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.
Back home, we had a saying: if you don’t like the weather, wait 15 minutes.
Around here, they say: if you don’t like the weather, make a bigger sacrifice to the gods.
(Those that disagree get sacrificed to the gods.)
So, I brushed the goat’s ashes from the altar and looked for a bigger goat.
Sadly, the goat I’d just sacrificed had been our last goat.
The conversion table that came with the altar says that four chickens equals a goat.
I selected five from the coop, slammed their heads against the altar, and lit the fire.
Rain, dammit. Rain.
The Bible says that Jesus ascended to Heaven, but the truth is that Jesus simply gave up his attraction to the earth.
He simply ignored gravity.
Since gravity keeps people on the ground, giving up on gravity causes you to rise rapidly from the earth, until you’re left out there in the void of space, floating around.
No, he doesn’t orbit the sun, because that takes gravity. He just floats around out there, watching the earth and moon pass buy once a year.
If you look closely at the sky around Easter, you might see him.
But I doubt it.
When the Devil is near, radios and telephones pick up nothing but static.
He likes to go to Starbucks, just to mess with the hipsters on their Macbooks and iPads and iPhones.
Of course, the same thing happens when you go into a tunnel. Radio waves have a hard time getting through all that rock.
Before you start screaming “THE DEVIL!” over and over, check to see if you’re in a tunnel first.
If you’re in a tunnel, relax. You’re in a tunnel. It’s not the Devil.
Unless, of course, the Devil is in the tunnel with you.
The imam wore a suit and an immaculately-sculpted beard, and he spoke perfect English as he answered the interviewer’s questions…
At first, he said that terrorism is not allowed under Islam.
But a minute later, he was saying that the captured men should be allowed Korans and have access to imams so as not to violate their right to practice Islam.
Point after point, he contradicted himself, smiling his “Fuck you, America” smile wider and wider.
“They are not terrorists.”
It was then that a robotic camera rammed into the imam, breaking his jaw.
“Software glitch,” said the camera operator.
The Angels Union Hall was filled to the rafters with angry Heavenly Hosts.
Despite famines, floods, and wars, the humans multiplied rapidly.
“And yet, God hasn’t created more of us to handle the workload,” growled Gabriel.
“Lucifer’s hiring devils and demons,” said Moroni. “Why can’t God hire more angels?”
“What about saints?” asked Michael. “They help, right?”
The boos shook the stained glass windows.
“Ass kisser!” shouted Gabriel.
Eventually, the angels voted to strike.
Some scabs continued to cross the lines. Moroni and Gabriel whispered into the ears of false prophets.
God didn’t give a shit. “Let ’em worship cats.”
Michelangelo said that he saw the angel in the marble, and carved until he was set free.
As for the basement of hookers that he’d brutally stabbed and eviscerated, well, Michelangelo claimed that he’d seen angels in them, but when he carved each of them up, he’d realized his mistake.
At first, the Pope wanted to have Michelangelo arrested and tried for murder, but instead, he asked Michelangelo if he heard any angels coming from his political rivals.
Sure enough, he did.
So, the Pope had the bodies quietly removed, and let the homicidal artist continue on with Papal patronage.
God watched Abraham carry his son Isaac up the mountain.
“Seriously?” mumbled Jesus. “You going to let him to this?”
God tried to stifle a laugh. “Nah, I’m just testing him.”
“Dad,” said Jesus. “You’re a dick.”
God scowled. “Oh, shut up. I’ll stop him before he stabs the kid.”
“Would you do this kind of thing to me?” asked Jesus.
“Of course not,” growled God.
Abraham put down his son and felt around for his knife.
Shit. Left it at home.
So, he picked up the kid and dashed his brains out on the rocks.
“Oh fuck,” said God.
When people say God will provide, I ask them what God will provide.
They never have a specific answer.
So, I ask “Will God provide Pop Tarts?”
They usually say “No.” or “Probably not.” However, this one time they said “No.” and God interrupted us, and He said “”Hey, guys, oddly enough, I have some Pop Tarts.” And He put the box of Pop Tarts on the table.
They were cherry-flavored.
“My favorite,” I said. “Thanks, God.”
“You’re welcome,” said God. And He vanished.
I put them in the toaster, but it was broken.
That’s okay. They’re good untoasted, too.
Tens of thousands of Syrians have died during their civil war.
Hundreds of thousands have fled the country.
While these people suffer, diplomats and politicians yell at each other and do nothing.
Like many, I think we should arm the Syrian rebels, but the problem is that the rebels include Al Qaeda and Hezbollah terrorists.
So, I have decided to help arm the terrorists with pies. Because the YouTube videos will be funny instead of head-chopping-off gruesome.
“What kind of pie would you like?” I ask a rebel.
‘Die Infidel!” he shouts.
“Sorry, just apple and cherry today,” I grumble.