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Jokes
A Woman went to the Post Office to buy stamps for her Christmas cards.
"What Denomination?" asked the clerk.
"Oh, good heavens! Have we come to this?" said the woman. "Well give me 50
Baptist and 50 Catholic."
Good King Wenceslas rings up a local pizza restaurant to order a
pizza.
"Certainly your majesty" says the manager "will it be your usual?
Deep pan, crisp and even?"
All I Need to Know about Life I Learned From a Snowman
It's okay if you're a little bottom heavy.
Hold your ground, even when the heat is on.
It takes a few extra rolls to make a good midsection.
The key to life is to be a jolly, happy soul.
It's not the size of the carrot, but the placement that counts.
It's embarrassing when you can't look down and see your feet.
'TWAS THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS 'Twas the Night Before Finals 'Twas the Night Before Finals
and all through the college,
the students were all praying,
for that last minute knowledge.
Most were quite sleepy,
but none touched their beds.
While visions of essays,
danced in their heads.
In my own apartment,
I had been pacing.
And dreading exams
that I would be facing.
My roomate was speechless,
His nose in the books.
And my comments to him,
drew unfriendly looks.
I drained all the coffee,
And brewed a new pot.
No longer caring,
that my nerves were all shot.
I stared at my notes,
but my thoughts were all muddy.
My eyes were a blur,
And I just couldn't study.
"Some pizza might help",
I said with a shiver.
But each place I called,
refused to deliver.
I'd nearly concluded
that life was too cruel
with futures depending
on grades had in school.
When all of a sudden,
our door opened wide.
And Patron Saint Put Off
Ambled inside.
His spirit was careless,
His manner was mellow.
He flopped on the couch
and started to bellow:
"What kind of student
would make such a fuss,
to toss back at teachers
what they tossed at us?"
"On Cliff Notes! On Crib Notes!
On Last Year's Exams!
On Wingit and Slingit
and Last Minute Crams!"
His message delivered
he vanished from sight,
but we still heard him laughing
outside in the night.
Your teachers have pegged you,
So just do your best.
Happy Finals to ALL,
And to all a good test. 'Twas the (Politically Correct) Night Before Christmas 'Twas the night before Christmas and Santa's a wreck...
How to live in a world that's politically correct?
His workers no longer would answer to "Elves".
"Vertically Challenged" they were calling themselves.
And labor conditions at the north pole
Were alleged by the union to stifle the soul.
Four reindeer had vanished, without much propriety,
Released to the wilds by the Humane Society.
And equal employment had made it quite clear
That Santa had better not use just reindeer.
So Dancer and Donner, Comet and Cupid,
Were replaced with 4 pigs, and you know that looked stupid!
The runners had been removed from his sleigh;
The ruts were termed dangerous by the E.P.A.
And people had started to call for the cops
When they heard sled noises on their roof-tops.
Second-hand smoke from his pipe had his workers quite frightened.
His fur trimmed red suit was called "Unenlightened."
And to show you the strangeness of life's ebbs and flows,
Rudolf was suing over unauthorized use of his nose
And had gone on Geraldo, in front of the nation,
Demanding millions in over-due compensation.
So, half of the reindeer were gone; and his wife,
Who suddenly said she'd enough of this life,
Joined a self-help group, packed, and left in a whiz,
Demanding from now on her title was Ms.
And as for the gifts, why, he'd ne'er had a notion
That making a choice could cause so much commotion.
Nothing of leather, nothing of fur,
Which meant nothing for him. And nothing for her.
Nothing that might be construed to pollute.
Nothing to aim. Nothing to shoot.
Nothing that clamored or made lots of noise.
Nothing for just girls. Or just for the boys.
Nothing that claimed to be gender specific.
Nothing that's warlike or non-pacific.
No candy or sweets...they were bad for the tooth.
Nothing that seemed to embellish a truth.
And fairy tales, while not yet forbidden,
Were like Ken and Barbie, better off hidden.
For they raised the hackles of those psychological
Who claimed the only good gift was one ecological.
No baseball, no football...someone could get hurt;
Besides, playing sports exposed kids to dirt.
Dolls were said to be sexist, and should be passe;
And Nintendo would rot your entire brain away.
So Santa just stood there, disheveled, perplexed;
He just could not figure out what to do next.
He tried to be merry, tried to be gay,
you've got to be careful with that word today.
His sack was quite empty, limp to the ground;
Nothing fully acceptable was to be found.
Something special was needed, a gift that he might
Give to all without angering the left or the right.
A gift that would satisfy, with no indecision,
Each group of people, every religion;
Every ethnicity, every hue,
Everyone, everywhere...even you.
So here is that gift, it's price beyond worth...
"May you and your loved ones enjoy peace on earth." ' Twas the Night After Christmas 'Twas the night after Christmas and all through the trailer,
The beer had gone flat and the pizza was staler.
The tube socks hung empty, no candies or toys.
And I was camped out on my old Lay-Z-Boy.
The kids they weren't talking to me or my wife,
The worst Christmas they said they had had in their lives.
My wife couldn't argue and neither could I,
So I watched TV and my wife, she just cried.
When out in the yard the dog started barkin'.
I stood up and looked and I saw Sheriff Larkin.
He yelled, "Roy I am sworn to uphold the laws
And I got a complaint here from a feller named Claus."
I said, "Claus, I don't know nobody named Claus,
And you ain't taking me in without probable cause."
Then the Sheriff he said, "The man was shot at last night."
I said, "That might have been me, just what's he look like."
The Sheriff replied, "Well he's a jolly old feller, with a big beer gut belly,
That shakes when he laughs like a bowl full of jelly.
He sports a long beard, and a nose like a cherry."
I said, "Sheriff that sounds like my wife's sister Sherri."
"It's no time for jokes Roy" the Sheriff he said.
"The man I'm describing is dressed all in red.
I'm here for the truth now, it's time to come clean.
Tell me what you've done, tell me what you've seen."
Well I started to lie then I thought what the hell,
It wouldn't have been the first time that I've spent New Years in jail.
I said, "Sheriff it happened last night about ten.
I thought that my wife had been drinking again."
When she walked in from work she was as white as a ghost.
I thought maybe she had seen one of them UFO's.
But she said that a bunch of deer had just flown over her head,
And stopped on the roof of our good neighbour Red.
Well I ran outside to look and the sight made me shudder,
A freezer full of venison standing right on Red's gutter.
Well my hands were a shakin' as I grabbed my gun.
When outta Red's chimney this feller did run.
And slung on his back was this bag over flowin'.
I thought he stolen Red's stuff while old Red was out bowling'.
So I yelled, "Drop fat boy, hands in the air!"
But he went about his business like he hadn't a care!
So I popped off a warning shot over his head.
Well he dropped that bag and he jumped in that sled.
And as he flew off I heard him extort,
"That's assault with intent Roy, I'll see ya in court." by Jeff Foxworthy 'Twas the Byte Before Christmas 'Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house,
Not a user was using ... not even a mouse;
The programs were hung from the bugs in their code,
In hopes that a guru would soon cure their woes;
The data were nestled all snug in their beds,
While versions of software danced in their heads;
The boss dimmed the lights as I locked up my desk,
A couple days off and a well-deserved rest;
Then all of a sudden there came such a clatter,
I sprang from my chair to see what was the matter.
Away to the processor I flew like a flash,
What a terrible sound .. like a massive headcrash;
The lights they were blinking and beaming aglow,
The hardcopy printout said "Let service know!";
When what to my wandering eyes should appear,
On a silicon wafer ... a field engineer;
A little device driver, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be St. Chip!
More rapid than Macro, his cursor insane,
He whistled and shouted like a video game.
Now, Pascal! Now, Basic!, Now, Fortran and Cobol!
On RPG! On PL/1, On Dibol and Snobol!
To the top of the registers, the bottom of core!
Run diagnostics and see what they store!
As memory leaves when electricity flies,
The 'Rep' cracked a smile and loosened his tie;
He was chubby and plump, said the place was a wreck,
And I laughed when I saw him (in spite of high tech).
A wink of his eye, and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread.
He was dressed from his head to his feet in a suit,
His briefcase was heavy with tools to re-boot.
With bundles of bits bulging out of his slacks,
He looked like a pro 'bout to fix a blown pack.
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
Reseated PC boards, then turned with a smirk;
Hit return with his finger and said "Here it goes,"
And giving a nod, into the CRT he dove.
But I heard him exclaim, 'ere leaving the site,
"Restore the data, and all will be right!" 'Twas the Bite Before Christmas Twas the night before Christmas and all round my hips
were Fannie May candies that sneaked past my lips.
Fudge brownies were stored in the freezer with care
In hopes that my thighs would forget they were there.
While Mama in her my girdle and I in chin straps
Had just settled down to sugar-borne naps.
When out in the pantry there arose such a clatter
I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the kitchen I flew like a flash
Tore open the icebox then threw up the sash.
The marshmallow look of the new-fallen snow
Sent thoughts of a binge to my body below.
When what to my wandering eyes should appear:
A marzipan Santa with eight chocolate reindeer!
That huge chunk of candy so luscious and slick
I knew in a second that I'd wind up sick.
The sweet-coated santa, those sugared reindeer
I closed my eyes tightly but still I could hear;
On Pritzker, on Stillman, on weak one, on TOPS
A Weight Watcher dropout from sugar detox.
From the top of the scales to the top of the hall
Now dash away pounds now dash away all.
Dressed up in Lane Bryant from my head to nightdress
My clothes were all bulging from too much excess.
My droll little mouth and my round little belly
They shook when I laughed like a bowl full of jelly.
I spoke not a word but went straight to my work
Ate all of the candy then turned with a jerk.
And laying a finger beside my heartburn
I gave a quick nod toward the bedroom I turned.
I eased into bed, to the heavens I cry
If temptation's removed I'll get thin by and by.
And I mumbled again as I turned for the night
In the morning I'll starve... 'til I take that first bite! 'Twas a Homebrewer's Night Before Christmas 'Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house,
Every creature was thirsty, including the mouse...
The steins were empty, and the bottles were too
The beer had been drunk with no time to brew.
My family was nestled all snug in their beds
While visions of Christmas Ale foamed in their heads.
Mama in her kerchief lamented the drought,
She craved a pilsner and I, a stout.
When out on the lawn, there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my chair to see what was the matter.
Away to the kitchen, I flew like a flash,
Opening the door with a loud bang and crash!
I threw on the switch and the lights, all aglow,
Gave a luster of mid-day to the brew-pot below.
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear
But Gambrinus himself, the patron of beer.
With a look in his eye, so lively and quick,
He said, "You want beer? Well, here, take your pick."
More rapid than eagles, his recipes came
As he whistled and shouted and called them by name.
"Now, Pilsener! Now, Porter! Now, Stout and Now Maerzen!
On, Bitter! On, Lager! On, Bock and On Weizen!"
"To the top of the bottles, the short and the tall,
Now brew away, brew away, and fill them all!"
As dried hops before a wild hurricane fly,
And then, without warning, settle down with a sigh,
So towards the brew-pot, the ingredients flew,
Malt extract, roasted barley and crystal malt, too.
And then in a twinkling, I heard it quite plain,
The cracking open of each barley grain.
As I drew in my head and was turning around,
Into the kitchen, he came with a bound.
He was dressed like a knight, from his head to his toes,
With an old family crest adorning his clothes.
A bundle of hops, he had flung on his back,
And the brewing began when he opened his pack.
His hops were so fragrant! His barley, how sweet!
The adjuncts included Munich malt and some wheat.
The malted barley was mashed in the tun,
Then boiled with hops in the brew-pot 'till done.
Excitement had me gnashing my teeth,
As the sweet smell encircled my head like a wreath.
Beer yeast was pitched, both lager and ale,
The wort quickly fermented, not once did it fail.
It was then krausened, or with sugar primed,
And just being bottled when midnight had chimed.
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know, I'd be shortly in bed.
He spoke not a word but kept on with his work,
And capped all the bottles, then turned with a jerk.
And laying a finger alongside his nose,
He belched (quite a burp!) before he arose.
Clean-up was easy, with only a whistle,
And away the mess flew, like the down on a thistle.
And I heard him exclaim, 'ere he left me the beer,
"Merry Christmas to all and a HOPPY New Year!"
WHY SANTA DOESN’T EXIST
There are approximately two billion children (persons under 18) in the world. However, since Santa does not visit children of Muslim, Hindu, Jewish, or Buddhist (except maybe in Japan) religions, this reduces the workload for Christmas night to 15% of the total, or 378 million (according to the population reference bureau). At an average (census) rate of 3.5 children per household, that comes to 108 million homes, presuming there is at least one good child in each. Santa has about 31 hours of Christmas to work with, thanks to the different time zones and the rotation of the earth, assuming east to west (which seems logical). This works out to 967.7 visits per second. This is to say that for each Christian household with a good child, Santa has around 1/1000Th of a second to park the sleigh, hop out, jump down the chimney, fill the stockings, distribute the remaining presents under the tree, eat whatever snacks have been left for him, get back up the chimney, jump into the sleigh and get onto the next house. Assuming that each of these 108 million stops is evenly distributed around the earth (which, of course, we know to be false, but will accept for the purposes of our calculations), we are not talking about 0.78 miles per household; a total trip of 75.5 million miles, not counting bathroom stops or breaks. This means Santa's sleigh is moving at 650 miles per second - 3,000 times the speed of sound. For purposes of comparison, the fastest man made vehicle, the Ulysses space probe, moves at a pokey 27.4 miles per second, and a conventional reindeer can run (at best) 15 miles per hour or 22 feet per second. The payload of the sleigh adds another interesting element. Assuming that each child gets nothing more than a medium sized LEGO set (two pounds), the sleigh is carrying over 500 thousand tons, not counting Santa himself. On land, a conventional reindeer can pull no more than 300 pounds. Even granting that flying reindeer can pull 10 times the normal amount, the job can't be done with eight or even nine of them -Santa would need 360,000 of them. This increases the payload, not counting the weight of the sleigh, another 54,000 tons, or roughly seven times the weight of the Queen Elizabeth (the ship, not the monarch). A mass of nearly 600,000 tons traveling at 650 miles per second creates enormous air resistance - this would heat up the reindeer in the same fashion as a spacecraft re-entering the earth's atmosphere. The lead pair of reindeer would absorb 14.3 quintillion joules of energy per second each. In short, they would burst into flames almost instantaneously, exposing the reindeer behind them and creating deafening sonic booms in their wake. The entire reindeer team would be vaporized within 4.26 thousandths of a second, or right about the time Santa reaches the fifth house on his trip. Not that it matters, however, since Santa, as a result of accelerating from a dead stop to 650 m.p.s. in .001 seconds, would be subjected to acceleration forces of 17,000 G's. A 250 pound Santa (which seems ludicrously slim considering all the high calorie snacks he must have consumed over the years) would be pinned to the back of the sleigh by 4,315,015 pounds of force, instantly crushing his bones and organs and reducing him to a quivering blob of pink goo. Therefore, if Santa did exist, he's dead now. MERRY CHRISTMAS!!!
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