Christmas Humour

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Hoping we can get lots added here!!!

WHEN SANTA RUNS OUT OF PROZAC

Dearest Santa, We don't have a chimney in our house, how do you get into our home?
Love, Marky

Mark, Firstly, stop calling yourself "Marky," that's why you're getting your ass whipped at school. Secondly, you don't live in a house, that's a low-rent apartment complex you're living in. Thirdly, I get inside your pad just like all the burglars do, through your bedroom window. Sweet Dreams! Santa
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Dear Santa, I wud like a kool toy space ranjur for Xmas. Iv ben a good boy all yeer.
YeR FReND, BiLLy

Dear Billy, Nice spelling. You're well on your way to being a career lawn care specialist. How 'bout I send you a fucking book so you can learn to read and write? I'm giving your older brother the space ranger. At least HE can spell! Santa
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Dear Santa, I have been a good girl all year, and the only thing I ask for is peace and joy in the world for everybody! Love, Sarah

Dear Sarah, Your parents smoked pot when they had you, didn't they?
Santa
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Dear Santa, I've written you for three years now asking for a fire truck. Please, I really really want a fire truck this year!
Love, Joey

Dear Joey, Let me make it up to you. While you sleep, I'm gonna torch your house. You'll have more fire trucks than you'll know what to do with.
Santa
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Dear Santa, I don't know if you can do this, but for Christmas, I'd like for my mommy and daddy to get back together. Please see what you can do.
Love, Teddy

Dear Teddy, What, and ruin that hot affair your dad's still having with the baby sitter? He's banging her like a screen door in a hurricane, son! Let me get you some nice Legos instead.
Santa
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Dear Santa, I left milk and cookies for you under the tree, and I left carrots for your reindeer outside the backdoor.
Love, Susan

Dear Susan, Milk gives me the shits and carrots make the deer fart in my face. You want to be a kiss-ass? Leave me a glass of Chivas Regal and some Toblerone.
Santa
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Dear Santa, What do you do the other 364 days of the year? Are you making toys?
Your friend, Thomas

Dear Thomas, All toys get made in China. I have a condo in Vegas, where I spend most my time squeezing cocktail waitresses asses, and losing all my cash at the craps table. Hey, YOU wanted to know!
Santa
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Dear Santa, Do you see us when we're sleeping, do you really know when we're awake, like in the song?
Love, Jessica

Dear Jessica, You are that gullible? Good luck in whatever you do, I'm skipping your house...
Santa
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Dear Santa, I really, really want a puppy this year. Please please please PLEASE, Timmy

Timmy, That whiney begging shit may work with your folks, but that crap don't work up here. You're getting a sweater again.
Santa

 

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UPSET SANTA LETTER…Here's a letter written by a very upset child found by his parents.
Dear Santa,
You must be surprised that I'm writing you today, the 26th of December. Well, I would very much like to clear up certain things that have occurred since the beginning of the month. (While filled with illusion I wrote you this letter.)

I asked you for a bicycle, an electric train, a pair of roller blade and a football uniform. I destroyed my brains studying the whole year! Not only was I first in my class, but also had the best grades in the whole school. I'm not going to lie to you Santa, there was no one in my entire neighborhood that behaved better than me, with my parents, my brothers, my friends and with my neighbors. I would go on errands and even help the elderly cross the street. There was virtually nothing I wouldn't do for humanity! What balls you have leaving me a fucking Yo-Yo, a stupid ass whistle and a pair of socks! What the fuck were you thinking you fat son on a bitch that you've taken me for a sucker the whole fucking year, to come out with some shit like this under my damn tree. As if you hadn't fucked me enough, you gave that little shit head across the street so many fucking toys, that he can't even walk into his damn house!

Please don't let me see you trying to fit your big fat ass down my chimney next year! I'll fuck you up! I'll throw rocks at those stupid ass reindeers of yours, and scare them the fuck away, so you'll have to walk your big fat ass back to the North pole just like I have to do since you didn't get me that fucking bike, you punk bitch! You know what Santa? Fuck you! Next year you'll find out how bad I can really fucking be. You've been slipping on a mother-fucker far too long!

So watch your back next year. You fat bitch.

 

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WORST CHRISTMAS GIFTS
01. Li'l Naturalist Hornet Farm.
02. The Duncan Yo -- Goes down, never comes back. Teaches children about warranties.
03. 5,200 Pick Up -- a jumbo deck of cards that lets kids play a larger version of their favorite game.
04. The "Learn About Puberty Chia Pet."
05. Supersoaker 9000: For use on those hard to reach targets; NFL referees, low flying planes, and many more. At close range it can strip paint, clean rusty grills, and dig utility trenches.
06. The Laff-O-Minit Spellin' Tootor.
07. Doggie Dentist -- Kids learn about dentistry on the family pooch.
08. Cuisin-Art -- Turns mommy's food processor into a spinning paint tool.
09. Water Retention Wanda -- Teaches kids the principles of the calendar.
10. Chocolate Covered Lead Soldiers.
11. Islamic Strip Poker -- lose a hand, lose a hand.

 

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Christmas vs. Chanukah
01. Christmas is one day, same day every year: December 25. Jews love December 25th. It's another paid day off work. We go to movies and out for Chinese food, and Israeli dancing. Chanukah is 8 days. It starts the evening of the 24th of Kislev, whenever that falls. No one is ever sure. Jews never know until a non-Jewish friend asks when Chanukah starts, forcing us to consult a calendar so we don't look like idiots. We all have the same calendar, provided free with a donation from either the World Jewish Congress, the kosher butcher, or the local Sinai Memorial Chapel (especially in Florida).
02. Christmas is a major holiday. Chanukah is a minor holiday with the same theme as most Jewish holidays. They tried to kill us, we survived, let's eat.
03. Christians get wonderful presents such as jewelry, perfume, and stereos. Jews get practical presents such as underwear, socks, or the collected works of the Rambam, which looks impressive on the bookshelf.
04. There is only one way to spell Christmas. No one can decide how to spell Chanukah, Chanukah, Chanukka, Channukah, Hanukah, Hannukah.
05. Christmas is a time of great pressure for husbands and boyfriends. Their partners expect special gifts. Jewish men are relieved of that burden. No one expects a diamond ring on Chanukah.
06. Christmas brings enormous electric bills. Candles are used for Chanukah. Not only are we spared enormous electric bills, but also we get to feel good about not contributing to the energy crisis.
07. Christmas carols are beautiful. Silent Night, Come O Ye Faithful. Chanukah songs are about dreidels made from clay or having a party and dancing the horah. Of course, we are secretly pleased that many of the beautiful carols were composed and written by our tribal brethren. And don't Barbara Streisand and Neil Diamond sing them beautifully?
08. A home preparing for Christmas smells wonderful. The sweet smell of cookies and cakes baking. Happy people are gathered around in festive moods. A home preparing for Chanukah smells of oil, potatoes, and onions. The home, as always, is full of loud people all talking at once.
09. Women have fun baking Christmas cookies. Women burn their eyes and cut their hands grating potatoes and onions for latkas on Chanukah. Another reminder of our suffering through the ages.
10. Parents deliver to their children during Christmas. Jewish parents have no qualms about withholding a gift on any of the eight nights.
11. The players in the Christmas story have easy to pronounce names such as Mary, Joseph, and Jesus. The players in the Chanukah story are Antiochus, Judah Maccabee, and Matta whatever. No one can spell it or pronounce it. On the plus side, we can tell our friends anything and they believe we are wonderfully versed in our history.
12. Many Christians believe in the virgin birth. Jews think, Joseph, bubela, snap out of it. Your woman is pregnant, you didn't sleep with her, and now you want to blame god. Here's the number of my shrink.
13. In recent years, Christmas has become more and more commercialized. The same holds true for Chanukah, even though it is a minor holiday. It makes sense. How could we market a major holiday such as Yom Kippur? Forget about celebrating. Think observing. Come to synagogue, starve yourself for 27 hours, become one with your dehydrated soul, beat your chest, confess your sins, a guaranteed good time for you and your family. Tickets a mere $200 per person. Better stick with Chanukah. Happy holidays to all.

 

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A Christmas Tradition Explained
One particular Christmas season, a long time ago, Santa was getting ready for his annual trip...but there were problems everywhere. Four of his elves got sick, and the trainee elves did not produce the toys as fast as the regular ones, so Santa was beginning to feel the pressure of being behind schedule. Mrs. Claus told Santa that her mom was coming to visit. This stressed Santa even more. When he went to harness the reindeer, he found that three of them were about give birth and two had jumped the fence and were out, heaven knows where. More stress. Then when he began to load the sleigh, one of the boards cracked and the toy bag fell to the ground and scattered the toys. So, frustrated, Santa went into the house for a cup of coffee and a shot of whiskey. When he went to the cupboard, he discovered that the elves had hid the liquor and there was nothing to drink. In his frustration, he accidentally dropped the coffeepot and it broke into hundreds of little pieces all over the kitchen floor. He went to get the broom and found that mice had eaten the straw it was made from. Just then, the doorbell rang and Santa cussed on his way to the door. He opened the door and there was a little angel with a great big Christmas tree. The angel said, very cheerfully, "Merry Christmas Santa. Isn't it just a lovely day? I have a beautiful tree for you. Isn't it just a lovely tree? Where would you like me to stick it?" Thus began the tradition of the little angel on top of the Christmas tree.


Top 17 Worst Things To Hear Santa Say When You're Sitting On His Lap:
17. Would you like to jingle Santa's bells?
16. Do you want to help me empty my sack?
15. Ya know, your little brother's arse was tighter than yours. Forget the bicycle!
14. There's a rocket in Santa's pocket with your name on it young man.
13. Wow kid you must work out cause that ass is tight
12. What's poking you Britney? Uh...that's my belt. Santa's long hard belt.
11. Looks like Santa will be bringing you a new hymen for Christmas!
10. No need to fear little one, what you’re feeling is Santa's very special candy cane. If you'd like, later I'll let you guess what flavor it is.
09. Christmas is over, you little bitch, unless you get mommy to come slurp saints donkey.
08. My Lap Is Sore, Can You Sit On My Face Instead?
07. Oh boy, am I sore! I can't wait to get home and have Rudolph cauterize my hemorrhoids with his glowing red nose!
06. What's you're name little girl? Now what's my name bitch? Say it!!
05. Oh, I thought you said you wanted an erection...uh my mistake. OK, I'll get you that erector set for Christmas, Timmy.
04. Did I ever mention I used to be a Catholic priest?
03. Kid your probably not going to fall off when I stand up.
02. Ho ho, you know that chimneys aren't the only tight places Santa likes to squeeze into on Christmas Eve!
And…The Number One Worst Thing To Hear When Sitting On Santa's Lap. . . .
01. While I am at your house putting coal in your stocking I am going to put a screwdriver through your dad's temple and f*** your mother till she shits the bed.


What Do You Want For Christmas Little Boy
A little kid sits on Santa's lap, and Santa says, "What would you like for Christmas?" The kid says, "A fucking swing-set for the backyard." Santa says, "You'll have to ask nicer than that if you want Santa to bring you presents. Let's try again. What else would you like?" The kid says, "A fucking sandbox for the side yard." Santa says, "That's no way to talk to Santa. One more time. What else would you like for Christmas?" The boy thinks for a minute, and then he says, "I want a fucking trampoline in the front yard." Santa lifts the boy off his lap and goes to talk to the kid's parents. He tells them what the kid said, and then says, "I know how to stop it. Don't get him anything for Christmas except dog doo. Put a pile of dog doo in the backyard where he wants the swing-set, put another pile in the side yard where he wants the sandbox and another pile in the front yard where he wants the trampoline. That should make him change his tune." Christmas morning the kid goes downstairs to open his presents, and there aren't any. He runs out the back door, looks around, and comes back in. He runs out the side door, looks around, and comes back in. He runs out the front door, looks around, and comes back in, shaking his head. His father says, "What's wrong, son?" The kid says, "Santa brought me a fucking dog, but I can't find him."

 

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Christmas Eve - Italian Style
This is classic...I thought it would be a nice idea to bring a date to my parents' house on Christmas Eve. I thought it would be interesting for a non-Italian girl to see how an Italian family spends the holidays. I thought my mother and my date would hit it off like partridges and pear trees...I was wrong!

I had only known Karen for three weeks when I extended the invitation. "I know these family things can be a little weird," I told her, "but my folks are great, and we always have a lot of fun on Christmas Eve." "Sounds fine to me," Karen said. I told my mother I'd be bringing Karen with me. "She's a very nice girl and she's really looking forward to meeting all of you." "Sounds fine to me," my mother said. And that was that. Two telephone calls. Two "sounds-fine-to-me". What more could I want?

I should point out, I suppose, that in Italian households, Christmas Eve is the social event of the season -- an Italian woman's reason for living. She cleans. She cooks. She bakes. She orchestrates every minute of the entire evening. Christmas Eve is what Italian women live for. I should also point out, I suppose, that when it comes to the kind of women that make Italian men go nuts, Karen is it. She doesn't clean. She doesn't cook. She doesn't bake. And she has the largest breasts I have ever seen on a human being. I brought her anyway.
 7 p.m. -- we arrive. Karen and I walk in and putter around for half an hour waiting for the other guests to show up. During that half-hour, my mother grills Karen like cheeseburger on the barbecue determines that Karen does not clean, cook, or bake. My father is equally observant. He pulls me into the living room and notes, "She has the largest breasts I have ever seen on a human being."
 7:30 p.m. - Others arrive. Zio Giovanni walks in with my Zia Maria, assorted kids, and assorted gifts. We sit around the dining room table for antipasto, a symmetrically composed platter of lettuce, roasted peppers, black olives, anchovies and cheese...no meat of course. When I offer to make Karen's plate she says, "No Thank you." She points to the anchovies with a look of disgust..."You don't like anchovies?" I ask. "I don't like fish," Karen announces to one and all as 67 other varieties of seafood are baking, broiling and simmering in the next room. My mother makes the sign of the cross. Things are getting uncomfortable. Zia Maria asks Karen what her family eats on Christmas Eve. Karen says, "Knockwurst." My father, who is still staring in a daze, at Karen's chest, temporarily snaps out of it to murmur, "Knockers?" My mother kicks him so hard he gets a blood clot. None of this is turning out the way I'd hoped.
 8:00 p.m. - Second course. The spaghetti and crab sauce is on the way to the table. Karen declines the crab sauce and says she'll make her own with butter and ketchup. My mother asks me to join her in the kitchen. I take my "Merry Christmas" napkin from my lap, place it on the "Merry Christmas" tablecloth and walk into the kitchen. "I don't want to start any trouble," my mother says calmly, clutching a bottle of ketchup in her hands. "But if she pours this on my pasta, I'm going to throw acid in her face." "Come on," I tell her. "It's Christmas. Let her eat what she wants." My mother considers the situation, then nods. As I turn to walk back into the dining room, she grabs my shoulder. "Tell me the truth," she says, "are you serious with this tramp?" "She's not a tramp," I reply. "And I've only known her for three weeks." "Well, it's your life," she tells me, "but if you marry her, she'll poison you."
 8:30 p.m. - More fish. My stomach is knotted like one of those macramé plant hangers that are always three times larger than the plants they hold. All the women get up to clear away the spaghetti dishes, except for Karen, who, instead, lights a cigarette. "Why don't you give them a little hand?" I politely suggest. Karen makes a face and walks into the kitchen carrying three forks. "Dear, you don't have to do that," my mother tells her, smiling painfully. "Oh, okay," Karen says, putting the forks on the sink. As she reenters the dining room, a wineglass flies over her head, and smashes against the wall. From the kitchen, my mother says, "Whoops." More fish comes out. After some goading, Karen tries a piece of scungilli, which she describes as "slimy, like worms." My mother winces, bites her hand and pounds her chest like one of those old women you always see in the sixth row of a funeral home. Zia Maria does the same. Karen, believing that this is something that all Italian women do on Christmas Eve, bites her hand and pounds her chest. My Zio Giovanni doesn't know what to make of it. My father's dentures fall out and chew a six-inch gash in the tablecloth.
10:00 p.m. - Coffee, dessert. Espresso all around. A little anisette. A curl of lemon peel. When Karen asks for milk, my mother finally slaps her in the face with a cannoli. I guess it had to happen sooner or later. Karen, believing that this is something that all Italian women do on Christmas Eve, picks up a cannoli and slaps my mother with it. "This is fun," Karen says. Time passes and believe it or not everyone is laughing and smiling and filled with good cheer -- even my mother, who grabs me by the shoulder, laughs and says, "Get this bitch out of my house." Sounds fine to me. THE END

 

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Thought I'd revive this thread

Enjoy everyone. Hope this gets a laugh or two out of ya!