
"I think it's that manager, maybe. He seemed so tense and kinda angry
somehow. He doesn't give me a good feeling. He seems a little odd. Have
you heard anything like this?"
He's heard some funny things about this upstart.
"Yeah. Odd manager. Odd store. Come to think of it this whole cement teddy
bear thing is pretty odd. Maybe this was just a special thing he wanted
to order. Maybe they were his idea." He agrees, but he won't call the
other store to see if they still have them in stock there. So I tell him
I'll check back later.
And I will. It was a good night, and we still have 18 more bears to
distribute.
------------------------------
Date: Tue, 08 Dec 1998 20:40:31 -0800
From: Keith Sullivan <KSullivan@worldnet.att.net>
Subject: Christmas
To: "Keith's Mostly Clean Humor & Weird List" <McHawlist@mail.otherwhen.com>
HOLIDAY TRIVIA
The average American takes six months to pay off holiday credit-card
bills.
Pogonophobia: the fear of beards.
There are currently 78 people named S. Claus living in the U.S. -- and
one Kriss Kringle.
December is the most popular month for nose jobs.
Weight of Santa's sleigh loaded with one Beanie Baby for every kid on
earth: 333,333 tons.
Number of reindeer required to pull a 333,333-ton sleigh: 214,206 --
plus Rudolph.
Average wage of a mall Santa: $11 an hour. With real beard: $20.
To deliver his gifts in one night, Santa would have to make 822.6 visits
per second, sleighing at 3,000 times the speed of sound.
At that speed, Santa and his reindeer would burst into flame
instantaneously.
>From Us Magazine
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
DID YOU KNOW? (CHRISTMAS TRIVIA)
Xmas originated in Greece. In Greek, "Xristos" is the word for Christ.
Europeans began using "X" as shorthand for Christ's name but the
practice has developed disrespectful connotations in modern times.
The poinsettia is native to Mexico; named after Joel Poinsett, first
U.S. ambassador to Mexico. Poinsett brought the plants to the United
States in 1828. 18th century Mexicans thought that the plants
symbolized the Star of Bethlehem. The flower of the poinsettia is
actually yellow and small -- the leaves are bright red and are often
mistaken for petals.
Mistletoe was used by pre-Christian Druids to celebrate the coming of
winter, often decorated their homes with it. Scandinavians also
celebrated with mistletoe, associating it with their goddess of love.
Kissing under mistletoe may have originated from this belief. Early
Christians banned the use of mistletoe in Christmas celebrations,
feeling it was inappropriate. Holly was substituted.
The word Hanukkah means "dedication" in Hebrew. About 2,000 years ago,
a group of Jews -- nicknamed "the Maccabees" -- took up arms against a
Greek occupation. They retook Jerusalem and rededicated the temple, but
the story says they had only enough oil for one day. However, the oil
lasted eight days until more could be obtained. The menorah symbolizes
this miracle.
clifff@net999.com
Infinite Joke List <Jokes@infinite.ihub.com>
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
CHRISTMAS PUDDING & HIGH EXPLOSIVES
Security scanners at a major British airport are having a hard time
telling the difference between Christmas pudding and explosives. USA's
Dominic Waghorn has details:
"Like festive holiday-makers the world over, hundreds of passengers
using Manchester airport in the north of England this week have been
packing Christmas puddings in their luggage to eat with relative and
friends abroad. The airport may have spent over $25 million on security
equipment, but its luggage scanners are sounding the alarm whenever they
come across a packed pudding, thinking the harmless festive dessert is
semtex, a high explosive favored by terrorist organizations like the
IRA. The explosive has the same density as the puddings. Dominic
Waghorn, USA Radio News, London."
[From USA Radio News, 24 December 1997]
Ian Chai <chai@uiuc.edu> [rec.humor.funny]
------------------------------
Date: Tue, 15 Dec 1998 18:12:53 -0800
From: Keith Sullivan <KSullivan@worldnet.att.net>
Subject: Christmas
To: "Keith's Mostly Clean Humor & Weird List" <McHawlist@mail.otherwhen.com>
CATS' TOP TEN FAVORITE CHRISTMAS SONGS
10. Up on the Mousetop
9. Have Yourself a Furry Little Christmas
8. Joy to the Curled
7. I Saw Mommy Hiss at Santa Claus
6. The First Meow
5. Oh, Come All Ye Fishful
4. Silent Mice
3. Fluffy, the Snowman
2. Jingle Balls
1. Wreck the Halls!
Ms Kitty <mskitty@katscratch.com>
------------------------------
Date: Tue, 15 Dec 1998 18:14:46 -0800
From: Keith Sullivan <KSullivan@worldnet.att.net>
Subject: Christmas Carols
To: "Keith's Mostly Clean Humor & Weird List" <McHawlist@mail.otherwhen.com>
PSYCHIATRIC CHRISTMAS CAROLS
Schizophrenia -- Do You Hear What I Hear?
Multiple Personality -- We Three Queens Disoriented Are
Dementia -- I Think I'll Be Home For Christmas
Narcissistic -- Hark the Herald Angels Sing (About Me)
Mania -- Deck the Halls and Walls and House and Lawn and... or
Deck the Halls and Spare No Expenses
Borderline Personality -- Thoughts of Roasting in an Open Fire
Paranoia -- Santa Claus is Coming To Get Me
Personality Disorder -- You Better Watch Out, I'm Gonna Cry.
I'm Gonna Pout, then MAYBE I'll Tell You Why
Depression -- Silent Anhedonia, Holy Anhedonia.
All is Calm, All is Pretty Lonely
Obsessive Compulsive -- Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell Rock,
Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell Rock,
Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell Rock,
Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell Rock,
Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell Rock...
Passive Aggressive -- On the First Day of Christmas My Mother Gave to
Me...
(And Then Took it All Away)
ROSAPHILIA <rugosa@interport.net
Nev Dull <nev@bostic.com>
------------------------------
Date: Wed, 23 Dec 1998 22:19:55 -0800
From: Keith Sullivan <KSullivan@worldnet.att.net>
Subject: Christmas Carols
To: "Keith's Mostly Clean Humor & Weird List" <McHawlist@mail.otherwhen.com>
CHRISTMAS CAROLS SUNG TOO LOUD ASSAULT THE SOUL
By Robert Kirby, The Salt Lake Tribune, December 15, 1998
With only nine more shopping days until Christmas, Visa called this
morning to see if there was any possibility that my card had been stolen
by Imelda Marcos.
While I appreciate Visa's concern, it's not like I won't pay them back.
All I have to do is live until the year 2155. And win a lottery.
Money is the least of my worries right now. As I said, there are nine
days still to go until Christmas. Soon enough, the carolers will start
coming around.
Seriously, I have never been a big Christmas-caroling fan. I think it
stems from Christmas '68, when I heard "Rudolph the Red-Nose Reindeer"
exactly one time too many. Or maybe it was the way I heard it.
While looking in Sears for a pair of slippers for my Mom, I was set upon
by a singing group from the high school. Dressed warm even though we
were in the middle of the Mojave Des-ert, they belted out "Rudolph" in
such a way that it broke the caroling gizmo in my head forever.
If you are a member of the Christmas police, I know what you are
thinking. "How unfortunate that Kirby couldn't find a way to get past
that one negative episode."
Actually, I did. That's why you should look on the bright side and
start thinking: "How fortunate it is that Kirby couldn't find an ax in
the hardware department."
I am not against Christmas music per se. In fact, I hear good stuff all
the time. My personal favorites are by the Mo Tab Choir, Andy Williams,
Bruce Springsteen and one or two Led Zepplin numbers.
This year I also like the Orem Evangelical Free Church Choir and Praise
Band (partly because my wife sings in the choir, but mainly because they
are good). If you didn't hear Debi Cash, Mary Ann Carlson and Kelly
Andrew sing "Christ Child's Lullaby" Sunday night, you missed out.
What I object to is militant Christmas caroling. This is where people
become so insistent on spreading the holiday spirit that they will get
in your face to do it. It's tough enough fighting crowds in a
department store without 400 kids adding to the madness because someone
told them Santa could hear them if they sang loud enough.
Even worse, carolers sneak into your yard and yell at your house. Trust
me, if you show up at my place, and are not one of the people
specifically mentioned above, you better have the police with you. I
gave the last group some hot chocolate. All at once. From a bucket.
OK, that isn't the worst part. For people like me, it's when someone we
love tries to cajole us into going caroling with them. Being tone-deaf
is part of my reluctance here. But a lot more is because stumbling
around in the dark and singing at the top of my lungs lost most of its
attraction way back when I quit drinking.
Even sober, it's a bad idea for me. Several years ago, when Larry,
Bear, Rat Lips and I were press-ganged by our wives into caroling, we
made such a mockery of it that the four of us were forced to spend the
rest of the night in Larry's garage. That's the year we learned that
joy is a relative thing to people, but especially to married women.
Look, I can't stop you from caroling. Given certain personality types,
my guess is that neither could the National Guard. However, in the
spirit of the season, I would ask a few simple favors of those who find
their way to my yard.
Please, no tubas, sirens, sleigh bells, bag pipes, electric guitars,
loud speakers, or singers who insist on hitting notes that can be heard
in space.
Peace.
Robert Kirby welcomes e-mail at rkirby@sltrib.com
Copyright 1998 Salt Lake Tribune <http://www.sltrib.com>
------------------------------
Date: Sun, 06 Dec 1998 19:30:24 -0800
From: Keith Sullivan <KSullivan@worldnet.att.net>
Subject: Christmas Decorations
To: "Keith's Mostly Clean Humor & Weird List" <McHawlist@mail.otherwhen.com>
Christmas is when kids tell Santa Claus what they want, and their
parents end up paying for it.
CHRISTMAS LIGHTS ALWAYS DARKEN HOLY MATRIMONY
By Robert Kirby, The Salt Lake Tribune, December 1, 1998
This morning, my wife asked me for a divorce. Oh, she didn't come right
out and use the D word. She's much too subtle for that. What she said
was, "When are you going to put up the Christmas lights?"
Longtime veterans of marriage to women know that "today" is the proper
answer to such a rhetorical question. What I said was, "Just as soon as
I finish killing Herb."
Every neighborhood has a Herb. On my street, it's Herb Mote. Most of
the year, Herb is a nice guy. Easy-going and soft-spoken, he loans me
tools and helps me fix stuff. But every year, sometime around
Thanksgiving, Herb turns into the Antichrist.
Herb is the first guy to put up Christmas lights. To his credit, he
does a great job. What the rest of the men on the street can't figure
out is why. Not only is Herb's wife much smaller than he is, none of us
have ever seen her hit him with anything larger than a crock pot.
Herb dragging lights around on his roof is the first sure sign of
Christmas in the Spring Hills subdivision. This wouldn't be a big deal
if our wives didn't notice, but they do. Mainly because when he's
finally done, Herb's house is so festive that you can see it from Alpha
Centauri.
After that, it's nonstop spousal reminders like, "Today would be a good
day to put up the lights, dear," and "Let's make Christmas really
special this year." While these all sound harmless enough, men know
that they are just different ways of saying, "Go up on the roof and hurt
yourself."
I didn't always know this. When I was a kid, I believed my mom when she
said that Christmas lights were designed to show Santa Claus where to
land. After I got married, I believed my dad's shouts from the top of
the house, "Lousy #@&*! lights!"
As a veteran Xmas-light guy, I offer this simple checklist as a way of
making the job easier.
Safety: Getting up on the roof is not the hard part. That would be the
ground, which you want to avoid returning to without the use of a
ladder. Since Christmas lights typically go around the part of the roof
known as "the edge," there is no way to avoid this hazard. You can,
however, soften your fear with lots of insurance and/or eggnog.
Preparation: Untangle and test the lights before dragging them up on
the house top. This is important because no matter how carefully you
stored the lights last Christmas, they will be snarled again this
Christmas. Furthermore, half of them will not work two-thirds of the
time. The edge of a roof is the wrong place to start wishing that you
had never been born.
Arrangement: Because of gender differences, this may be the most
difficult part of Christmas lights. As a rule, women want the lights to
be symmetrical in appearance. For those of you thinking "Huh?" right
now, "symmetrical" means "the way Martha Stewart would like it." For
this, a guy will need a calculator, a sextant, lots more eggnog and the
patience of the dead.
Maintenance: Just because the lights are up and you are down does not
mean that you can forget about them. Lights burn out. For some reason
incomprehensible even to scientists, the person not responsible for
climbing on the roof will also be the same person most bothered by the
fact that one light in 5,000 is not working.
Removal: Depending on how good you are at watching and analyzing the
weather, taking down the Christmas lights is something that can be
postponed until the end of July.
Robert Kirby welcomes e-mail at rkirby@sltrib.com.
Copyright 1998, The Salt Lake Tribune <http://www.sltrib.com>
------------------------------
Date: Mon, 07 Dec 1998 20:43:43 -0800
From: Keith Sullivan <KSullivan@worldnet.att.net>
Subject: Christmas Gifts
To: "Keith's Mostly Clean Humor & Weird List" <McHawlist@mail.otherwhen.com>
WURBY DOLL JUST TOYING WITH WEST VIRGINIA
By Rick Steelhammer
IF SOMEONE from a foreign country were to ask me what prompts Americans
to form massive lines at 4 a.m. outside the nearest toy store, just to
have a slim chance at buying an understocked, overpriced toy, I would
have only one answer: We're nuts.
I don't understand the current craze to possess the Furby -- the latest
Christmas retailing hit -- any more than I understand why people pay to
have their tongues pierced, or decide that an appearance on the Jerry
Springer show is the perfect time to inform an unsuspecting mate of an
affair.
By the same token, I'm the kind of guy who thinks it's a hoot to get up
at 5 a.m. and drive 100 miles to stand in cold water in leaky boots with
an overpriced hunk of graphite in my hand, in hopes of catching a fish
that I'll promptly release.
For a land of plenty, Americans seem to have precious little common
sense and good taste, particularly during the Christmas season.
In order to make up for the guilt we feel over not spending enough
quality time with our kids, we're willing to spend hours away from home,
waiting in line to buy a Furby or any one of a number of $100 Christmas
toys.
Once inside the store, we work into the holiday spirit by scratching and
clawing our way through the mob to the checkout stand. There, we affirm
our love by shelling out fistfuls of hard-earned money for this year's
version of Tickle Me Elmo -- a toy that is now cherished almost as much
as a sinus infection.
Our lust for such holiday retail hits has even spawned a black market
for rabidly popular toys. People have been jailed for counterfeiting
such collectible kiddie kitsch as Beanie Babies. I wonder how the
inmate pecking order treats someone doing hard time for hawking bogus
Princess Bears.
It's hard for marketing experts, let alone mere mortals like me, to
predict which toys will become holiday hits like the Furby, which
resembles something I once threw my shoe at when I encountered it in my
basement laundry room.
But I'm sure there have been many toy concepts that came close, but
never quite made it to the production line.
They could include:
Drink-N-Drive Ernie -- Get behind the wheel of your kiddie car with the
lovable Sesame Street character, as he progresses far beyond the
Sing-N-Snore state achieved last Christmas shopping season. Six-pack
not included.
Oval Office Bubba Bear -- Tug the string on this cuddly, down-home bruin
with silver fur and a silver tongue, and he drawls out his opinions on
french fries, world peace, naive interns, civil-suit settlements and
other topics. Pants optional.
Tama-Gucci -- Famed Italian designer lends his name, vision and price
tag to this Japanese-born cyber pet. New, streamlined pet egg comes in
fine Corinthian leather belt holder, and feigns illness if not given
enough cyber espresso, biscotti, attention or shopping time.
Wurby -- Cuddly, energetic, petite, long-haired action figure will help
you read food labels in the supermarket, and generally try to reshape
your state in her image, until the process wears down her batteries and
she seeks a recharge. All-electric Wurby comes without governor.
http://www.wvgazette.com/Columns/RICK1129.html
------------------------------
Date: Tue, 22 Dec 1998 20:06:55 -0800
From: Keith Sullivan <KSullivan@worldnet.att.net>
Subject: Christmas Gifts
To: "Keith's Mostly Clean Humor & Weird List" <McHawlist@mail.otherwhen.com>
TIS BETTER TO RECEIVE, PERIOD
by Jim Rosenberg, November 30, 1994
Thank you for seeing me on such short notice, Doctor. My neurosis about
gifts began on Christmas eve, 1976. One of my close friends surprised
me with a substantial Christmas gift. I don't remember exactly what it
was. Given my interests at the time, it was probably either Elton John
pajamas, or pictures of our hot new Social Studies teacher n-u-d-e. I
was floored. It hadn't even occurred to me to get him a gift. We were
high school guys, for Pete's sake. I thought we had an unspoken
agreement that none of us would up and do something girlie. I stammered
"thank-you" and Kip drove off empty handed. I immediately called my
best friend Bill and laid out the shocking news. He interrupted me in
mid-sentence: he had been attacked by the Unwelcome Giver too! We
agreed to meet and find something, anything, to give Kip that night to
soothe our guilty conscience. It was 9:30 p.m. on Christmas Eve and Lee
Kinard had already spotted Santa on radar.
After a fruitless search, our options boiled down to condoms or rolling
papers from the Exxon station on Battleground Avenue. Trust me when I
say that Kip needed neither. Finally, we found a convenience store that
was open. In 1976, Greensboro was dotted with "L'il General" stores.
They were just like 7-Elevens, except everything was a full year past
the expiration date and cost about a dollar more. This particular one
looked like a Moscow butcher shop on double coupon day. The shelves
were completely empty. Way in the back, behind two petrified oatmeal
creme pies, was the only remaining item in the store which might be
considered gift material: a set of four gourmet "Bicentennial
Jellies." Bill and I looked at each other, gulped, and took the
plunge. We parted with $19.99 of hard-earned album money and bought Kip
some lovely gift jams. We weren't happy about it, but the look on Kip's
face made it all worthwhile. He gazed at Bill and I with eyes that
seemed to say "I hope I make nicer friends in college."
Ever since that night, I have been phobic about gifts. The only cure
for me was marriage. My wife Barbara is a Giftomaniac. Upstairs, she
has established a closet dedicated exclusively to ungiven presents. Up
there in that confusing place, I have seen potholders, baby intercoms,
glass pitchers, and I think a 1992 Hyundai Sonata with optional
sunroof. It's also where gifts get recycled. Without naming any names,
I can say I've seen bible coasters, a capuccino maker, and anything my
sister Irene gives us. Yikes, that's a name, isn't it?
It was very difficult for me to adjust to Barbara's gift methodology:
"The Three L's -- Listen, Look, and Leap!" First, Barbara actually
listens to people. When my Mom says, "I need some fuzzy bunny rabbit
slippers," the information races right through my brain like Robert
Moores down Merritt Drive. Barbara stores the data in her memory
program like Arnold Schwarzenegger in "The Terminator." That little red
light is blinking in her field of view: "Acquire Target: Fuzzy Bunny
Slippers!" Blink. Blink. Blink.
Next, it's off to "look" -- the all-important second "L" in the gift
triad. When I go into a store, it's a military operation. My shopping
policy is strictly George Bush: I have a clear objective which I want
to accomplish with a minimum of time and effort. Barbara's shopping
strategy is vintage Bill Clinton: she has no idea what she wants, but
her intentions are good. But just like Mr. Clinton's policies,
somebody's going to get killed in the process and that somebody is me.
While she roams the stores, I'm left to shiver meekly in the dreaded
"Husband Chair," looking like the hapless idiot that I am.
Mercifully, it's time for the third and final "L" -- leap. When Barbara
finds an appropriate gift, she buys it right then and there. This is
unthinkable to me. No matter how logical it is, my male brain simply
can't sanction buying a Christmas gift in March. Like most men, I
believe you buy the gift on the way to the occasion at an Eckerd's.
That way, you can get something the receiver doesn't want and pay too
much.
It's Christmas shopping season out there, and I've offered two behaviors
to model. You can choose to shop like Barbara or me, whichever is the
best fit. But if you're thinking about buying your favorite columnist a
little gift, don't bother ringing my door at 10:30 on Christmas Eve with
a set of jellies. I'm not stupid.
Jim Rosenberg <http://www.wirecom.com/jim>
------------------------------
Date: Tue, 22 Dec 1998 20:06:55 -0800
From: Keith Sullivan <KSullivan@worldnet.att.net>
Subject: Christmas Gifts
To: "Keith's Mostly Clean Humor & Weird List" <McHawlist@mail.otherwhen.com>
HOW TO AVOID THE DISAPPOINTMENT BORN OF GIFTS LIKE CHIA PETS, BUNION
SOAKERS AND WEED POKERS
By Robert Kirby, The Salt Lake Tribune, December 12, 1998
For Christians everywhere, it's crunch time. We have two weeks to
figure out the most important question of the ages. Namely, what to get
(insert name of relative or friend here) for Christmas.
Laugh if you will, but this is important stuff. If we get her the wrong
gift, Aunt Cleo will either take it back or sulk over it. So whatever
we get has to be exactly the right thing, or at least close enough to it
so that no one gets her feelings hurt. Remember what happened when we
bought Uncle Earl the Amazing Weed Poker?
There is, of course, the issue of money. With enough of it we would
always be assured of buying the right gift. Grandpa may have hated the
corn and bunion soaker we got him last year, but there's no way he would
turn up his nose at a new Oldsmobile.
The same with your sister Dorcette. She took back that waffle iron and
exchanged it for a bag of bird food. My guess is that she wouldn't be
taking back a Mediterranean cruise. Nope, she would love us. Just like
your dad would love us if we bought him Arnold Palmer for Christmas.
But since money is a big deal, we are stuck with cheapo gifts that
barely make the cut of civility. We are locked into the stupidity of
gift roulette. Or are we?
The weird thing about humans is that we agonize over this process when
all most of us want from each other is each other. And that doesn't
cost a dollar.
While you and I are scratching our heads over whether Uncle Roop would
like one more Chia Pet, we remain oblivious to what he and a lot of
other friends and relatives really want from us. It's not presents,
it's presence.
Truth is, Uncle Roop hates Chia Pets. He only wants to know that we
care about him. If that means listening to his interminable stories
about being stuck in a frozen foxhole while Chinese bugles filled the
dawn, so what? Maybe what he is after is some proof from us that 45
years later it still matters that he came home alive.
Grandma can't remember what we got her last year, but you can bet that
listening to the clock count down the end of her days will be much
easier if she doesn't have to do it with just her cat for company.
Then there's David. We could get him a generic pair of gloves this
year, or even a wallet. But maybe what he really needs from us to know
that we don't care if he is gay, he's still our brother. His being a
Democrat is a different matter, of course.
But what do get Dad, who, unbeknownst to any of us, is going to die from
a brain embolism next year? A bowling ball might be nice, but what does
that really say to the guy who subordinated his life's dreams so that he
could feed us?
Your sister, my mom, our friends ... the list isn't as long as we
think. Or it wouldn't be if we stopped comparing it with how much money
we have to spend.
This Christmas, maybe we should rewrite our lists. We'll still have to
buy some stuff, but it might not be so hard to do if we were doing it
because we actually knew the people on the list.
But just in case you're wondering about me, I need a new compact-disc
player.
Robert Kirby welcomes e-mail at rkirby@sltrib.com.
Copyright 1998, The Salt Lake Tribune <http://www.sltrib.com/>
------------------------------
Date: Wed, 9 Dec 98 14:13:11 -0800
From: Peter Langston <psl@langston.com>
Subject: Christmas is coming.......Erma Bombeck / Martha Stewart
To: Fun_People@langston.com
X-Lib-of-Cong-ISSN: 1098-7649
Forwarded-by: Paul Hostetter <music@lutherie.net>
Forwarded-by: Dudley Brooks
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
Letter to Erma Bombeck from Martha Stewart:
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 hand painted 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 had just 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 at 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. It's a good thing.
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
------------------------------
Date: Sat, 05 Dec 1998 11:53:01 -0800
From: Keith Sullivan <KSullivan@worldnet.att.net>
Subject: Christmas Shopping
To: "Keith's Mostly Clean Humor & Weird List" <McHawlist@mail.otherwhen.com>
EARLY CHRISTMAS SHOPPING
It was Christmas and the judge was in a merry mood as he asked the
prisoner, "What are you charged with?"
"Doing my Christmas shopping early," replied the defendant.
"That's no offense," said the judge. "How early were you doing this
shopping?"
"Before the store opened," countered the prisoner.
JoLene <jwk@mindspring.com>
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
NO EXCHANGES WITHOUT A RECEIPT
MIAMI, FL (DPI) -- Toy, clothing, electronics, and other major gift
retailers have begun worrying about lackluster sales during this holiday
season. Apparently, instead of purchasing traditional holiday gift
consumer goods, people are actually finding a way to purchase joy,
peace, and love this season, resulting is high sales volumes in
unexpected locations. Joy, it seems, is available from several
"independent businessmen" stationed throughout Central Park and street
corners throughout America. Peace can purchased at your local Buddhist
monastery with just a small foreign contribution, as demonstrated last
fall by Vice President Al Gore. Finally, love can be found at the home
of Jonathan Colan in Miami, Florida, while supplies last, free of charge
to all qualified petite Jewish women aged 20-35.
Reported by Jonathan Colan
The Daily Probe, December 22, 1997 <daily@walrus.com>
------------------------------
Date: Wed, 23 Dec 1998 22:54:02 -0800
From: Rodney Lee <rodney@comedyontap.com>
Subject: Comedy On Tap for Wed 12-23
To: comedyontap@sparklist.com
CHRISTMAS
THE TOP 16 FORGOTTEN OLDE TYME CHRISTMAS CAROLS
16. Pestilence Is Comin' to Town
14. Do You Smell What I Smell?
13. Blood Let Ye Merry Gentlemen
12. Giveth Thy Caroling Neighbors Money, or We'll Tell the
Towne of Thy
Predilection for Farme Animals
11. Chipmunks Roasting On An Open Fire
10. Daddy Lost His Fingers A-Makin' the Christmas Sausage
9. All I Want for Christmas is my Grog and Mead
8. Espied Have I Father Christmas and My Mother Dear Under the Candled
Tree Embracing Nakedly
7. Joy to the World, Flat Disk That It Is
6. Best Friggin' Leave Some Friggin' Cookies for Santa This
Friggin'
Year, Ye Friggin' Ingrates
5. We Three Moyles of Orient Are
4. The Cloven Hoofe of a Reindeer Hath Laid My Mother's
Mother to her
Rest
3. Wake Up, Ye Merry Gentlemen -- My Husband Hath Arriveth
Home Early!
2. Oh, Who Shall Cut the Christmas Cheese?
1. Mistletoe, Schmistletoe: If I Feel Thy Tongue, Thy Head
Will Roll
-- Ways to Confuse Santa Claus
Instead of milk and cookies, leave him a salad and a note
explaining that you think he could stand to lose a few pounds.
While he's in your house, go find his sleigh and write him a
speeding ticket.
Leave him a note, explaining that you've gone away for the
holidays. Ask if he would mind watering your plants.
While he's in the house, replace all his reindeer with exact
replicas. Then wait and see what happens when he tries to
get them to fly.
Keep an angry bull in your living room. If you think a bull
goes crazy when he sees a little red cape, wait until he
sees that big, red Santa suit!
Build an army of mean-looking snowmen on the roof, holding
signs that say "We hate Christmas," and "Go away Santa."
Leave a note by the telephone, telling Santa that Mrs. Claus
called and wanted to remind him to pick up some milk and a
loaf of bread on his way home.
Leave out a copy of your Christmas list with last-minute
changes and corrections.
While he's in the house, cover the top of the chimney with
barbed wire.
Leave Santa a note, explaining that you've moved. Include a
map with unclear and hard-to-read directions to your new
house.
Paint "hoof-prints" all over your face and clothes. While
he's in the house, go out on the roof. When he comes back
up, act like you've been "trampled."
While he's on the roof, yell up to Santa, asking if he'd
mind adjusting your TV antenna. When he does so, tell him,
"That's good" and don't let him move until the commercials
come on.
------------------------------
Date: Wed, 23 Dec 1998 22:24:55 -0800
From: Keith Sullivan <KSullivan@worldnet.att.net>
Subject: Holidays & Relatives
To: "Keith's Mostly Clean Humor & Weird List" <McHawlist@mail.otherwhen.com>
HOLIDAY RECIPES
By Jim Rosenberg [11/22/95]
It's the holiday season. For us, that means a reunion of Barbara's
clan: The Family that Hotels Forgot." It has taken several years for
me to become comfortable with these get-togethers, during which we all
sleep together in a single cramped house like Bob, Carol, Ted & Alice,
only with no sex. My own blood family, God love 'em, knows the value of
a quiet building with bellhops and maids -- an oasis which is only a
breezy excuse away (we'd better be getting back to the hotel -- you know
how pumpkin pie revvs your father's engine.") Including children, there
will be *24* of us going off to Alabama for the holidays and, despite my
genuine affection for the group, I have considered jumping out of the
plane on the way and spending Christmas with Ned Beatty's squealing
partner from Deliverance.
Shortly after our marriage, Barbara and I spent Christmas in Raleigh
with my brother's family. This was Barbara's first disastrous encounter
with love, Rosenberg style. We were one of about three guests at the
North Raleigh Days Inn, where I slept like a baby and Barbara stayed up
all night sobbing quietly over the lonely, soulless life she'd wound up
with when she chose me as her mate. To me, it was the perfect holiday.
At night, we had the option of noisy marital relations, any further
details being none of your business. In the morning, we slept late on
our fluffy pillows until the maids came, then had a nice hot breakfast.
Over at my brother's, we would have slept in the bumpy plastic molding
of Barbie's Funtime Playhouse, only with absolutely no funtime if you
catch my drift. In the morning we would have risen with the kids at the
crack of dawn to a breakfast consisting of cold Fruit Loops and all the
migraine pills you can eat. I rested my case, but Barbara was not
weakening a bit.
In the past six years, as unlikely as it seems, I've done a complete
flip-flop. I now actually look forward to sleeping crammed nine to a
bed, with some Demarest's toe up my nose. For one thing, all those
cousins give my own wild boys a much needed jolt to their cockiness.
Then, there is Barbara's father: Tool Man -- a God-like hero to my
David ("If he comes, he will build it"). One visit with Granddaddy
gives David a booster shot of handyman work which he'll need to immunize
him for another year from my incompetence. Perhaps most importantly,
the utter chaos of the event relieves the typical holiday pressure.
There is no time or space to put on airs, because you've got to make
sure your child isn't choking someone else's child. Not that anyone
would notice for a few weeks, but it's still the polite thing to do.
Now, I pity *everyone else* -- flying off to edgy, tension-packed family
holidays. For them, I have collected some of my favorite holiday
recipes and traditions which I hope will add joy to the season and serve
to reduce the tremendous stress.
[ ] = permissible substitutions
*Bumpkin Pie* 10 fifths of Jack Daniels
10 cases Old Milwaukee
Crab dip
New carpet
Mix until spews
*Braised Feelings*
Nervous daughter [daughter-in-law]
10 pounds extra fat
1 cracked mother [mother-in-law]
Mix together and stew
*Black Sheep Pie*
1 black sheep
Hopes (dashed)
Feelings (bitter)
Heat until boiling
*Whine Spritzer*
2 or more siblings [friends]
2 parents
1 lifetime of missed opportunities
Mix ingredients together in big room. Add whine.
*Family Outing Picnic*
Gay sibling
Conservative parents
Longtime companion
Cover feelings and simmer for lifetime. Do not overcook.
*Big Hair Centerpiece*
Cosmetologist-trainee sister
Dyed blonde hair
Fluff with fork
*Couch Potato Pie*
19 bowl games
1 large rump
Stuff with food
Let sit
Happy holidays from me to you. If you are so inclined, please leave a
fruit log for me at the TRIADstyle office with a note labeled "Jim."
I've asked Bill, our Editor, to take a bite and if he is still alive the
next day I will pick it up and take it with me to Alabama. If he is
not, look for my column to be more prominently featured in future
issues.
Jim Rosenberg <http://www.wirecom.com/jim>
------------------------------
Date: Mon, 21 Dec 1998 19:56:30 -0800
From: Keith Sullivan <KSullivan@worldnet.att.net>
Subject: Home for the Holidays
To: "Keith's Mostly Clean Humor & Weird List" <McHawlist@mail.otherwhen.com>
IF COMPANIES RAN CHRISTMAS
If IBM ran Christmas...
They would want one big Santa, dressed in blue, where kids queue up for
their present-processing. Receiving presents would take about 24-36
hours of mainframe processing time.
If Microsoft ran Christmas...
Each time you bought an ornament, you would have to buy a tree as well.
You wouldn't have to take the tree, but you still have to pay for it
anyway. Ornament/95 would weigh 1500 pounds (requiring a reinforced
steel countertop tree), draw enough electricity to power a small city,
take up 95% of the space in your living room, would claim to be the
first ornament that uses the colors red/green together. It would
interrogate your other decorations to find out who made them. Most
everyone would hate Microsoft ornaments, but nonetheless would buy them
since most of the other tree types wouldn't work with their hooks.
If Apple ran Christmas...
It would do everything the Microsoft ornaments do, but years earlier,
and with a smaller mouse (not stirring of course).
If Silicon Graphics ran Christmas...
Ornaments would be priced slightly higher, but would hang on the tree
remarkably quickly. Also the colors of the ornaments would be prettier
than most all the others. Options would be available for 'equalization'
of color combinations on the tree.
If Dell ran Christmas...
Wait a minute? Isn't IBM running this Christmas..??
If Fisher Price ran Christmas...
"Baby's First Ornament" would have a hand-crank that you turn to hang
the thing on the tree.
If The Rand Corporation ran Christmas...
The ornaments would be large perfectly smooth and seamless black cubes.
Christmas morning there would be presents for everyone, but no one would
know what they were. Their service department would have an unlisted
phone number, and be located at the North Pole. Blueprints for
ornaments would be highly classified government documents. X-Files
would have an episode about them.
If the NSA ran Christmas...
Your ornaments would have a secret trap door that only the NSA could
access in case they needed to monitor your tree for reasons of national
security.
If DEC ran Christmas...
We used to have Christmas back in the '70s, didn't we?
If Hewlett-Packard ran Christmas...
They would market the Reverse Polish Ornament, which is put in your
attic on the weekend after Thanksgiving, and placed out for viewing the
day after the January Bowl Games.
If Sony ran Christmas...
Their Personal Xmas-ing Device, which would be barely larger than an
ornament and flat, would allow you to celebrate the season with a device
attached conveniently to your belt.
If the Franklin Mint ran Christmas...
Every month, you would receive another lovely hand-crafted item from an
authentic Civil War pewter ornament collection. Each ornament would
weight about 7 pounds, and require you to pay shipping and handling
charges.
If Cray ran Christmas...
The holiday season would cost $16 million but would be celebrated faster
than any other holiday during the year.
If Thinking Machines ran Christmas...
You would be able to hang over 64,000 ornaments on your tree (all
identical) at the same time.
If Timex ran Christmas...
The holiday would be cheap, small, quartz-crystal driven, and would let
you take a licking and keep on shopping.
If Radio Shack ran Christmas...
The staff would sell you ornaments, but not know anything about them or
what they were for. Or you could buy parts to build your own tree.
If K-Tel ran Christmas...
Ornaments would not be sold in stores, but when you purchased some, they
would be accompanied by a free set of Ginsu knives.
If University of Waterloo ran Christmas...
They would immediately change the name to WatMas.
(Thanks to Daryl Hillen)
Bill Stebbins <bs16@CORNELL.EDU>
UGA Humor List <HUMOR@UGA.CC.UGA.EDU>
------------------------------
Date: Fri, 11 Dec 1998 08:44:22 -0500
From: "Roberts, Robin" <rroberts@btg.com>
Subject: Merry Christmas, y'all...
To: spaf
A Southern Christmas Carol
Twas the night before Christmas,
and all through the shack,
not a thing was a movin',
from the front to the back,
The kids were in bed,
I believe we had nine,
The wife in her curlers,
was lookin' real fine.
A cold wind was blowin',
up the holler it moaned,
All seven dogs on the porch howled and groaned.
The boys were all dreamin' of weapons and guns,
for killin' God's creatures, there's no better fun.
The girls in their feminine
dreams were attuned,
to getting those gallons
of Walmart perfume.
The wife wanted jewelry, like rings with big rocks,
I wanted my Chevy, down off the blocks.
Then in the yard, such a noise did commence,
like something was caught, in the barb-wire fence.
I ran to the window, and saw pretty quick,
the man makin' the racket, was Good Ol' St. Nick.
You may think of Santa, in your own mind's eye,
dressed in a red and white suit, But I've got a surprise.
That old boy's an Arkie, our fair state he won't fail'er,
He married his cousin, and they live in a trailer.
On Christmas, of course, a sleigh for his rig,
He hooks the thing up, to a razorback pig.
He climbed on the roof, with his bag full of goodies,
He backed down the fireplace, all dirty and sooty.
Fat legs in his britches, chubby hands in his mittens,
I admit from the back, he looked like Bill Clinton.
He turned toward the tree, His eyes all aglow,
He was a Southern boy, from his head to his toe.
His neck was a red one, His shirt said "Light Beer",
there was no red hat, his cap read, "John Deere".
He left all the presents, with an air of delight,
Then it was back to the chimney, and into the night.
He ran into the yard, and threw his bag in the sleigh,
Then he yelled at the dogs, to get out of the way.
And I heard him exclaim, as those pigs took to flight,
Merry Christmas to all, and to all a "bud lite"
------------------------------
Date: Thu, 17 Dec 98 15:52:06 -0800
From: Peter Langston <psl@langston.com>
Subject: Merry Christmas / Happy Hanukah / Kool Kwanzaa / Happy New Year / Silly Solstice . . .
To: Fun_People@langston.com
X-Lib-of-Cong-ISSN: 1098-7649
Forwarded-by: Matthew Kleinosky <mkleinosky@bigfoot.com>
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 1999, 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.)
------------------------------
Date: Wed, 16 Dec 1998 20:31:20 -0800
From: Keith Sullivan <KSullivan@worldnet.att.net>
Subject: More Christmas
To: "Keith's Mostly Clean Humor & Weird List" <McHawlist@mail.otherwhen.com>
HO-HO-HO AND A BOTTLE OF RUM
By Dave Barry, Miami Herald, December 11, 1998
Ho ho ho! 'Tis the Christmas season, a time of festivity and fun and
credit-card statements the length of The Brothers Karamazov. It's also
a time when the publications at supermarket-checkout counters are
chock-full of articles featuring creative holiday craft ideas, with
headlines like: "JFK JR. TELLS OPRAH: CAST OF 'FRIENDS' ATE MY BABY!"
No, sorry, wrong type of supermarket-checkout publication. The ones
with the holiday craft ideas are the homemaker magazines, which are
filled with articles like 50 Fun Holiday Crafts You Can Make With Your
Saliva. The problem is that, to make these crafts, you usually have to
understand some technical craft terms. For example, I have here a
Family Circle article on 25 do-it-yourself holiday gifts; in the
instructions for making a "Yuletide Shelf," it says that step one is to
"gesso an unfinished wooden shelf."
Call me a big fat holiday dope if you want, but I have no idea what
"gesso" means. It sounds like dialogue in a bad western movie:
FIRST COWBOY: Yew fixin' tuh wrangle them heifers?
SECOND COWBOY: Ah gesso.
The thing is, I happen to consider myself a craft expert, based on my
experience in the summer of 1966 at Camp Sharparoon in Dover Furnace,
N.Y., where I held the title of Craft Shop Counselor. They did not give
this title to just anybody. They gave it only to those individuals who,
when asked, "Do you want to be Craft Shop Counselor?" answered "OK."
Our most popular craft project -- in fact, our only craft project -- was
having the campers make "lanyards," which were these things that you
made by braiding something called "gimp." You spent several days
braiding your lanyard, and then you hung it around your neck, where it
served thousands of useful purposes, although nobody I know ever could
think of any. Nevertheless we had our campers make them by the metric
ton.
I suppose I should have come up with some other craft projects, but I
was pretty busy fighting bats. The Camp Sharparoon craft shop was
located in a rustic old structure that housed what had to be the largest
irate bat colony in North America. Around dusk the bats would swarm out
and, perhaps angered by the "gimp," swoop around the campers, causing
them to become frightened and commit potentially serious braiding
errors. So I, as the authority figure, would try to hit them (the bats)
with a broom. I got pretty good at it. The key is to have a relaxed
grip on the handle, keep your eye on the bat, and follow through on your
swing. I could consistently drive a bat 25 feet, which is more than
twice the best distance ever attained by so-called "craft expert" Martha
Stewart.
And that is why today I am proud to present the following holiday
feature, "Christmas Projects for the Craft-Impaired." We'll start with
an easy and inexpensive gift idea:
HOLIDAY COAT HANGERS
This is the perfect solution for that embarrassing moment when people
give you a gift and you didn't get anything for them. Simply take an
ordinary wire coat hanger from your closet, tie a festive red ribbon
around it, and -- Voila! -- you have a useful, hand-crafted gift that
perfectly expresses the holiday message: "This cost me nothing." If
you don't want to go to all that trouble, you can simply give people a
hanger and tell them to tie their own ribbon on it. For that matter,
they might just as well use their own hanger; no sense in killing
yourself! You have other holiday craft projects to think about, such as
this fun and rewarding idea for the kids:
MAYONNAISE NATIVITY SCENE
Get a big jar -- no, get several big jars -- of mayonnaise. Scoop the
mayonnaise out onto a table or floor in a big glob, and tell the kids to
make a Nativity Scene out of it. They can't, of course, but they'll be
busy for the next few hours, which gives you some time to make:
FESTIVE HOLIDAY EGGNOG
Eggnog is a traditional old beverage that gets its name from two words,
"egg," meaning "egg," and "nog," meaning "a sound people make in the
bathroom if they have consumed too much eggnog." You need a dozen eggs,
a quart of rum and some other ingredients that I forget. Begin by
separating the egg whites from the yolks. When you're done, take a
standard No. 2 pencil and write me a letter explaining how you did it,
because I never could. I always end up just drinking the rum, or, if no
rum is available, beer. Which always puts me in a good mood to plan my:
HOLIDAY "SURPRISE" GIFT PARTY
Invite all your friends, and, in the invitation, tell them to bring a
wrapped gift with no name on it. At a given time -- say, 8 p.m. --
gather all your guests together and tell them to go home. Then open the
gifts. If any guests refuse to leave, threaten to gesso them. Because
you're a busy person with many more holiday projects to attend to. Such
as getting the mayonnaise off the dog.
Copyright © 1998 The Miami Herald
------------------------------
Date: Wed, 16 Dec 1998 20:27:05 -0800
From: Keith Sullivan <KSullivan@worldnet.att.net>
Subject: More Santa
To: "Keith's Mostly Clean Humor & Weird List" <McHawlist@mail.otherwhen.com>
SANTA'S PICK-UP LINES
I know when you've been bad or good -- so let's skip the small talk,
sister!
Hey Babe, when was the last time you did it in a sleigh?
Ever make it with a fat guy with a whip?
I know when you've been bad or good -- so let's skip the small talk,
sister!
Some of my best toys run on batteries... <wink wink>
I see you when you're sleeping -- and you don't wear any underwear, do
you?
Screw the "nice" list -- I've got you on my "nice AND naughty" list!
Wanna join the "Mile High" club?
That's not a candy cane in my pocket, honey. I'm just glad to see you!
TheCrypt1 <thecrypt1@aol.com> [alt.humor]
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
THE TOP 14 THINGS OVERHEARD IN SANTA'S TOYSHOP
14. "Y'know, this new Crying Game Barbie just doesn't seem to be very
popular."
13. "Hey, this is a piece of cake compared to some of the gigs I've had
-- cookies for Keebler, clothes for Kathie Lee, shoes for Nike..."
12. "I don't care what Santa thinks -- these 'Tickle Me Tripp' dolls are
downright frightening!"
11. "Just toss that broken toy in the barrel marked 'Non-Christians.'"
10. "I'll build toys for the fat bastard, but shaving his back hair is
where I draw the line."
9. "Santa, we already make dolls that talk, walk, wet, cry, whatever...
now you want one that blows cigar smoke out of its *what*??"
8. "Please, Mrs. Claus, those batteries are for the children's toys!!"
7. "Hey, *you* try building a Playstation with nothing but antique
Victorian woodcarving tools, chubbo!!"
6. "I don't care who the hell he is -- the old geezer pulls that
'checking it twice' thing again, I'm suing for sexual harassment!"
5. "Alright, which of you smartasses put the weed in the EZ Bake Oven
brownie mix?!"
4. "OK, The Big Guy says no female elves on the Washington DC run this
year -- it's a height thing."
3. "Even if you did see it in the Times, we don't make a 'Poke Your Eye
Out Stick.'"
2. "Furby, schmurby -- Just paint the Tickle-Me-Elmos and the little
brats will never know the difference."
1. "Woo-hoo! C'mon, guys -- it's time to put the finishing touches on
the dresses for the Monica Lewinsky dolls!!"
[ This list copyright 1998 by Chris White ]
[ The Top 5 List top5@gmbweb.com http://www.topfive.com ]
[ To forward or repost, please include this section. ]
[ You like to receive credit for your work, and so do we. ]
------------------------------
Date: Mon, 14 Dec 1998 05:22:21 -0500 (EST)
From: "The Ruminations List" <top5@gmbweb.com>
Subject: Ruminations -- December 14, 1998
To: Ruminations.subscribers@gmbweb.com
Every year, one of the kids responds to my story
about Santa by asking, "Who gives a rat's ass?!"
Well, this year I think they're all going to find out!
(D. Keith Higgs)
Fa la la la la la,
yadda yadda yadda.
(Dennis Chastain)
I hope I don't turn out like my parents,
because I don't want to be a bald, fat,
pervert who chases after little girls --
and I definitely don't want to be like my father!
(Anderson Reggio)
At this time of the year,
with the holidays upon us,
nothing says she cares about how
I am, where I am and what I'm doing
as much as the restraining order.
(Randy Saint)
[ Ruminations is a Top5 publication ]
[ Copyright 1998, Chris White ]
[ --- --- --- --- ]
[ Please forward this message only in its entirety. ]
[ Radio and television programs, magazines and newspapers ]
[ *must* receive permission before using this material. ]
------------------------------
Date: Thu, 03 Dec 1998 19:59:19 -0800
From: Keith Sullivan <KSullivan@worldnet.att.net>
Subject: Santa
To: "Keith's Mostly Clean Humor & Weird List" <McHawlist@mail.otherwhen.com>
BELIEVING
When you stop believing in Santa Claus is when you start getting clothes
for Christmas.
JoLene <jwk@mindspring.com>
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
SANTA AT COLLEGE
Last night, for some reason I was thinking about Santa Claus and I had
an incredible realization.
Consider the following:
* You never actually see Santa, only his "assistants."
* Santa keeps his job until he decides to retire.
* Santa doesn't really do the work; he directs a bunch of helpers to do
all his work for him, but he's the one who everybody credits with the
work.
* Santa doesn't work anywhere near a 40 hour week.
* Santa travels a lot.
Yup, Santa is obviously a senior faculty member with tenure!
The Lighter Side <http://members.tripod.com/~scrappy_007/intro.html>
------------------------------
Date: Wed, 09 Dec 1998 19:38:40 -0800
From: Keith Sullivan <KSullivan@worldnet.att.net>
Subject: Santa Claus
To: "Keith's Mostly Clean Humor & Weird List" <McHawlist@mail.otherwhen.com>
SANTA CLAUS IS WEARING A GOWN
Tune: Santa Claus is Coming to Town
You better come out, you better not cry,
You better not pout, I'm telling you why
Santa Claus is wearing a gown.
He's making the switch,
He's leaving his wife,
He's gonna come out, to start a new life
Santa Claus is wearing a gown.
A secret he's been keeping,
It's made him awful tense.
He knows it will be better now,
Whence comes down off that fence.
So you better come out,
You better not cry, you better not pout,
I'm telling you why.
Santa Claus is wearing a gown.
Bill
Bawdy.Net <bawdymom@bayern.hermesnet.net>
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
MRS. CLAUS GIVES SANTA THE HEAVE-HO-HO-HO
NORTH POLE (DPI) -- The unthinkable has happened to ring in the new
year: Clara Claus has thrown the jolly fat one out of their home and
filed for a divorce. This court action could put an end to Christmas as
we know it. Mrs. Claus told The Probe, "First it was the reindeer. He
claimed he was doing experiments in animal husbandry. Then the elves
all started acting skittish whenever he was around. Now he's hanging
around with that young girl, Christmas Carol. She's always wearing that
short fir-trimmed skirt and that red bodysuit. I know it's cold up
there, but do they have to be so perky and pointy all the time? He said
he'd be out of town for a day delivering presents. I caught him
[expletive deleted] that [expletive deleted] in the toy factory, while
the elves made his yearly rounds for him. My lawyer said half of
everything is mine. Let's see him make the trip next year with 4
reindeer hauling his fat ass around in a little red wagon."
Reported by Dave Henry
The Daily Probe, January 5, 1998 <daily@walrus.com>
------------------------------
Date: Mon, 21 Dec 1998 19:53:31 -0800
From: Keith Sullivan <KSullivan@worldnet.att.net>
Subject: Santa Satire
To: "Keith's Mostly Clean Humor & Weird List" <McHawlist@mail.otherwhen.com>
FOX TO AIR "WHEN MALL SANTAS GO BAD" TV SPECIAL
The FOX television network announced that it will air a Christmas Eve
program,"When Mall Santas Go Bad," as the latest installment of their
popular specials focusing on real situations of extreme violence.
According to the special's producer, Duffy McNair, footage was assembled
from mall security cameras around the country showing terrifying
episodes with drunk, psychotic, violent and heavily armed Santas. "The
stuff we got is totally awesome showing kids in absolute terror as these
Santas start attacking them. I'm really proud of this special," said
McNair. FOX executives expect the special to set an all-time ratings
record for the network by breaking that set by their broadcast last
Spring of "Sadistic Dentists Who Drill Too Far."
Breaking News Beyond Repair <http://bobsfridge.com/skew.htm>
------------------------------
Date: Wed, 28 Oct 1998 16:48:56 -0800
From: Stan Kegel <kegel@fea.net>
Subject: Star Wars (Pun)
To: kegel@fea.net
"Mike, I've got a strange tale. Heard it from a Klingon last night, and I
thought the folks might appreciate it."
"It has to do with those two famous characters, Anakin and Luke Skywalker.
The tale concerns that time when Anakin was going by the name of Vader,
specifically the lightsaber battle they fought in the cloud city. The
depiction of that fight in the Lucas film was fairly accurate, but it left
out a few details."
"It seems that, during the course of the fracas, more words were exchanged
while the two of them were temporarily clenched with their weapons locked
against each other, and apparently the director must have felt that some
editing would make the dialogue a bit snappier, so some of them were snipped out."
"So here's the rest of what they said to each other."
'Luke, there is something that you do not know.'
'What's that?'
'Luke, I know, beyond doubt, what you are getting for Christmas.'
'You're wrong. You can't know that.'
'Nevertheless, it is so.'
'I don't believe you! This isn't possible!'
'Trust me, Luke, I do know what you are getting for Christmas. I know it
with the same degree of certainly as I know of the inevitability of the
failure of your pitiful rebellion.'
'You can't know that. The rebellion will succeed!'
'I know a great many things, Luke. Join with me, let me show you the true
power of the Dark Side of the force, and together we can destroy the emperor!'
'Is that why you think you know what I'm going to get for Christmas? You
think your mastery of the Dark Side can show you the future?'
'The Dark Side shows me many things, Luke, but I did not need it for this.'
'Then how do you know what I'm getting?'
'It's very simple, Luke. ... I have felt your presents.'
------------------------------
Date: Wed, 16 Dec 1998 10:05:00 -0500 (EST)
From: Nev Dull <nev@bostic.com>
Subject: Top 10 Reasons to like Hanukkah.
To: nev@bostic.com (/dev/null)
Forwarded-by: chuck <chuck@Yerkes.com>
Forwarded-by: Evan Marcus <evan@carroll.com>
TOP 10 REASONS TO LIKE HANUKKAH
10. No roof damage from reindeer.
9. Never a silent night when you're among your Jewish loved ones.
8. If someone screws up on their gift, there are seven more days
to correct it.
7. Betting Hanukkah gelt (the chocolate coins) on candle races
6. You can use your fireplace.
5. Naked spin-the-dreidel games.
4. Fun waxy buildup on the menorah.
3. No awkward explanations of virgin birth
2. Cheer entirely optional.
1. No Irving Berlin songs.
------------------------------
Date: Tue, 22 Dec 1998 6:37:5
From: "The Top 5 List" <top5@gmbweb.com>
Subject: Top5 - 12/22/98 - *Other* Signs Santa is a Woman
To: "The Top 5 List" <top5@gmbweb.com>
The Top 15 *Other* Signs Santa Claus is Actually a Woman
15> Santa *remembers* it's Christmas. 'Nuf said.
14> Reads children's letters in office instead of in bathroom.
13> Never explains what exactly you did to deserve that coal in
your stocking; if you have to ask, maybe that's the
problem!
12> Employs little people in a sweatshop and co-hosts TV talk
show, "Regis and Santa Lee."
11> Despite the closet full of red coats with big black belts,
*still* insists she has nothing to wear on Christmas Eve.
10> "Mrs. Claus" wears work boots, has a crew cut, and drives
a '68 El Camino.
9> A man simply would not care if you were naughty or nice.
8> Actually seems to shake like TWO bowls full of jelly.
7> Bowl full of jelly, my ass. It's water retention.
6> Constantly whining about equality until it's time to
clean out the reindeer stalls.
5> Matching shoes and belt? Only a woman would accessorize a
pantsuit like that!
4> No guy would ever name his animals Dancer and Prancer.
3> Santa never, ever observed peeing off of rooftops.
2> The North Pole Blockbuster's been out of "The Horse
Whisperer" for weeks.
and Top5's Number 1 *Other* Sign Santa Claus is Actually a Woman...
1> With the way they build chimneys these days you'd *have*
to be Calista friggin' Flockhart just to get in!
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