Category: Christmas

The noisy old lady in the apartment next to mine is always lighting those Jesus candles and leaving them in her window.
One day, I smelled smoke, and when I went outside to look, one of the candles had lit her drapes on fire.
I grabbed an extinguisher and knocked on her door, but she didn’t answer.
So, I kicked in the door, sprayed down her drapes and the candle, and called the fire department on my cell phone.
She screamed about an intruder and called the cops.
The cops took her away.
I re-lit the candle, and thanked Jesus.

When Mrs. Claus falls under the weather, the elves begin their search.
They keep a list of old women.
Good-hearted spinsters who didn’t have any children of their own.
People nobody would miss.
“Didn’t she move to Florida?” people would ask.
In decent health, maybe a little chubby, with gray hair.
Natural, not dyed or a wig.
Good teeth, decent enough vision.
Can you bake cookies?
Good. Keep an eye on the old man. Keep him happy.
What’s with those snowmen outside? Oh, they’ve been there for ages.
Best to leave those frozen-over corpses alone.
You’ll join them soon enough.

Do you see what I see?
That’s Santa’s sleigh, crashed in our backyard.
Yeah, he’s dead alright.
Man, what a mess!
Blood and guts everywhere.
And… presents! So many presents!
Do you hear what I hear?
Sirens. But they’re pretty far off, and the roads are icy.
It’ll take ’em a while to get here.
Are you thinking what I’m thinking?
Grab them presents and put ’em in the cellar!
They’re ours now. We found ’em fair and square.
Oh, and grab one of the reindeer carcasses.
Vixen, Comet… who cares?
We’ll chop him up for venison sausage and jerky.

One of the many downsides of living alone and off of the grid is that I don’t get any birthday or Christmas gifts.
If I make anything for myself, it may be something I want and need, but it isn’t a surprise.
So, I make something and wrap it, and then get really drunk so I forget that I made it.
The problem is, if I get too drunk, I rip open the wrapping and open the present early.
Or I get drunk while I’m making my gift and ruin the damn thing.
Maybe I’ll just stick to getting drunk.

Santa doesn’t live at the North Pole.
Oh, he claims that his primary residence is at the North Pole.
And his business is registered there.
You know, for tax purposes.
Just like the first President Bush claimed to live in Texas, even though he spent most of his time in Maine.
No, Santa doesn’t make any money.
At least, that’s what his accountant says.
And when the elves tried to unionize and demand better health benefits, he automated the workshop and threw them all out on the street.
Well, ice. There are no streets at the North Pole.
Just ice.

Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer wasn’t the only reindeer with an unusual nose.
Glen the Green-Nosed Reindeer had a nose that glowed blue.
And Bert the Brown-Nosed Reindeer was always sticking his nose up the other reindeer’s asses, asking if he could do favors for them.
Shub-Yggrath wasn’t a reindeer. He was one of The Old Ones, having fallen from space into the Arctic ice.
He didn’t have a nose. He was a mass of tentacles, fangs, and eyes.
He howled and breathed fire.
Rudolph and the other reindeer flew away from the burning carnage that used to be Santa’s Workshop.

The Smiths next door had a carbon monoxide leak.
Instead of waking up to Christmas and presents, they all died in their sleep.
The Fire Department took the kids’ presents down to the poor kids in the hospital.
But they didn’t know that little Bobby Smith liked to switch the cards and name tags around.
Instead of dolls and sweaters and a new computer, the kids got the lingerie, strap-on-dildos, and other nasty shit that Mr. and Mrs. Smith got for each other.
The nurses and orderlies quickly resolved that problem.
And had a special Christmas party of their own.

To prove how easy it is to get an assault rifle, reporters have been going to gun shops and purchasing AR-15s and ammunition.
The problem is, what do the reporters do with these rifles after they buy them?
Some turn them back in to the gun store for a refund. For others to buy.
Some turn them in to the police, who auction them off.
Some leave the gun in their closet. No child safety lock or gun safe.
So, their kids might come across the gun and… shoot themselves? Shoot others?
More proof how dangerous guns are, of course!

Santa’s been around for centuries, but his annual flight around the world is so exhausting, the reindeer only last for one trip.
Most of them die soon after they land back at the North Pole Workshop. Those that survive aren’t in any shape to fly again.
So, Santa and the elves celebrate their success with a venison feast.
The next day, they look through the breeding program to determine the best candidates for sleigh duty, and they train them.
Eight reindeer make the cut, and after a few dry runs, Santa’s ready.
He cracks his whip, and they are off!