All Entries Tagged With: "humor"
Not a friendly reindeer…
If you run into this guy leave him alone. He has an attitude. He’s not a friendly reindeer. (Dec 26, 2015)
Kids’ response on first seeing the real Santa Claus
The exact moment that Santa appeared on Christmas. Santa is the real deal . No doubt about that. Just ask these kids.(December 25, 2015)
Colorado Christmas Corner
Bite the frosty head off that crippled skeleton of ice. Breathe on it and ask for warmth. Ski it down and down and down to the heights of jubilation. Waking after a night’s full onslaught to exploding ice-caked mornings. Brew with pine green, blue sky and brown soil . Snow, wood and blue. (December 24, 2015)
Christmas Eve Blowout Feared
(Colona, Colorado — December 23, 2015)
Rogue elements of the Elves’ Angels sleigh gang have pledged to go ahead with a decadent rendezvous slated for Christmas Eve it was reported this morning. The elves, normally engaged in Santa-assist duties this time of the year, are apparently blowing off legendary responsibilities in favor of the bash, or blowout as they call the annual debauchery.
“We know how these little pixies get when they drink,” flexed one Log Hill resident who is primed for trouble. “Last year they held up traffic and started bonfires all over town. What happened to the charming little sprites who used to roast chestnuts over an open fire and all that?”
Last year motorists where constantly harassed along Highway 550 as the evil brownies sought funding for their sinful display. Several drivers were forced out of their cars and into the cold December night by the foul smelling elves.
Sleigh gangs from the North Pole and Canada are expected to descend on the peaceful burg on about December 22 with the revelry screeching into the new year. Looting is expected.
“New Year’s Eve would be a good time to stay away from the downtown strip,” said the rifle wielding local. “That’s when we plan to match muscle for muscle. We’ve had enough of their crap.”
– Warren of Wexley
Santa Claus Canadian
(London, Ontario — The Shocking But True Account — Dec 22, 2015)
The red-clad father of Christmas has admitted his Canadian ancestry today much to the dismay of millions of fans south of the border in the United States.
Humbug.
“We are stunned,” said a spokesman for retailers here. “Why would he mislead us? Why would he impersonate himself in such a cruel way? He should be punished!”
For centuries Santa Claus was considered to be a product of the U.S. since his trademark image was created by people like Thomas Nast, Clarence Horning, Frank Leslie and Winslow Homer. Despite these presumptions the elf’s continued insistence that he reside at the brutal North Pole and his long association with Canada should have indicated a rat.
“People would prefer to gloss over the reality of a situation rather than consider all the possibilities,” said social scientist Margaret Swede of Cal Polygamy, a visiting scholar here. “Why do they think the Canadian kids always got their presents first? He’s been a rabid fan of the Maple Leafs since the first power play. He even goes to Rough Rider’s games. That in itself shows substantial instability.”
What this disclosure will do to Christmas down in the colonies is not known but former Presidential candidate Al Gore has bravely offered to fill in until a new Santa is appointed, or the old one is exonerated.
“Santa has mislead us for too long,” continued Swede. “Even liberal academia will be slow to forgive him for this ruthless act.”
As an acting Canadian, Santa is also a subject of the crown (Britain) which may not go down well in Fenian circles.
“His mother was a Murphy,” added Swede. “Ahh but don’t they forget the ould sod when they make a few quid across the sea.”
After the holidays the United States will consider economic sanctions against the Commonwealth of Canada for harboring the bearded fraud.
– Suzie Compost
Bethlehem Innkeepers Still Jerks
(Jerusalem — Tel Aviv-Gaza Evening Post — December 21, 2015)
We arrived at Quo Vadis International at around midday on a hot desert afternoon and waited an hour for a rickety bus to the tiny village of Bethlehem. All around us stood Israeli soldiers armed to the teeth geared up for who knew what.
It was mid-week during the slow tourist season in the Holy Land and subsequently we had made no lodging arrangements. With the legacy of rude innkeepers on our Biblical minds we boarded the bus and headed out toward the evening’s destination.
In about 40 minutes the bus pulled up to a nice enough adobe-type hotel on the outskirts of Bethlehem. Several Americans departed to inquire about lodging for the night. The bus driver was more than happy to wait knowing we would return in no time. He smirked. The innkeeper apologized but insisted she had no rooms even though there were no people in the lobby and no cars in the massive parking lot. We traveled further.
The next potential oasis was the center of the village itself. The bus driver giggled and pulled over to the side of the road. This time to hotel was outwardly obnoxious. The clerk there ridiculed us for not making reservations beforehand, muttering something in broken Arabic as he slammed the shutters and turned off the welcome light.
We were quickly back in out seats and rolling down the highway again.
One fellow traveler, from Marseille scoffed at the rude behavior saying these hoteliers had inherited their bad attitude from Roman times when the accommodation charade first began.
“On my last trip here,” he began, “ I solicited ten hotels before retiring to a vacant barn on the outskirts of Bethlehem. We then decided to dispense with all the tomfoolery and follow suit. Unfortunately upon our arrival it became clear that someone else had beaten us to the punch.
A young family with a newborn had taken over the digs. The three were surrounded by some hastily arranged livestock and some strange looking royals from another planet They appeared to be preparing some nomadic dinner. We found a place in the corner and dropped our gear.
“Hey Joe, are there any decent restaurants around here,” I asked the father figure who sat by the slowly dying embers in the shadowed regions of the old barn.
(Continued on page 66)
