Specials

Back when all there was to watch was broadcast television, every series ran Christmas specials.
Even the ones that had no business running them, like shows in space or prehistoric times.
There was a Christmas special for Star Wars, despite being long ago and in a galaxy far away.
And it was horrible. The Star Wars special… all of them.
These days, people watch cable television or Netflix and Hulu and Amazon.
You don’t have to watch any of that crap.
Although, if you really wanted to, you could read a book or spend time with family.
Nah. What’s on?

A little something extra

Every year, Mommy tells me to be good so Santa will come and leave me presents.
“And so I can make that son of a bitch take a paternity test,” she mutters.
Yep. Santa left a little something one year.
In Mommy:
Me.
The process servers say the North Pole is out of their jurisdiction.
So, Mommy left out a plate of cookies and a glass of milk.
Santa wears mittens, so you can’t get fingerprints, but you can get trace DNA from the glass.
“It’s a match,” says the analyst.
This year, forget the bike.
I’m getting Child Support.

Elf Cookies

Keebler would have you believe that elves make the best cookies.
And they’re right. Just not in the way they think.
You see, Santa Claus runs a massive elven eugenics program up there at his North Pole workshop.
He’s managed the toymaking bloodlines for centuries, breeding the best toymakers and weeding out the clumsy elves.
Clumsy elves are ground up to make elf flour for cookie dough.
They make the best cookies.
So, next Christmas Day, when you unwrap a present to reveal a broken toy or a lousy knit sweater, don’t cry.
Have yourself a cookie.
Isn’t failure delicious?

Radical Feminist Christmas Joke

The pastor asked the kids why God made Mary pregnant and had her give birth to Jesus.
One boy said it was to give His son to the world.
Another said it was so Jesus could heal the sick.
One girl said it was so Jesus could die for our sins.
The last girl said it was because God was too much of a chickenshit to go through nine months of pregnancy and ten hours of labor Himself.
“Goddamned feminists,” mumbled the preacher.
The kid kicked and screamed as a pair of burly rectors dragged the kid to “Time Out.”

The knockout reindeer game

The other reindeer made fun of Rudolph and wouldn’t let him play in their reindeer games.
So, Rudolph hung out with ghetto elves on the South side of the North Pole.
Which, if you know your geography, is all around the North Pole.
They had the North Pole surrounded.
When the other reindeer went into the ghetto to get the drugs that let them fly, Rudolph and the ghetto elves played The Knockout Game with them.
Down went Donner. And Cupid. And Comet. And Vixen.
The gang took their fancy harnesses and shiny silver bells.
Silver bells. Ting a ling.

Christmas Party

Every year, the company has a Christmas Party, but it’s earlier and earlier every year.
“All the good places get booked in advance,” says the owner of the company. “So, it’s harder and harder to book a place for the holidays.”
Which doesn’t make sense, because the company is a restaurant management company.
We own and manage restaurants. Some of the best in the country. And we can’t book one for the holidays?
“We could,” says the owner. “But they pay more than we do for a banquet room.”
You know, that makes less sense than Christmas in fucking March.

No such thing

There is no such thing as Santa.
Well, not anymore.
The real Santa died centuries ago.
Ever since then, a series of impostors took his place, dressing up and playing the part.
Some did it well. Others did it just for the thrill. Or to escape justice.
The elves covered for the bad ones. They pretty much run the show, these days.
Santa’s a symbol. A figurehead. A patsy.
It’s the elves you need to keep a watch for.
Santa, you see everywhere.
“Helpers” you see too.
But true elves?
Never. Nobody sees them.
And lives to talk about it.

It’s A Wonderful Ending

After the party ended and everyone left, Mary put the kids to bed.
George Bailey counted the money again.
It was more than enough to cover the savings and loan.
Perfect.
“I’ll take care of that,” said Uncle Billy, scooping the stacks of money into a basket.
“Fuck no, you goddamned stupid drunk!” shouted George. “You’ve fucked this family for the last time!”
George took Billy’s keys away. “You’re fired!”
Then, he had Bert the cop drive him into town so he could put the money in the safe.
“Merry Christmas, savings and loan,” he mumbled. “Take me home, Bert.”

Dear Santa

Dear Santa,
A lot of my friends are sad, worried, and afraid.
And I can’t do anything about them.
But tell them I’m sorry, which doesn’t really help.
Maybe instead of going around the world
And leaving presents for all the good boys and girls
You could go around and collect up all the sadness
And worry. And stress. And fear.
Collect them all up in your bag
And then fly out over the deepest ocean
Or the South Pole
And dump them over the side of the sleigh.
Oh, and pick up newspapers and soda cans
For recycling, too.

Cereal Gift

You can buy Lucky Charms marshmallows by the bag from some online store.
So, I gave these to my son as a Christmas gift.
I put a note on the bag “Santa had the elves pick these out of 20 cereal boxes. Then he gave the crappy cereal to an orphanage full of bad children.”
My son then proceeded to act like a dickhead to his little sister.
That’s when the bag of marshmallow bits vanished, and another note appeared:
“Santa gave your address to the kids in the orphanage. And baseball bats.”
He’s hiding in the basement, behaving himself.