On the 12th day of the Eurocentrically imposed midwinter festival, my Significant Other in a consenting adult, monogamous relationship gave to me:

TWELVE males reclaiming their inner warrior through ritual drumming,

ELEVEN pipers piping (plus the 18-member pit orchestra made up of members in good standing of the Musicians Equity Union as called for in their union contract even though they will not be asked to play a note),

TEN melanin deprived testosterone-poisoned scions of the patriarchal ruling class system leaping,

NINE persons engaged in rhythmic self-expression,

EIGHT economically disadvantaged female persons stealing milk-products from enslaved Bovine-Americans,

SEVEN endangered swans swimming on federally protected wetlands,

SIX enslaved Fowl-Americans producing stolen non-human animal products,

FIVE golden symbols of culturally sanctioned enforced domestic incarceration,

(NOTE after members of the Animal Liberation Front threatened to throw red paint at my computer, the calling birds, French hens and partridge have been reintroduced to their native habitat. To avoid further Animal-American enslavement, the remaining gift package has been revised.)

FOUR hours of recorded whale songs

THREE deconstructionist poets

TWO Sierra Club calendars printed on recycled processed tree carcasses and…

ONE Spotted Owl activist chained to an old-growth pear tree.

Merry Christmas Happy Chanukah. Good Kwanzaa Oh, heck! Happy Holiday!!!!

* Unless, of course, you are suffering from Seasonally Affected Disorder (SAD). If this be the case, please substitute this gratuitous call for celebration with a suggestion that your have a thoroughly adequate day.

Once again, our female staff will be offering courses to men of any marital status. Classes will be limited to 10, as course material may prove to be difficult. To register please contact your nearest grade school.

Thank You

Combating Stupidity
You Too Can Do Housework
P.M.S. – Learning When To Keep Your Mouth Shut
How To Fill An Ice Cube Tray
We Do Not Want Sleazy Underthings For Christmas – Give us Money
Understanding The Female Response To Your Coming In At 4 AM
Parenting – No It Doesnt End With Conception
Get A Life – Learn How To Cook
How Not To Act Like An Asshole When Youre Obviously Wrong
Spelling – Even You Can Get It Right
Understanding Your Financial Incompetence
You – The Weaker Sex
Reasons To Give Flowers
How To Stay Awake After Sex
Why It Is Unacceptable To Relieve Yourself Anywhere But The Bathroom
Garbage – Getting It To The Curb
Sex 101 – You Can Fall Asleep Without It If You Really Try
Sex 102 – The Morning Dilemma – If Its Awake Take A Shower
Sports And The Weekend Are Not Synonymous
How To Put The Toilet Seat Down
How To Go Shopping With Your Wife And Not Get Lost
The Remote Control – Overcoming Your Dependence
Helpful Postural Hints For Couch Potatoes
How Not To Act Younger Than Your Children
You Too Can Be A Designated Driver
Honestly – You Dont Look Like Mel Gibson – Especially When Naked
Changing Your Underwear – It Really Works
The Attainable Goal – Omitting *#@&#!^ From Your Vocabulary
Fluffing The Blankets After Farting Is Not Necessary
Real Men Ask For Directions

Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the ship

Not a circuit was buzzing, not one microchip:

The phasers were hung in the armory securely,

In hope that no alien would get up that early.

The crewmen were nestled all snug in their bunks

(Except for the few who were partying drunks)

And Picard in his nightshirt, and Bev in her lace,

Had just settled down for a neat face to face. . .
When out in the hall there arose such a racket,

That we leapt from our beds, pulling on pant and jacket.

Away to the lifts we all shot like a gun,

Leapt into the turbos and shouted Deck One!

The bridge red-alert lights, which flashed through the din,

Gave a lustre of Hades to objects within.

When, what on the viewscreen, our eyes should behold,

But a weird kind of sleigh, and some guy who looked old.
But the glint in his eyes was so strange and askew,

That we knew in a moment it had to be Q.

His sleigh grew much larger as closer he came.

Then he zapped on the bridge and addressed us by name:

Its Riker, Its Data, Its Worf and Jean-Luc!

Its Geordi, Weasley, the genetic fluke!

To the top of the bridge, to the top of the hull!

Now float away! Float away! Float away all!
As leaves in the autumn are whisked off the street,

So the floor of the bridge came away from our feet,

And up to the ceiling, our bodies they flew,

As the captain called out, what the Hell is this, Q?!

And, snapping his fingers, he vanished again.

The spell was removed, and we crashed to the ground.

Then Q, dressed in fur from head to toe,

Appeared once again, to continue the show.

Thats enough! creid the captain, Youll stop this at once!

And Riker said, Worf, take aim at this dunce!

Im deeply offended, Jean-Luc, replied Q,

I just wanted to celebrate Christmas with you.
As we scoffed at his words, he produced a large sack.

He dumped out the contents and took a step back.

Ive brought gifts, he daid, just to show Im sincere.

Theres someting delightful for everyone here.

He sat on the floor, and dug into the pile,

And handed out gifts with his most charming smile:
For Counselor Troi, theres no need to explain,

Heres Tylenol-Beta for all of your pain.

For Worf Ive some mints, as his breaths not too great

And for Geordi LaForge, an inflatable date.

For Wesley, some hormones, and Clearasil-plus;

For Data, a joke book, for Riker a truss.

For Beverly Crusher, theres sleek lingerie,

And for Jean-Luc, the thrill of just seeing her that way.

And he sprang to his feet with that grin on his face,

And, clapping his hands, disappeared into space.
But we heard him exclaim as he dwindled from sight,

Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good flight!

Twas the week before Christmas and those sly little elves,

Our congressmen, labored to better themselves.

They cared not a whit what the public might think

Let them eat cake, some said with a wink.



And putting their thumbs to the tip of their nose,

they waved as they shouted Anything goes!



They scoffed at the thought that we might object,

to a tax cut for the wealthy of a posh percent.

Theyve got prerequisites-franking, per diem, and more —

bargain-priced haircuts and gyms (three or four!)



Paid speaking engagements and meals on the cuff,

celebrity status — (theyve sure got it tough!),



Yet they claim theyre in touch with the man on the street,

as John Q. Public struggles to make both ends meet.

If all workers decided what they were due,

theyd be getting those fat paychecks too!



But while we take cutbacks or raises quite small,

and one out of 20 has no job at all,

our millionaire Congress decides on the budget

land trimming Medicare and Medicaid will do it, they say.



In this season for giving, our Congress is taking.

Weve had it with them and our backs are breaking.

With hard times, disasters, and layoffs on our dockets,

we bit the bullet and they fill their pockets!



Oh jobless, oh homeless, oh desperate and needy –

dare anyone say our Congress is greedy?



If in this feeling Im not alone,

take up your pen or pick up your phone.

As dry leaves before the wild hurricane fly,

let the road of your anger mount to the sky.



Indignant, outraged, appalled and beset

let your congressman know that you wont forget!

When election times comes — and certain it will —

youre voting him out for passing that bill.



More rapid than eagles, their elections assured

they toasted each other and laughed at the herd.

And I heard them exclaim with adjournment at hand,



Merry Christmas to us, and the public be damned!

These drastic measures were inadvertently taken in notes written by parents to excuse their childrens absences from school. In all fairness to pupils throughout the land, I must point out that slaughtering the English language is a practice that is not limited only to students. An astonishing number of grown-ups blithely go about murdering the Kings English without any inkling that they are committing a serious crime. If you think that todays students arent learning all they should, check out some of the writing miscreated by their moms and dads. The following are actual excuse notes received by teachers.
Dear School:
Please eckuse John being absent on Jan. 28, 29, 30, 31, 32, and also 33. Please excuse Gloria from Jim today. She is administrating. Pleazse excuse Roland from P.E. for a few day. Yesterday he fell out of a tree and misplaced his hip. John has been absent because he had two teeth taken off his face. Carlos was absent yesterday because he was playing football. He was hurt in the growing part. Mary could not come to school because she has been bothered by very close veins. Chris will not be in school cus he has an acre in his side. Please excuse Ray Friday from school. He has very loose vowels. Please excuse pedro from being absent yesterday. He had (several mispellings of diarrhea crossed out) the &*%^$. Please excuse Tom for being absent yesterday. He had diarrhea and his boots leak. Irving was absent this morning because he missed his bust. Please excuse Jimmy for being. It was his fathers fault. I kept Billie home because she had to go Christmas shopping because I dont know what size she wear. Please excuse Harriet for missing school yesterday. We forget to get the Sunday paper off the porch. and when we found it Monday, we thought it was Sunday. Please excuse my sons tardiness. I forgot to wake him up and I did not find him till I started making the beds. Sally wont be

How do you know if your a redneck

The Holiday Nightmare

(to the tune of Santa Claus is comming to town.)

You better give up
On Christmas this year–
You havent a chance
With relatives here–
Sam and Roz are coming to town.

Theyre bringing thier kids
To add to your fun–
Theyre staying ten days;
You thought it was one–
Sam and Roz are coming to town.

Theyll monopolize your bathroom;
Theyll destroy your sol-i-tude;
They will eat you out of house and
home,
Then complain about the food.

Theyre only one way
To save your No-el–
You give em your house;
You take a hotel–
Sam and Roz are comming to town.

I remember the 60s, so – at least according to one expert (Wavey Gravy, social commentator and DJ) on the subject – I wasnt THERE. When the 60s recalled these days, its usually done to point out how angry, vulgar and hateful a time they were. The image is a bit overblown.

At least when it comes to Christmasy things, the 60s werent all bad. Charlie Schulz gave us A Charlie Brown Christmas back then and thats when the Grinch first became famous.

I seem to recall a cycle of whimsically ironic humor from back in the 60s. Now, by whimsically ironic I mean Jokes that would come from the lips of a Jonathan Winters rather than pen of a P. J. ORourke. Anybody remember these? Anybody remember others?

Look, I dont care what star youre following, get them blasted camels off my lawn!

Ho, ho, ho yerself, little fat guy, the hooves of those animals are chewing up my shingles something fierce!

I am hereby officially tendering my resignation as an adult, in order to accept the responsibilities of a 6 year old. The tax base is lower.

I want to be six again.

I want to go to McDonalds and think its the best place in the world to eat.

I want to sail sticks across a fresh mud puddle and make waves with rocks.

I want to think M&Ms are better than money, because you can eat them.

I want to play kickball during recess and stay up on Christmas Eve waiting to hear Santa and Rudolph on the roof.

I long for the days when life was simple. When all you knew were your colors, the addition tables and simple nursery rhymes, but it didnt bother you, because you didnt know what you didnt know, and you didnt care.

I want to go to school and have snack time, recess, gym and field trips.

I want to be happy, because I dont know what should make me upset.

I want to think the world is fair and everyone in it is honest and good.

I want to believe that anything is possible. Sometime, while I was maturing, I learned too much. I learned of nuclear weapons, prejudice, starving and abused kids, lies, unhappy marriages, illness, pain and mortality. I want to be six again.

I want to think that everyone, including myself, will live forever, because I dont know the concept of death.

I want to be oblivious to the complexity of life and be overly excited by the little things again.

I want television to be something I watch for fun, not something used for escape from the things I should be doing.

I want to live knowing the little things that I find exciting will always make me as happy as when I first learned them. I want to be six again.

I remember not seeing the world as a whole, but rather being aware of only the things that directly concerned me.

I want to be naive enough to think that if Im happy, so is everyone else.

I want to walk down the beach and think only of the sand beneath my feet and the possibility of finding that blue piece of sea glass Im looking for.

I want to spend my afternoons climbing trees and riding my bike, letting the grownups worry about time, the dentist and how to find the money to fix the car.

I want to wonder what Ill do when I grow up and what Ill be, who Ill be and not worry about what Ill do if this doesnt work out. I want that time back.

I want to use it now as an escape, so that when my computer crashes, or I have a mountain of paperwork, or two depressed friends, or a fight with my spouse, or bittersweet memories of times gone by, or second thoughts about so many things, I can travel back and build a snowman, without thinking about anything except whether the snow sticks together and what I can possibly use for the snowmans mouth.

I want to be six again.

[Thanks to BS Pyle & Marc Whitney]

Q: If Santa Claus and Mrs. Claus had a child, what would he be called?
A: A subordinate claus.