Christmas Jokes

Some humourous christmas stories to brighten up your holiday season. Feel free to share any funny stories, poems, jokes, etc. that you find amusing.

 

 

The Reasons Why Santa's Got to be a Woman

I hate to be the one to defy sacred myth, but I believe he's a she. Think about it. Christmas is a big, organized, warm, fuzzy, nurturing social deal, and I have a tough time believing a guy could possibly pull it all off!

For starters, the vast majority of men don't even think about selecting gifts until Christmas Eve. It's as if they are all frozen in some kind of Ebenezerian Time Warp until 3 p.m. on Dec.24th, when they (with amazing calm) call other errant men for a last-minute shopping spree.

Once at the mall, they always seem surprised to find only Ronco products, socket wrench sets, and mood rings left on the shelves. (You might think this would send them into a fit of panic and guilt, but my husband tells me it's an enormous relief because it lessens the 11th hour decision-making burden.) On this count alone, I'm convinced Santa is a woman. Surely, if he were a man, everyone in the universe would wake up Christmas morning to find a rotating musical Chia Pet under the tree, still in the bag.

Another problem for a he-Santa would be getting there. First of all, there would be no reindeer because they would all be dead, gutted and strapped on to the rear bumper of the sleigh amid wide-eyed, desperate claims that buck season had been extended. Blitzen's rack would already be on the way to the taxidermist. Even if the male Santa DID have reindeer, he'd still have transportation problems because he would inevitably get lost up there in the snow and clouds and then refuse to stop and ask for directions.

Add to this the fact that there would be unavoidable delays in the chimney, where the Bob Vila-like Santa would stop to inspect and repoint bricks in the flue. He would also need to check for carbon monoxide fumes in every gas fireplace, and get under every Christmas tree that is crooked to straighten it to a perfectly upright 90-degree angle.

Other reasons why Santa PROBABLY isn't a man:

Men can't pack a bag.
Men would rather be dead than caught wearing red velvet.
Men would feel their masculinity is threatened...having to be seen with all those elves.
Men don't answer their mail.
Men would refuse to allow their physique to be described even in jest as anything remotely resembling a "bowlful of jelly."
Men aren't interested in stockings unless somebody's wearing them.
Finally, being responsible for Christmas would require a commitment.

As long as we have each other, good will, peace on earth, faith and Nat King Cole's version of "The Christmas Song," it probably makes little difference what gender Santa is.

I just wish she'd quit dressing like a guy!!!

 

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Twas The Night Before Christmas--Politically Correct

'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 four 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 roof noises up on their roof-tops. 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 would sue o'er the use of his nose And had gone on Geraldo, in front of the nation, Asking millions of dollars in due compensation.

So, half of the reindeer were gone; and his wife, Who suddenly said she'd had enough of this life, Joined a self-helping group, and left in a whiz, Demanding from now on her title was Ms.

And as for the gifts, he'd ne'er had a notion That making a choice could cause such 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 and 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 and so, non-pacific. or sweets...they were bad for the tooth. Nothing that seemed to embellish a truth. And fairy tales too, while not yet forbidden, Were like Ken and Barbie...(just better off hidden.) For they raised the hackles of those psychological Who said the only good gift was one ecological.

No baseball, not football...someone could get hurt; Besides, playing sports exposed kids to the dirt. Dolls were too sexist, and should be passe; And Nintendo, 'twas found, rots your brain cells away.

So Santa just stood there, disheveled, perplexed; He just couldn't figure out what to do next. He tried to be merry, tried to be gay, (But you've got to be careful with that word today.) His sack was quite empty, lay limp on the ground; No suitable gift for this year could 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 and every religion; Every ethnicity, each color and hue, Everyone, everywhere...even to you.

So here is that gift, it's price beyond worth...
May you and your loved ones enjoy peace on earth."

Author unknown....

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If Martha and Erma Wrote Each Other

 

Martha Stewart's letter to Erma Bombeck:

Hi Erma,

This perfectly delightful note is being sent on paper I made myself to tell you what I have been up to. Since it snowed last night,
I got up early and made a sled with old barn wood and a glue gun. I hand painted it in gold leaf,got out my loom, and made a
blanket in peaches and mauves. Then to make the sled complete, I made a white horse to pull it, from DNA that I had just
sitting around in my craft room.

By then, it was time to start making the placemats and napkins for my 20 breakfast guests. I'm serving the old standard Stewart
twelve-course breakfast, but I'll let you in on a little secret: I didn't have time to make the tables and chairs this morning, so I
used the ones I had on hand.

Before I moved the table into the dining room, I decided to add just a touch of the holidays. So I repainted the room in pinks
and stenciled gold stars on the ceiling. Then, while the homemade bread was rising, I took antique candle molds and made the
dishes (exactly the same shade of pink) to use for breakfast. These were made from Hungarian clay,which you can get at almost
any Hungarian craft store.

Well, I must run. I need to finish the buttonholes on the dress I'm wearing for breakfast. I'll get out the sled and drive this note to
the post office as soon as the glue dries on the envelope I'll be making. Hope my breakfast guests don't stay too long. I have
40,000 cranberries to string with bay leaves before my speaking engagement at noon.

Love, Martha Stewart

P.S. When I made the ribbon for this typewriter, I used 1/8-inch gold gauze. I soaked the gauze in a mixture of white grapes
and blackberries which I grew, picked, and crushed last week just for fun.

 

Response from Erma Bombeck:

Dear Martha,

I'm writing this on the back of an old shopping list, pay no attention to the coffee and jelly stains. I'm 20 minutes late getting my
daughter up for school, packing a lunch with one hand, on the phone with the dog pound, seems old Ruff needs bailing out,
again. Burnt my arm on the curling iron when I was trying to make those cute curly fries, how DO they do that? Still can't find
the scissors to cut out some snowflakes, tried using an old disposable razor trashed the tablecloth. Tried that cranberry thing,
frozen cranberries mushed up after I defrosted them in the microwave. Oh, and don't use Fruity Pebbles as a substitute in that
Rice Krispie snowball recipe, unless you happen to like a disgusting shade that resembles puke! The smoke alarm is going off,
talk to ya later.

Love, Erma

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