Q: What do you call a bunch of rednecks chasing a kid around in a circle?

A: NASCAR

Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house

Not a creature was stirring, except Papas mouse.

The computer was humming, the icons were hopping,

As Papa did last-minute Internet shopping.

The stockings were hung by the modem with care

In hope that St. Nicholas would bring new software.

The children were nestled all snug in their beds,

While visions of computer games danced in their heads.



PageMaker for Billy, and Quicken for Dan,

And Carmen Sandiego for Pamela Ann.

The letters to Santa had been sent out by Mom,

To santaclaus@toyshop.northpole.com –



Which has now been re-routed to Washington State

Because Santas workshop has been bought by Bill Gates.

All the elves and reindeer have had to skedaddle

To flashy new quarters in suburban Seattle.



After centuries of a life that was simple and spare,

St. Nicholas is suddenly a new billionaire,

With a shiny red Porsche in the place of his sleigh,

And a house on Lake Washington thats just down the way



From where Bill has his mansion. The old fellow preens

In black Gucci boots and red Calvin Klein jeans.

The elves have stock options and desks with a view,

Where they write computer code for Johnny and Sue.



No more dolls or toy soldiers or little toy drums (ahem – pardon me)

No more dolls or tin soldiers or little toy drums

Will be under the tree, only compact disk ROMS

With the Microsoft label. So spin up your drive,

From now on Christmas runs only on Win95.



More rapid than eagles the competitors came,

And Bill whistled, and shouted, and called them by name.

Now, ADOBE! now, CLARIS! now, INTUIT! too,

Now, APPLE! and NETSCAPE! you are all of you through,



It is Microsofts SANTA that the kids cant resist,

Its the ultimate software with a traditional twist –

Recommended by no less than the jolly old elf,

And on the package, a picture of Santa himself.



Get em young, keep em long, is Microsofts scheme,

And a merger with Santa is a marketers dream.

To the top of the NASDAQ! to the top of the Dow!

Now dash away! dash away! dash away – wow!



And Mama in her kerchief and I in my cap,

Had just settled down for a long winters nap,

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,

The whir and the hum of our satellite platter,

As it turned toward that new Christmas star in the sky,

The SANTALITE owned by the Microsoft guy.

As I sprang from my bed and was turning around,

My computer turned on with a Jingle-Bells sound.



And there on the screen was a smiling Bill Gates

Next to jolly old Santa, two arm-in-arm mates.

And I heard them exclaim in voice so bright,

Have a MICROSOFT CHRISTMAS, and TO ALL A GOOD NIGHT.

Signs You Bought a Bad Christmas Tree



Two feet tall, forty feet wide



Salesmans opening line: Youre not a cop, are you?



It looks suspiciously like a broom handle with a lot of coat hangers



While you sleep, it gets liquored up and takes the family caravan for a joy ride.



Each branch has Duraflame printed on it.



Keeps heckling your lame top ten list



Its very small and says air freshener on it.



Rabbis have better Christmas trees than yours.



Some guy named Mujibur puts a crappy Statue of Liberty on top of it



Constantly bragging about its trunk size

Dear Santa:

Ive been a good mom all year. Ive fed, cleaned and cuddled my two children on demand, visited the doctors 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 daughters 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 sons red crayon, on the back of a receipt in the laundry room between cycles, and who knows when Ill find anymore free time in the next 18 years.

Here are my Christmas wishes:

Id like a pair of legs that dont ache after a day of chasing kids (in any color, except purple, which I already have) and arms that dont flap in the breeze but are strong enough to carry a screaming toddler out of the candy aisle in the grocery store. Id also like a waist, since I lost mine somewhere in the seventh month of my last pregnancy. If youre hauling big ticket items this year Id like a car with fingerprint resistant windows and a radio that only plays adult music; a television that doesnt broadcast any programs containing talking animals; and a refrigerator with a secret compartment behind the crisper where I can hide to talk on the phone.

On the practical side, I could use a talking daughter doll that says, Yes, Mommy to boost my parental confidence, along with one potty-trained toddler, two kids who dont 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, Dont eat in the living room and Take your hands off your brother, because my voice seems to be just out of my childrens hearing range and can only be heard by the dog. And please dont forget the Playdoh Travel Pack, the hottest stocking stuffer this year for mothers of preschoolers. It comes in three fluorescent colours and is guaranteed to crumble on any carpet making the in-laws house seem just like mine. If its too late to find any of these products, Id 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 dont 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 didnt 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 dont catch cold. Help yourself to cookies on the table but dont eat too many or leave crumbs on the carpet.

Yours Always … Mom.

P.S. – One more thing … you can cancel all my requests if you can keep my children young enough to believe in Santa.

If you threw a party, the worst thing you could have done was throw the kind of party where your guests wake up the next day and call you up to say they had a nice time. Now youll be expected to throw another party next year. What you should have done was throw the kind of party where your guests wake up several days from now and call their lawyers to find out if theyve been indicted for anything. You want your guests to be so anxious to avoid a recurrence of your party that they immediately start planning parties of their own, a year in advance, just to prevent you from having another one. So next time, make sure your party reaches the correct “Festivity Level….”

Festivity Level One: Your guests are chatting amiably with each other, admiring your Christmas tree ornaments, singing carols around the upright piano, sipping at their drinks and nibbling on hors doeuvres.

Festivity Level Two: Your guests are talking loudly — sometimes to each other and sometimes to nobody at all, rearranging your Christmas tree ornaments, singing “I Gotta Be Me” around the upright piano, gulping their drinks and wolfing down hors doeuvres.

Festivity Level Three Your guests are arguing violently with inanimate objects, singing “I Cant Get No Satisfaction,” gulping other peoples drinks, wolfing down Christmas tree ornaments and sticking hors doeuvres in the upright piano to see what happens when the little hammers strike.

Festivity Level Four Your guests have hors doeuvres smeared all over their naked, liquor-soaked bodies and are performing a ritual dance around the burning Christmas tree. The piano is missing.

You want to keep your party somewhere around level three, unless you rent your home and own firearms, in which case, feel free to go to level four. The best way to get to level three is eggnog. Eggnog is a traditional holiday drink invented by the English. Many people wonder where the word “eggnog” comes from. The first syllable comes from the English word “egg,” meaning, egg. I dont know where the “nog” comes from. To make eggnog, youll need rum, whiskey, wine, gin and, if they are in season, eggs. Combine all ingredients in a large festive bowl. Then induce your guests to drink this mixture.

If your party is successful, the police will knock on your door, unless your party is very successful, in which case they will lob tear gas through your living room window. As host, your job is to make sure they dont arrest anybody. Or if theyre dead set on arresting someone, your job is to make sure it isnt you. The best way to do this is to show a lot of respect for their uniforms and assure them that youre not doing anything illegal. Heres how to handle it:…
Police: Good evening. Are you the host?
You: No
Police: Weve been getting complaints about this party.
You: About the drugs?
Police: No.
You: About the guns, then? Is somebody complaining about the guns?
Police: No, the noise. You: Oh, the noise. Well, that makes sense because there are no guns or drugs here. (An enormous explosion is heard in the background) or fireworks. Whos complaining about the noise? The neighbors?
Police: No, the neighbors fled inland hours ago. Most of the recent complaints have come from Pittsburgh. Do you think you could ask the host to quiet things down?
You: No problem. (At this point, a Volkswagen bug with primitive religious symbols drawn on the doors emerges from the living room and roars down the hall, past the police and out the front door onto the lawn, where it smashes into a tree. Eight guests tumble out onto the grass, moaning.) See? Things are already starting to wind down.

GRANDMA GOT RUN OVER BY A REINDEER

by Irish Rovers (1986?)

Grandma got run over by a reindeer
Walking home from our house Christmas eve.
You can say theres no such thing as Santa,
But as for me and Grandpa, we believe.

Shed been drinkin too much egg nog,
And wed begged her not to go.
But shed left her medication,
So she stumbled out the door into the snow.

When they found her Christmas mornin,
At the scene of the attack.
There were hoof prints on her forehead,
And incriminatin Claus marks on her back.

Grandma go run over by a reindeer,
Walkin home from our house Christmas eve.
You can say theres no such thing as Santa,
But as for me and Grandpa, we believe.

Now were all so proud of Grandpa,
Hes been takin this so well.
See him in there watchin football,
Drinkin beer and playin cards with cousin Belle.

Its not Christmas without Grandma.
All the familys dressed in black.
And we just cant help but wonder:
Should we open up her gifts or send them back?

Grandma got run over by a reindeer,
Walkin home from our house Christmas eve.
You can say theres no such thing as Santa,
But as for me and Grandpa, we believe.

Now the goose is on the table
And the pudding made of pig.
And a blue and silver candle,
That would just have matched the hair in Grandmas wig.

Ive warned all my friends and neighbours.
Better watch out for yourselves.
They should never give a license,
To a man who drives a sleigh and plays with elves.

Grandma got run over by a reindeer,
Walkin home from our house, Christmas eve.
You can say theres no such thing as Santa,
But as for me and Grandpa, we believe.

The pro football team had just finished their daily practice session when a large turkey came strutting onto the field. While the players gazed in amazement, the turkey walked up to the head coach and demanded a tryout.

Everyone stared in silence as the turkey caught pass after pass and ran right through the defensive line. When the turkey returned to the sidelines, the coach shouted, Youre terrific!!! Sign up for the season, and Ill see to it that you get a huge bonus.

Forget the bonus, the turkey said, All I want to know is, does the season go past Thanksgiving Day?

I will not waste chalk
I will not skateboard in the halls
I will not burp in class
I will not instigate revolution
I will not draw naked ladies in class
I did not see Elvis
I will not call my teacher a Hot Cakes
Garlic gum is not funny
They are laughing at me, not with me
I will not yell fire in a crowded classroom
I will not encourage others to fly
I will not fake my way through life
Tar is not a plaything
I will not Xerox my butt
I will not trade pants with others
I will not do that thing with my tongue
I will not drive the principals car
I will not pledge allegiance to Bart
I will not sell school property
I will not cut corners
I will not get very far with this attitude
I will not make flatulent noises in class
I will not belch the National Anthem
I will not sell land in Florida
I will not grease the monkey bars
I will not hide behind the Fifth Amendment
I will not do anything bad ever again
I will not show off {The board was written in an Old English font}
I will not sleep through my education
I am not a dentist
Spitwads are not free speech
Nobody likes sunburn slappers
High explosives and school dont mix
I will not bribe Principal Skinner
I will finish what I sta
Hamsters cannot fly
Underwear should be worn on the inside
The Christmas pageant does not stink
I will not torment the emotionally frail
I will not carve gods
I will not spank others
I will not aim for the head
I will not barf unless Im sick
I will not expose the ignorance of the faculty
I saw nothing unusual in the teachers [sic] lounge
I will not conduct my own fire drills
Funny noises are not funny
I will not snap bras
I will not fake seizures
This punishment is not boring and meaningless
My name is not Dr. Death
I will not defame New Orleans
I will not prescribe medication
I will not bury the new kid
I will not teach others to fly
I will not bring sheep to class
A burp is not an answer
Teacher is not a leper
I will not eat things for money
I will not yell Shes Dead during roll call
The principals toupee is not a frisbee
I will not squeak chalk
Goldfish dont bounce
Mud is not one of the 4 food groups

I regret to inform you that effective immediately, I will no longer be able to serve the Southern United States on Christmas Eve. Due to the overwhelming population of the earth, my contract was renegotiated by North American Fairies and Elves Local #209. I now serve only certain areas of Ohio, Indiana, Illinois, Wisconsin and Michigan.

As part of the new and better contract, I also get longer breaks for milk and cookies, so keep that in mind. However, I am certain that your children will be in good hands with your local replacement who happens to be my third cousin, Bubba Claus.

His side of the family is from the South Pole. He shares my goal of delivering toys to all the good boys and girls. However, there are a few differences between us such as:

There is no danger of The Grinch stealing your presents from Bubba Claus. He has a gun rack on his sleigh and a bumper sticker that reads: These toys insured by Smith and Wesson.

Instead of milk and cookies, Bubba Claus prefers that children leave an RC cola and pork rinds [or a moon pie] on the fireplace and Bubba doesnt smoke a pipe. He dips a little snuff though, so please have an empty spit can handy.

Bubba Claus sleigh is pulled by floppy-eared, flyin coon dogs instead of reindeer. I made the mistake of loaning him a couple of my reindeer, one time, and Blitzens head now overlooks Bubbas fireplace.

You wont hear On Comet, on Cupid, on Donner and Blitzen … when Bubba Claus arrives. Instead, youll hear, On Earnhardt, on Wallace, on Martin and Labonte. On Rudd, on Jarrett, on Elliott and Petty.

Ho, ho, ho! has been replaced by Yee Haw! And you also are likely to hear Bubbas elves respond, I herd dat!

As required by Southern highway laws, Bubba Claus sleigh does have a Yosemite Sam safety triangle on the back with the words Back off. The last I heard it also had other decorations on the sleigh as well. One is a Ford logo with lights that race through the letters and the other is a caricature of me (Santa Claus) peeing on the Tooth Fairy.

The usual Christmas movie classics such as Miracle on 34th Street and Its a Wonderful Life will not be shown in your negotiated viewing area. Instead, youll see Boss Hog Saves Christmas and Smokey and the Bandit IV featuring Burt Reynolds as Bubba Claus and dozens of state police cars crashing into each other.

Bubba Claus doesnt wear a belt. If I were you, Id make sure the wife and the kids turn the other way when he bends over to put presents under the tree.

And finally, lovely Christmas songs have been sung about me, like Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer and Bing Crosbys Santa Claus Is Coming to Town. This year songs about Bubba Claus will be played on all the AM radio stations in the South. Those song titles will be Mark Chesnutts Bubba Claus Shot the Jukebox; Cledus T. Judds All I Want for Christmas Is My Woman and a Six Pack, and Johnny Paychecks If You Dont Like Bubba Claus, Shove It.

Sincerely Yours,

Santa Claus

(Member) North American Fairies and Elves Local #209

Twas the night before Christmas,
Da whole house was mellow,
Not a creature was stirrin,
I had a gun unda my pillow.

When up on da roof
I heard somethin pound,
I sprung to da window,
To scream, YO! Keep it down!

When what to my
Wanderin eyes should appear,
But dat hairy elf Vinny,
And eight friggin reindeer.

Wit a bad hackin cough,
And da stencha burped beer,
I knew in a moment
Yo, da Kringle wuz here!

Wit a slap to dere snouts,
And a yank on dere manes,
He cursed and he shouted,
And he called dem by name.

Yo Tony, Yo Frankie,
Yo Sally, Yo Vito,
Ay Joey, Ay Paulie,
Ay Pepe, Ay Guido!

As I drew out my gun
And hid by da bed,
Down came his boot
On da top a my head.

His eyes were all bloodshot,
His b.o. wuz scary,
His breath wuz like sewage,
He had a mole dat wuz hairy.

He spit in my eye,
And he twisted my head,
He soon let me know
I should consider myself dead.

Den pointin a fat finga
Right unda my nose,
He let out some gas,
And up da chimney he rose.

He sprang to his sleigh,
… screaming,
And away dey all flew,
Before he troo dem a beatin.

But I heard him exclaim,
Or better yet grump,
Merry Christmas to all, and
Bite me, ya hump!