The Post Office started Operation Santa Claus a few years back, where people could volunteer to answer letters that kids wrote to Santa Claus and stuck in a mailbox.
So, I signed up for it.
Now, I get stacks of letters to read, asking for all kinds of things.
I respond to every one of them with a simple form letter:
SANTA DOESN’T EXIST
And I sign it with my name, then I stick my response in the mail.
My son thinks I’m nuts for wasting my time on this, but it sure beats the hell out of answering prayers.
Tag: childhood
Mistake
Mother said that bread always manages to land buttered side down.
So, I buttered all the bread we had and, slice after slice, dropped it on the kitchen floor.
Some of it landed with the buttered side down, and some of it landed with the buttered side up.
I asked my mother for more bread, and she asked me why.
I took her into the kitchen, and she saw the mess I had made.
She gave me the spanking of my life.
These days, I look back and I laugh at my childish mistake.
I forgot to toast it first.
Zymurgist
Due to budget cutbacks, the school district laid off all the guidance counselors. They were replaced with hats that contained strips of paper with the names of careers written on them.
Students line up, pick a career name out of a hat, and then pick classes based on the skill requirements of that job.
They used to flip through a book and stick their finger on a page to pick out a career.
But the book was in alphabetical order, and word spread fast that the last career in the book was Zymurgist.
Speaking of which, care for another beer?
Thank You Notes
When I was young, I got the crappiest gifts from my relatives.
Socks. Ugly sweaters. Inedible sugar-free candy.
You know, shit like that.
So, I never wrote thank you notes to them, because I wasn’t going to thank them for crappy gifts.
One year, my mother arranged for everyone to send me packages of thank you notes as gifts.
They were made from heavy stock paper.
Perfect for making paper airplanes.
They kept their shape, and flew longer than simple notebook or copy paper.
I’d have thanked them for the notes, but I used them all up making the airplanes.
A Shocker
Just as Mister Potato Head was once a box of parts that you’d use with a real potato, Billy thought that Operation was a kit to wire up to a real person.
Of course, there’s no way a small flashlight battery can power all the copper pickups, probes, and bulb.
So, he hooked up a spare car battery to the table.
He called his girlfriend Susie over to play, and she called the police.
The cops unhooked Billy’s little brother from the table, and then took Billy to the mental hospital.
Severe depression is their diagnosis
They’ve prescribed shock therapy.
Lucien Smith
A software glitch caused every birth certificate in the county to use the name Lucien Smith.
You’d think that people would balk.
Nope. The parents didn’t mind the error at all.
“It’s a good name,” said one couple. “Better than the one we picked out.”
“You’d think it would be confusing, having twin girls named Lucien,” said another couple. “But somehow, we manage.”
The first kindergarten class of Lucien Smiths was a challenge for school administrators, but they quickly got the hang of it.
It’s the public stoning of children not named Lucien Smith that you never get used to.
The Wish
I hear screaming.
It is coming from the well.
They say it is a wishing well.
I pushed the bad man into the well.
I made a wish:
I wish the bad man would stop hurting me.
I asked him for some coins to throw into the well.
He took them out of his pocket, laughed, and said…
No.
So, I pushed him into the well.
Him, and the coins in his pocket.
And I made my wish.
But he’s climbing back out.
Angry.
Maybe, if I hit him on the head with a shovel, my wish will come true.
Drag The Kids Around
It’s Halloween again.
There are only two houses on our street: ours and the Smiths.
When Halloween rolls around, the Smiths knock on our door for candy, and then we knock on their door.
No one else comes into our street to trick-or-treat. It’s just us.
We don’t even get out real candy. It’s play candy from some kind of preschool playset that we pass back and forth.
The kids don’t mind. They don’t like candy. Or much of anything, because they’re dead.
We dig them up to drag them around.
At least their pretty costumes will always fit them
Breadcrumbs
Hansel and Gretel’s parents couldn’t afford to feed them, so they took the kids deep into the woods to abandon them.
However, the kids left a trail of breadcrumbs, and they followed it back to their home.
“Where did you get that bread?” shouted their parents. “We’re starving, and you waste bread like that?”
I stopped my mother and said “Don’t they use pebbles first? And shouldn’t the birds eat the breadcrumbs?”
My mother put the book down. “Fine, Little Mister Know-It-All. The birds ate the breadcrumbs. Then they caught and ate the birds. The end.”
My stomach rumbled painfully.
The Chant
The teacher collected the permission slips, smiled, and began to chant.
Smoke filled the room, and a swirling portal opened in the middle of the blackboard.
The students rose up from their desks and flew through the door into the Shadow Zone.
Once the last student went through the portal, the smoke cleared.
The teacher sat back in his chair, put his feet on the desk, and enjoyed the silence.
The students would be back when the candle went out.
Candle?
Oh oh. He forgot to light the candle.
He pulled out his cell phone and called the union representative.