Cinnabar
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The Funny side of Santa!
- Thread starter Cinnabar
- Start date
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Cinnabar
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Santa's Mean!
Dear Santa Claus or Current Resident:
* Dear Santa Claus, One of the older girls at school says you're not real. Are you?
- Feliza, age 6
Either I am real or you're a schizophrenic who writes imaginary letters to herself. Either way, go make yourself useful and fetch Santa a cold beer will ya?
* Dear Santa, why is the sky blue and what happens to us when we die?
-George, age 9
Ho Ho Ho! For your Christmas gift this year, I am going to find your father. Because why else would you be asking Santa these questions? Either you have no father or you do not have access to Wikipedia. On second thought, yeah, I’ll just get you a laptop.
* Dear Santa, Can you explain the birds and the bees?
- Tommy, age 10
Sure! But late night cable television programming does a much better job! Enjoy!
* Dear Santa, All my life I’ve always wanted a puppy. Will you please send me one?
- Joey, age 39
Ho Ho Ho! Joey, you are the only non-retarded 39 year old who still lives at home and writes me letters. I am sending you the Help Wanted section of the newspaper for Christmas. Get a job, you bum! Merry Christmas!
Dear Santa Claus or Current Resident:
* Dear Santa Claus, One of the older girls at school says you're not real. Are you?
- Feliza, age 6
Either I am real or you're a schizophrenic who writes imaginary letters to herself. Either way, go make yourself useful and fetch Santa a cold beer will ya?
* Dear Santa, why is the sky blue and what happens to us when we die?
-George, age 9
Ho Ho Ho! For your Christmas gift this year, I am going to find your father. Because why else would you be asking Santa these questions? Either you have no father or you do not have access to Wikipedia. On second thought, yeah, I’ll just get you a laptop.
* Dear Santa, Can you explain the birds and the bees?
- Tommy, age 10
Sure! But late night cable television programming does a much better job! Enjoy!
* Dear Santa, All my life I’ve always wanted a puppy. Will you please send me one?
- Joey, age 39
Ho Ho Ho! Joey, you are the only non-retarded 39 year old who still lives at home and writes me letters. I am sending you the Help Wanted section of the newspaper for Christmas. Get a job, you bum! Merry Christmas!
Cinnabar
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Aim to get people :roflmao: and grossed out 
! I don't think we've done evil yet! :evil2:
:xmas: Dancing Bannana Santa says "Brrrrr"!
http://video.aol.com/video-detail/evil-santa-clausewmv/3673116862/?icid=VIDLRVMUS04
! I don't think we've done evil yet! :evil2: :xmas: Dancing Bannana Santa says "Brrrrr"!
http://video.aol.com/video-detail/evil-santa-clausewmv/3673116862/?icid=VIDLRVMUS04
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A Christmas Story for people having a bad day:
When four of Santa's elves got sick, the trainee elves did not produce toys as fast as the regular ones, and Santa began to feel the
Pre-Christmas pressure.
Then Mrs Claus told Santa her Mother was coming to visit, which
stressed Santa even more.
When he went to harness the reindeer, he found that three of them were
about to give birth and two others had jumped the fence and were out,
Heaven knows where.
Then when he began to load the sleigh, one of the floorboards cracked,
the toy bag fell to the ground and all the toys were scattered.
Frustrated, Santa went in the house for a cup of apple cider and a
shot of rum. When he went to the cupboard, he discovered the elves had
drank all the cider and hidden the liquor. In his frustration, he
accidentally dropped the cider jug, and it broke into hundreds of
little glass pieces all over the kitchen floor. He went to get the
broom and found the mice had eaten all the straw off the end of the
broom.
Just then the doorbell rang, and irritated, Santa marched to the door,
yanked it open, and there stood a little angel with a great big
Christmas tree.
The angel said very cheerfully, 'Merry Christmas, Santa. Isn't this a
lovely day? I have a beautiful tree for you. Where would you like me
to stick it?'
....And so began the tradition of the little angel on top of the Christmas tree..
When four of Santa's elves got sick, the trainee elves did not produce toys as fast as the regular ones, and Santa began to feel the
Pre-Christmas pressure.
Then Mrs Claus told Santa her Mother was coming to visit, which
stressed Santa even more.
When he went to harness the reindeer, he found that three of them were
about to give birth and two others had jumped the fence and were out,
Heaven knows where.
Then when he began to load the sleigh, one of the floorboards cracked,
the toy bag fell to the ground and all the toys were scattered.
Frustrated, Santa went in the house for a cup of apple cider and a
shot of rum. When he went to the cupboard, he discovered the elves had
drank all the cider and hidden the liquor. In his frustration, he
accidentally dropped the cider jug, and it broke into hundreds of
little glass pieces all over the kitchen floor. He went to get the
broom and found the mice had eaten all the straw off the end of the
broom.
Just then the doorbell rang, and irritated, Santa marched to the door,
yanked it open, and there stood a little angel with a great big
Christmas tree.
The angel said very cheerfully, 'Merry Christmas, Santa. Isn't this a
lovely day? I have a beautiful tree for you. Where would you like me
to stick it?'
....And so began the tradition of the little angel on top of the Christmas tree..
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'Twas The Night Before Christmas
'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 traveling 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 scintillate 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."
In other words,
Merry Christmas to all
and to all a good night
Merry Christmas to all
and to all a good night
Rae1889
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Dear Santa,
I’ve been a good mom all year. I’ve fed, cleaned, and cuddled my
two children on demand, visited their doctor’s office more than my
doctor, sold sixty-two cases of candy bars to raise money to plant
a shade tree on the school playground, and figured out how to
attach nine patches onto my daughter’s girl scout sash with
staples and a glue gun.
I was hoping you could spread my list out over several Christmases,
since I had to write this letter with my son’s red crayon, on the
back of a receipt in the laundry room between cycles, and who
knows when I’ll find anymore free time in the next 18 years.
Here are my Christmas wishes: I’d like a pair of legs that don’t
ache after a day of chasing kids (in any color, except purple,
which I already have) and arms that don’t flap in the breeze, but
are strong enough to carry a screaming toddler out of the candy
aisle in the grocery store. I’d also like a waist, since I lost
mine somewhere in the seventh month of my last pregnancy.
If you’re hauling big ticket items this year I’d like a car with
fingerprint resistant windows and a radio that only plays adult
music; a television that doesn’t broadcast any programs containing
talking animals; and a refrigerator with a secret compartment
behind the crisper where I can hide when I want to talk on the
phone.
On the practical side, I could use a talking daughter doll that
says, “Yes, Mommy” to boost my parental confidence, along with one
potty-trained toddler, two kids who don’t fight, and three pairs of
jeans that will zip all the way up without the use of power tools.
I could also use a recording of Tibetan monks chanting, “Don’t eat
in the living room”, “Take your shoes off the couch,” and ‘Take
your hands off your brother/sister,” because my voice seems to be
just out of my children’s hearing range and can only be heard by
the dog.
And please don’t forget the Playdoh Travel Pack, the stocking
stuffer this year for mothers of preschoolers. It comes in three
fluorescent colors and is guaranteed to crumble on any carpet
making the In-laws’ house seem just like mine.
If it’s too late to find any of these products, I’d settle for
enough time to brush my teeth and comb my hair in the same
morning, or the luxury of eating food warmer than room temperature
without it being served in a Styrofoam container.
If you don’t mind I could also use a few Christmas miracles to
brighten the holiday season. Would it be too much trouble to
declare ketchup a vegetable? It will clear my conscience
immensely. It would be helpful if you could coerce my children to
help around the house without demanding payment as if they were
the bosses of an organized crime family; or if my toddler didn’t
look so cute sneaking downstairs to eat contraband ice cream in
his pajamas at midnight.
Well, Santa, the buzzer on the dryer is ringing and my son saw my
feet under the laundry room door. I think he wants his crayon back.
Have a safe trip and remember to leave your wet boots by the
chimney and come in and dry off by the fire so you don’t catch
cold. Help yourself to cookies and trifle on the table, but don’t eat too
much or leave crumbs on the carpet.
Yours Always,
Mom
PS One more thing…you can cancel all my requests if you can keep
my children young enough to believe in you.
I’ve been a good mom all year. I’ve fed, cleaned, and cuddled my
two children on demand, visited their doctor’s office more than my
doctor, sold sixty-two cases of candy bars to raise money to plant
a shade tree on the school playground, and figured out how to
attach nine patches onto my daughter’s girl scout sash with
staples and a glue gun.
I was hoping you could spread my list out over several Christmases,
since I had to write this letter with my son’s red crayon, on the
back of a receipt in the laundry room between cycles, and who
knows when I’ll find anymore free time in the next 18 years.
Here are my Christmas wishes: I’d like a pair of legs that don’t
ache after a day of chasing kids (in any color, except purple,
which I already have) and arms that don’t flap in the breeze, but
are strong enough to carry a screaming toddler out of the candy
aisle in the grocery store. I’d also like a waist, since I lost
mine somewhere in the seventh month of my last pregnancy.
If you’re hauling big ticket items this year I’d like a car with
fingerprint resistant windows and a radio that only plays adult
music; a television that doesn’t broadcast any programs containing
talking animals; and a refrigerator with a secret compartment
behind the crisper where I can hide when I want to talk on the
phone.
On the practical side, I could use a talking daughter doll that
says, “Yes, Mommy” to boost my parental confidence, along with one
potty-trained toddler, two kids who don’t fight, and three pairs of
jeans that will zip all the way up without the use of power tools.
I could also use a recording of Tibetan monks chanting, “Don’t eat
in the living room”, “Take your shoes off the couch,” and ‘Take
your hands off your brother/sister,” because my voice seems to be
just out of my children’s hearing range and can only be heard by
the dog.
And please don’t forget the Playdoh Travel Pack, the stocking
stuffer this year for mothers of preschoolers. It comes in three
fluorescent colors and is guaranteed to crumble on any carpet
making the In-laws’ house seem just like mine.
If it’s too late to find any of these products, I’d settle for
enough time to brush my teeth and comb my hair in the same
morning, or the luxury of eating food warmer than room temperature
without it being served in a Styrofoam container.
If you don’t mind I could also use a few Christmas miracles to
brighten the holiday season. Would it be too much trouble to
declare ketchup a vegetable? It will clear my conscience
immensely. It would be helpful if you could coerce my children to
help around the house without demanding payment as if they were
the bosses of an organized crime family; or if my toddler didn’t
look so cute sneaking downstairs to eat contraband ice cream in
his pajamas at midnight.
Well, Santa, the buzzer on the dryer is ringing and my son saw my
feet under the laundry room door. I think he wants his crayon back.
Have a safe trip and remember to leave your wet boots by the
chimney and come in and dry off by the fire so you don’t catch
cold. Help yourself to cookies and trifle on the table, but don’t eat too
much or leave crumbs on the carpet.
Yours Always,
Mom
PS One more thing…you can cancel all my requests if you can keep
my children young enough to believe in you.
Cinnabar
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roo, Goodness. Santa was in such a thither by the time the angel arrived it’s a wonder he didn’t kick the little thing off his property. Then we’d be stuck only with the star!
My Dearest Birdbomb, your verbose narrative of this imminent celebratory fete was indeed plenteous of the jocular and it is with the most existent positive reception that I articulate, in the most graspable phraseology, that I attach furthermost significance to your astounding aptitude to endeavor to transfer exuberance to all here who are in scarcity of glee during this time of weight, where the municipal is unduly coerced to escalate in the ecstatic due to commercial venue.
In other words, damn, you made me laugh! And the pressure of Christmas is a bitch!
Rae, Now I know why I'm not a mom!
My Dearest Birdbomb, your verbose narrative of this imminent celebratory fete was indeed plenteous of the jocular and it is with the most existent positive reception that I articulate, in the most graspable phraseology, that I attach furthermost significance to your astounding aptitude to endeavor to transfer exuberance to all here who are in scarcity of glee during this time of weight, where the municipal is unduly coerced to escalate in the ecstatic due to commercial venue.
In other words, damn, you made me laugh! And the pressure of Christmas is a bitch!
Rae, Now I know why I'm not a mom!
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I love this thread! Holidays without humor just aren't holidays at all... I'll be away from cyberspace for a week starting tomorrow morning. I'll miss this, and CWE, and all the CWE elves running around causing mischief. Happy Christmas (or solstice, or what have you) to all, and to all a good night!
Peace,
Nakamova
Peace,
Nakamova
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The star probably turned up a bit later and got the same 'treatment'. Santa was pretty ticked off! :roflmao:
BuckeyeFan
Grandpa
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Rae's 'facts' about Santa Claus explain why we never see him. He is in and out so fast that our 'optical sensory organs' can't focus that fast. Thanks for explaining that.:rock:
Merry Christmas to ALL!!!!!
Merry Christmas to ALL!!!!!
Cinnabar
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This guys fantastic!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=<obj...e" width="425" height="344"></embed></object>
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=<obj...e" width="425" height="344"></embed></object>
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