If your only contact with three spirits on Christmas Eve is gin, vodka and bourbon.
If your best Christmas tradition involves fire and reindeer meat.
If your idea of Christmas dinner is a six pack of beer and a cheese log.
If your favorite version of Babes in Toyland stars Michael Jackson.
If you turn on the lawn sprinklers on Christmas Eve to keep carolers away.
If you get your Christmas tree from an empty lot, at night … the day after Christmas.
You might be a Scrooge, if your favourite version of Silent Night is sung by O.J. Simpson.

If I were ol Santa, you know what Id do
Id dump silly gifts that are given to you
And deliver some things just inside your front door
Things you have lost, but treasured before.

Id give you back all your maidenly vigor,
And to go along with it, a neat tiny figure.
Then restore the old colour that once graced your hair
Before rinses and bleaches took residence there.

Id bring back the shape with which you were gifted
So things now suspended need not be uplifted.
Id draw in your tummy and smooth down your back
Till youd be a dream in those tight fitting slacks.

Id remove all your wrinkles and leave only one chin
So you wouldnt spend hours rubbing grease on your skin
Youd never have flashes or queer dizzy spells
And you wouldnt hear noises like ringing of bells.

No sore aching feet and no corns on your toes
No searching for spectacles when theyre right on your nose.
Not a shot would you take in your arm, hip or fanny
From a doctor who thinks youre a nervous old granny.

Youd never have a headache, so no pills would you take.
And no heating pad needed since your muscles wont ache.
Yes, if I were Santa, youd never look stupid
Youd be a cute little chick with the romance of a cupid.

Id give a lift to your heart when those wolves start to whistle
And the joys of your heart would be light as a thistle.
But alas! Im not Santa. Im simply just me
The matronest of matrons you ever did see.

I wish I could tell you all the symptoms Ive got
But Im due at my doctors for an estrogen shot.
Even though weve grown older this wish is sincere
Merry Christmas to you and a Happy New Year.

A young woman was taking an afternoon nap. After she woke up, she told her husband, I just dreamed that you gave me a pearl necklace for Valentines day. What do you think it means?

Youll know tonight. he said.

That evening, the man came home with a small package and gave it to his wife. Delighted, she opened it–only to find a book entitled The meaning of dreams.

This joke could be offensive to Norwegians, but I can assure you its not.
Any Norwegian reader would just tell an even better joke about a Swede instead.

Read in a book about the Joke-war between Norway and Sweden.

Its mid December some year, and Norway has had a new ambassador in the USA
for about a month. He is, as a matter of fact not only new as ambassador
to the USA, he is a novice ambassador of any sort.

He is just about getting familiar with his
work, but hes not always sure about what to do. Suddenly the phone rings..

– Yees… he says, a bit confused. (His phone hardly ever rings.)

– Good morning Mr Ambassador. This is Mike Giordano from the New York Times.
Id like to know what you want for a Christmas present.

– Eh, Sveind (Yes, thats his name) said. Christmas present… Eh…
Im very sory Mike, I cant accept any gifts, but tanks anyway.

– Yes, of course… I understand, said Mike with a voice telling a deaf he
didnt understand at all, Bye then.

– Good bye Mike.

The day goes a usual. Sveind thought this was a bit unusual, but he soon
forgot about it, and went back to the normal ambassadoring.

The next morning the phone rings again.

– Yes, Sveind speaking.

– Hello Sveind. This is Mike Giordano from the New York Times again. Im
wondering if youre really serious about what you said yesterday?

– Ah.. Hello… Eh. Yes, unfortunately I meant it. You see, vere not
allowed to accept personal gifts. They could be seen as bribes, and
I dont vant to cause any scandal. Im very sorry, but I hope you understand.

– Yes, of course.. Sorry… Bye.

– Good bye.

That was funny, Sveind thought. Didnt he believe what I said? Maybe some
misunderstanding. After all my pronunciation isnt the best.

The next morning the phone rings again.

– Yes, Sveind heere.

– Hello Sveind. This is Mike Giordano again. I suppose you know what I want?

– Yes I know vhatt you want, Sveind said, not without irritation. I thought I
explained vhy I cant accept any gifts.

– Yes you did, but I dont think you….

– Yes I understand, Sveind said, quite angrily. I understand perfectly vell.
Vhat do you vant really? Do you vant to get rid of me, or vhat? Anyvay, you
vont have any success, I will go strictly by the book. No… Vait a
minute. Now I know. I vant a fruit bowl (He is sure a fruit bowl
is absolutely harmless, and wont cause any scandal.)

– A fruit bowl?? Are you serious??

– Yes. A fruit bowl. Is there anything vrong vith a fruit bowl?

– No. Nothing wrong, but a bit unusual maybe..

– Unusual?? Vell that doesnt matter, does it?

– No. Of course not. Merry Christmas then, and bye bye.

– Good bye, and eh, Merry Christmas.

A few days later, this could be read in the New York Times.

What the foreign ambassadors here want for Christmas

During a few hectic days, Ive been calling all the embassies here, and asking
the ambassadors what they want for Christmas. This is the result.

EUROPEAN COUNTRIES:

Great Britain. Good economic welfare.
Western Germany. Even better east-west relations
France. Free trade between Europe and USA.
Switzerland. Better European cooperation, and better US relations.
Sweden. End of the starvation in the third world.
Belgium. Better environmental care.
Norway. A fruit bowl.

Mike Giordano.

A Sort Of Christmas Carol

(To the tune of Silver Bells)

Jingle bell, its not so swell when you cant afford a gift.
Shopping malls are hollow halls, Im shopping at the Thrift.

See the pawnshops, hear the teeth crunch, in nightmarish anxiety.
In the air theres a feeling of hopelessness.

Checks were cashing, then were dashing, off to spend, its so obscene.
Hoping for more overtime.

Jingle Bell, what is that smell, oh, its Hillarys toe.
Ringaling, is a circus thing, and were all part of the show.

People bitching, salesman pitching, theres no reason to smile.
For this I parked and had to walk a mile.

Dodge shopping carts at Wal-Marts, filled with Japanese trash.
In the Express Line price-checks and no cash.

Jingle Bell, can go to hell, Do not give to the poor.
For if you do, soon youll need it too, and there wont be anymore.

Q: What did the hobo get for Christmas?

A: NOTHING!

You might be a redneck if you see a sign that says, Just say NO to crack! and it reminds you to pull up your pants!

CHORUS

Rudolph Got Run Over by my Grandma

just as he arrived on Christmas Day

She had gotten sick and tired of hearin

that song where she gets trampled by a sleigh.

Shed been listening to the radio

and she nearly lost her breath

yellin cuss words at the DJ

for playin that song where she gets hooved to death.

So she set out on the warpath

there was evil in her eye

she said Im gonna find that reindeer

and by golly, one of us is gonna die!

CHORUS

Rudolph Got Run Over by my Grandma

just as he arrived on Christmas Day

She had gotten sick and tired of hearin

that song where she gets trampled by a sleigh.

Santa Claus had made a landing

on the new expressway

Grandma was doin 120

with her headlights pointed straight at Santas sleigh.

Twas an awful sound of impact

Grandma really nailed him good

There were hoofprints on her windshield

and a pair of ripped-off antlers on her hood

CHORUS

Rudolph Got Run Over by my Grandma

just as he arrived on Christmas Day

She had gotten sick and tired of hearin

that song where she gets trampled by a sleigh.

Guess well all be missing Rudolph

in the winter when it snows

but now hes up in reindeer heaven

with a Buick logo stamped into his nose.

But theres no regret from Grandma

as she drove away, she sneered,

and then she hollered out the window

Merry Christmas to all, and to all, a FLAT DEER!

CHORUS

Rudolph Got Run Over by my Grandma

just as he arrived on Christmas Day

She had gotten sick and tired of hearin

that song where she gets trampled by a sleigh.

Santa singh and banta singh are the best of friends.santa is a bachelor while banta is married to a sexy woman.she has a voracious appetite for sex and banta cannot live upto her expectations.he simply gets tired.so soon bantas wife gets attracted to santa who is a strong,energetic,handsome sardar.soon they are in love.one day they decide to go to the next level….

Banta has a 5 yr. Old son.one fine morning bantas wife wakes him up at 5 in the morning and gives him a cold bath in the middle of the winter season.the poor child gets a slight fever by midday.grabbing this chance,bantas wife asks banta to take the child to the hospital.as soon as banta has left she calls over santa for some fun.

By half an hour they are both making wild love when suddenly they hear bantas car horn.scared santa hides behind the curtains.enter banta.he sees his wife lying on the bed.he asks her why she is sleeping when she says that she is feeling cold. He checks her temp…on the forehead and then on the chest and realises that she is naked. He then asks her why she is naked and she says that in between she is also feeling hot. The stupid asshole gets confused as to what strange illnass his wife has and goes to call the doctor.

In the meantime the 5 yr. Old son realises that something is fishy and begins to search the house.he sees two big feet and goes and rips away the curtains and has the shock of his life when he sees ……….a fully naked man,6 feet tall,a foot long dick,and hair upto his knees….when the poor child screams,daaaaady,and faints. Listening to his sons cry banta arrives at the scene and sees his naked wife standing beside the bed wrapped in a bedsheet…next to her is his best pal santa (also naked),and lying at his feet is his son.banta gets the picture.

He goes over to santa, slaps him really hard.(santas head lowers down in shame). Banta says… Yaar sante,aise dosti dikhai na toone?mere ghar me itna bada crisis chal raha hai,aur tu nanga hokar mere bachhe ko darata hai!!!!

A colleague on our campus came to work this morning sporting a musical, Christmas tie given to him by his wife and daughter.

He told me that his daughter admonished him to leave at home the box the tie came in because, clearly printed on it, are the words, Squeeze my tip and hear me sing.

Of course, he had it with him when he arrived for work this morning!