Tag Archives: christmas

The First Christmas Letter

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Zikes! What a year! Joseph forgot to make reservations at the Bethlehem Inn (his carpentry projects aren’t the only thing made out of wood!). So they stick us in this stable full of stale hay and stinking animals and guess what??? I go right into labor. My OB doc said: “Make the trip.” Anyway, we have a new baby boy that we think is truly special. But it’s been a madhouse ever since!

First, we can’t agree on a name. Joseph likes Emmanuel – I’m holding out for Jesus. Next, all these shepherds stop by to gawk (as if the smell wasn’t bad enough). At least those three camel jockeys brought gifts (ever try to exchange myrrh without a receipt?) We can’t get a good night’s sleep with that stupid star shining through the cracks in the ceiling, and every store in town is sold out of swaddling.

Well, got to go! Joseph had another one of his goofy visions so I guess we’re off to Egypt. This time, I make the reservations!

All my love,
Mary

‘Twas the Day After Christmas

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‘Twas the day after Christmas, and all through the house,
Every creature was hurtin’, even the mouse.
The toys were all broken, their batteries dead;
Santa passed out, with some ice on his head.
Wrapping and ribbons just covered the floor, while
Upstairs the family continued to snore.
And I in my T-shirt, new Reeboks and jeans,
I went into the kitchen and started to clean.
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the sink to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the curtains, and threw up the sash.
When what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a little white truck, with an oversized mirror.
The driver was smiling, so lively and grand;
The patch on his jacket said “U.S. POSTMAN.”
With a handful of bills, he grinned like a fox
Then quickly he stuffed them into our mailbox.
Bill after bill, after bill, they still came.
Whistling and shouting he called them by name:
“Now Dillard’s, now Broadway’s, now Penny’s and Sears
Here’s Robinson’s, Levitz’s and Target and Mervyn’s.
To the tip of your limit, every store, every mall,
Now charge away–charge away–charge away all!”
He whooped and he whistled as he finished his work.
He filled up the box, and then turned with a jerk.
He sprang to his truck and he drove down the road,
Driving much faster with just half a load.
Then I heard him exclaim with great holiday cheer,
“Enjoy what you got. . . . . .you’ll be paying all year!”

Christmas Controversies

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  • CONTROVERSY: Should the tree be real or fake?
    YUPPIE: Live tree, planted after use.
    MALE: Fake tree, discarded after use.
    FEMALE: Grow tree in house, adorned with fruits
    REALITY: Fake tree stays up until May, adorned with fur balls.

  • CONTROVERSY: Should tree lights twinkle or stay constant?
    YUPPIE: Each bulb blinks to its own random rhythm.
    MALE: Bulbs flash logo of football team.
    FEMALE: Elegant flickering candles.
    REALITY: Tree bursts into flames, burns house down.

  • CONTROVERSY: Should tree be topped with an angel or a star?
    YUPPIE: Gender-neutral angel; no submissive female stereotype.
    MALE: Blonde angel, kneeling, in a wet T-shirt.
    FEMALE: Authentic angel explains true meaning of Christmas.
    REALITY: Hell’s Angel steals the tree and the gifts.

  • CONTROVERSY: Do you fling or hang tinsel?
    YUPPIE: Empower each strand with/self-determining skills.
    MALE: Six large clumps of tinsel on front of tree.
    FEMALE: Each icicle hangs like strand of spaghetti.
    REALITY: More icicles on floor than on tree.

  • CONTROVERSY: Do you open gifts on Christmas Eve or Morning?
    YUPPIE: Gifts opened on posted, individual schedules.
    MALE: Anytime, just so it doesn’t interfere with football.
    FEMALE: Anytime the entire family is present.
    REALITY: Doesn’t matter, everyone’s peeked anyway.

Cat-Mas Season

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Cat-mas season is here. This is a wonderful time of year when the humans decorate the home for us cats in anticipation of the visit from Santa Claws. The tree went up yesterday, and so did I. Made it to the fourth branch within the first five minutes before the Big Owner chased me out of the tree.

So, as I do every year, I waited and watched the humans decorate the Cat-mas tree with all sorts of what the humans call “ornaments.” I call them “cat toys.”

Ornaments are invitations to a cat, bright and shiny spheres just daring a cat to knock them off. Every year the humans hang the ornaments a little higher out of my range, forcing me to elevate my game to knock them off. Humans “ohhh and ahhh” as they decorate the Cat-mas tree. I salivate in anticipation of the night’s activities.

The humans retire to bed, as is custom during Cat-mas season, leaving me to play with my tree. Tonight is a challenge, the ornaments are at an all time high. I crept under the tree and began to scale branches. This is great! A tree in my own home, why don’t they do this year-round? Five, six, seven branches, I climb like a pro. Ten, twelve, I am half way to the top, and there is the first ornament! This is easy as Cat-mas fruitcake.

I make my way down the branch approaching the first ornament. It lightly jiggles as my weight causes the bough to bend. Almost there! One paw away and I feel a shudder. Something is not right, I begin to lose my balance. The room is tilting! No, the room is not tilting, the Cat-mas tree is falling! It seemed like forever as the tree leaned, then pitched, and finally crashed to the floor in a resounding bang of exploding bulbs, ornaments, and broken limbs. I quickly extricated myself from the splintered tree just as the Big Owner game bursting in snapping on the lights. There I was, sitting next to the tree, as innocent a look on my face as any other in the household.

“What happened?” he growled. Not a peep from me, I turned and looked at the tree. “I guess we hung too many ornaments on one side of the tree,” I heard him say later as he hoisted the mangled Cat-mas tree back into place.

“Good answer,” I thought. The Big Owner staggered off to bed, and I retreated to the living room. Maybe I’ll tear down those stockings that were hung by the chimney with care.

It was good day.

From the Cat Diary
Copyright 1999 Mark Mason All Rights Reserved

‘Twas the Night Before Cat-mas

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‘Twas the night before Cat-mas and all through MY house,
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse…(I ate it).
My kitty stocking was hung by the cat door with care,
In hopes that Santa Claws soon would be there;
The humans were nestled all snug in their beds,
While we cats in the darkness danced on their heads;
Big Owner in his “sleepy’s”, and me his loyal cat,
Had just settled down for a long winter’s nap,
When out in the ‘hood there arose such a clatter,
I sprang to four paws to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Eating curtains and shades (I threw up the sash).
The street lamp outside shined eerily below,
Maybe two cats fighting? Paw to paw, blow-by-blow?
No, wait! What my sharp kitty eyes should detect,
But a miniature cat box, and that Devonshire Rex.
A little old driver, all hairy with paws,
I knew in an instant it must be Santa Claws.
More rapid than hairballs his coursers they came,
And he howled, he meowed, he called them by name;
“Now, BOMBAY! now, BIRMAN! RAGDOLL and BURMESE!
On, PIXIE-BOB! on KORAT! on, PERSIAN and SIAMESE!
To the top of the fence! To the top of the tree!
My felines are awaiting, they are all purring!”
As dry heaves that before the wild furballs fly,
When he meets with an obstacle, they jump to the sky,
So over my shingles the kitties they flew,
With the carriage full of cat morsels, and Santa Claws too.
With a turn of my ear, I heard on the roofpole
The scratching and clawing of each kitty’s sole.
I drew in my head, and was spinning around,
When through the cat door Santa Claws did abound.
A long hair in fur, of course, from head to foot,
And his hairs were all shiny, well coiffured, nicely put.
A bundle of cat toys he had flung on his back,
You’d swear he was pedigree just him with his pack.
His eyes — how they twinkled! His whiskers how bold!
His cheek hairs so soft, his nose…oh, how cold!
He shed not a hair, each strand in its place
The most famous of all of the proud feline race.
The stump of some cat nip he held tight in his teeth,
Its aroma encircling his head like a wreath;
An imposing cat with the biggest belly in history,
That shook, when he laughed like a bowlful of Friskies.
A grimalkin of breed, a right jolly old cat!
Did I say grimalkin, how could I think that!
A twitch of the whisker and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread;
He mewed not a sound, but went straight to his work,
Filled my stockings with kitty treats; then turned with a jerk,
And laying a talon aside of his nose,
After giving a nod, out the cat door he goes;
He sprang to his cat box, to his team gave “MEOW!”
And away they all flew, like the wind they did howl.
But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,
“MEOWY CAT-MAS TO ALL, AND TO ALL A GOOD-NIGHT!”

From the Cat Diary
Copyright 1999 Mark Mason All Rights Reserved

A Cajun 12 Days of Christmas

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  • Day 1
    Dear Emile, Thanks for da bird in the Pear tree. I fixed it las night with dirty rice an it was delicious. I doan tink the Pear tree would grow in de swamp, so I swapped it for a Satsuma.

  • Day 2
    Dear Emile, Your letter said you sent 2 turtle dove, but all I got was 2 scrawny pigeon. Anyway, I mixed them with andouille and made some gumbo out of dem.

  • Day 3
    Dear Emile, Why doan you sen me some crawfish? I’m tired of eating dem darned bird. I gave two of those prissy French chicken to Mrs. Fontenot over at Grand Chenier, and fed the tird one to my dog, Phideaux. Mrs. Fontenot needed some sparring partners for her fighting rooster.

  • Day 4
    Dear Emile, Mon Dieux! I tole you no more of dem bird. Deez four, what you call “calling bird” wuz so noisy you could hear dem all da’ way to Lafayette. I used they necks for my crab traps, and fed the rest of dem to the gators.

  • Day 5
    Dear Emile, You finally sent something useful. I liked dem golden rings, me. I hocked dem at da’ pawn shop in Sulphur and got enough money to fix the shaft on my shrimp boat, and to buy a round for da boys at the Raisin’ Cane Lounge.

    Merci Beaucoup!

  • Day 6
    Dear Emile, Couchon! Back to da birds, you coonass turkey! Poor egg sucking Phideaux is scared to death ah dem six goose. He try to eat they eggs and they pecked the heck out ah his snout. Dem goose are damm good at eating cockroach around da’ house, though. I may stuff one ah dem goose with erster dressing to serve him on Christmas Day.

  • Day 7
    Dear Emile, I’m gonna wring your fool neck next time I see you. Ole Boudreaux, da mailman, is ready to kill you, too. The crap from all dem bird is stinkin up his mailboat. He afraid someone will slip on dat stuff and gonna sue him. I let dem seven swan loose to swim on da bayou and some stupid duck hunter from Mississippi done blasted dem out da water. Talk to you tomorrow.

  • Day 8
    Dear Emile, Poor ole Boudreaux had to make 3 trips on his mailboat to deliver dem 8 maids-a-milking & der cows. One of dem cows got spooked by da alligators and almost tipped over da boat. I doan like dem shiftless maids, me. I told dem to get to work gutting fish and sweeping my shack–but dey say it wasn’t in their contract. They probably tink they too good to skin all dem nutria I caught las night.

  • Day 9
    Dear Emile, What you trying to do? Boudreaux had to borrow da Cameron Ferry to carry these jumping twits you call lords-a-leaping across da bayou. As soon as dey got here dey wanted a tea break and crumpets. I doan know what dat means but I says, “Well la di da. You get Chicory coffee or nuthin.” Mon Dieux, Emile, what I’m gonna feed all these bozos? They too snooty for fried nutria, and da cow ate up all my turnip green.

  • Day 10
    Dear Emile, You got to be out of you mind. If da mailman don’t kill you, I will. Today he deliver 10 half nekkid floozies from Bourbon Street. Dey said they be “ladies dancing” but they doan act like ladies in front of dem Limey sailing boys. Dey almost left after one of them got bit by a water moccasin over by my out- house. I had to butcher 2 cows to feed toute le monde (everybody) and get toilet paper rolls. The Sears catalog wasn’t good enough for dem hoity toity lords. Talk at you tomorrow.

  • Day 11
    Dear Emile, Where Y’at? Cherio and pip pip. You 11 Pipers Piping arrived today from the House of Blues, second lining as dey got off da boat. We fixed stuffed goose and beef jumbalaya, finished da whiskey, and we’re having a fais-do-do. Da’ new mailman drank a bottle of Jack Daniel, and he’s having a good old time dancing with the floozies. Da’ old mailman done jump off the Moss Bluff Bridge yesterday, screaming you name. If you happen to get a mysterious-looking, ticking package in da mail, don’t open it.

  • Day 12
    Dear Emile, Me I’m sorry to tell you–but I am not your true love anymore. After the fais-do-do, I spent da night with Jacques, the head piper. We decide to open a restaurant and gentlemen’s club on the bayou. The floozies–pardon me–ladies dancing can make $20 for a table dance, and the lords can be the waiters and valet park da boats. Since da’ maids have no more cows to milk, I trained dem to set my crab traps, watch my trotlines, and run my shrimping business. We’ll probably gross a million dollars next year.

Bubba Claus

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A new contract for Santa has finally been negotiated….Please read the following carefully…….

I regret to inform you that, effective immediately, I will no longer be able to serve Southern United States on Christmas Eve. Due to the overwhelming current population of the earth, my contract was renegotiated by North American Fairies and Elves Local 209. I now serve only certain areas of Ohio, Indiana, Illinois, Wisconsin and Michigan. As part of the new and better contract I also get longer breaks for milk and cookies so keep that in mind.

However, I’m certain that your children will be in good hands with your local replacement who happens to be my third cousin, Bubba Claus. His side of the family is from the South Pole. He shares my goal of delivering toys to all the good boys and girls; however, there are a few differences between us.

Differences such as:

  1. There is no danger of a Grinch stealing your presents from Bubba Claus. He has a gun rack on his sleigh and a bumper sticker that reads: “These toys insured by Smith and Wesson.”
  2. Instead of milk and cookies, Bubba Claus prefers that children leave an RC cola and pork rinds [or a moon pie] on the fireplace. And Bubba doesn’t smoke a pipe. He dips a little snuff though, so please have an empty spit can handy.
  3. Bubba Claus’ sleigh is pulled by floppy-eared, flying’ coon dogs instead of reindeer. I made the mistake of loaning him a couple of my reindeer one time, and Blitzen’s head now overlooks Bubba’s fireplace.
  4. You won’t hear “On Comet, on Cupid, on Donner and Blitzen …” when Bubba Claus arrives. Instead, you’ll hear, “On Earnhardt, on Wallace, on Martin and Labonte. On Rudd, on Jarrett, on Elliott and Petty.”
  5. “Ho, ho, ho!” has been replaced by “Yee Haw!” And you also are likely to hear Bubba’s elves respond, “I her’d dat!”
  6. As required by Southern highway laws, Bubba Claus’ sleigh does have a Yosemite Sam safety triangle on the back with the words “Back off” The last I heard it also had other decorations on the sleigh back as well. One is Ford or Chevy logo with lights that race through the letters and the other is a caricature of me (Santa Claus) going wee wee on the Tooth Fairy.
  7. The usual Christmas movie classics such as “Miracle on 34th Street” and “It’s a Wonderful Life” will not be shown in your negotiated viewing area. Instead, you’ll see “Boss Hogg Saves Christmas” and “Smokey and the Bandit IV” featuring Burt Reynolds as Bubba Claus and dozens of state patrol cars crashing into each other.
  8. Bubba Claus doesn’t wear a belt. If I were you, I’d make sure you, the wife, and the kids turn the other way when he bends over to put presents under the tree.
  9. And finally, lovely Christmas songs have been sung about me like “Rudolph The Red-nosed Reindeer” and Bing Crosby’s “Santa Claus Is Coming to Town.” This year songs about Bubba Claus will be played on all the AM radio stations in the South. Those song title will be Mark Chesnutt’s “Bubba Claus Shot the Jukebox”; Cledus T. Judd’s “All I Want for Christmas Is My Woman and a Six Pack”, and Hank Williams Jr.’s “If You Don’t Like Bubba Claus, You can Shove It.”

    10. Sincerely Yours,
    Santa Claus
    (member of North American Fairies and Elves Local 209)

The Beer Drinker’s Night Before Christmas

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‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all I could hear
Was my party guests screaming, “We’ve run out of beer!”
I laughed for a moment, said, “They’re pulling my leg,”
For I had just tapped a half-barrel keg.

“No, really, we’re out!” someone shrieked out of fright.
And the crowd grew more restless, surely there would be a fight.
“Now relax,” I said calmly “I’ve got plenty more brew.”
“I’ve got Coors in the pantry, and Schlitz in the loo.”

But my pantry was bare, and my fridge empty, too,
Gone, too was the six-pack I kept in the loo.
My pulse quickly rose and my heart sank with fear
For what kind of people could drink that much beer?

I looked at my guests; some invited, some not.
And I smelled the unmistakable sweet smell of pot.
Then I saw two girls giggle with glassy-eyed grins.
There was no mistaking: It was the Bush Twins.

They had drank all my beer and smoked all my stash.
Now I was lamenting my Christmas Eve bash.
The girls were shot-gunning the last can of Bud,
When up on the roof I heard a great THUD!

Then down from the chimney came a jolly fat dude.
He said, “Ran out of beer? Aw, man that’s just rude.
“Lucky for you, you’ve been a good boy.
“So I will provide you with great Christmas joy.”

And out of his sack he proceeded to bring
cases of beer (Oh, it made my heart sing).
More Bud and more Coors, even Michelob Light
More Killian’s and Beck’s; what a wonderful sight!

My guests started cheering, the Bush girls did flips.
Even the secret service were whetting their lips.
The Kennedy’s came by; John Daly did, too.
The Spirit of Christmas was sure coming through.

I looked out my window and spotted St. Nick
Chugging a pitcher, and chugging it quick!
And I heard him exclaim as he flew fast away,
“Drink, but don’t drive” as he crashed his new sleigh.

Batteries Not Included

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‘Twas the night before Christmas
when all through the house
I searched for the tools
to hand to my spouse
Instructions were studied
and we were inspired,
in hopes we could manage
“Some Assembly Required.”
The children were quiet (not asleep) in their beds,
while Dad and I faced the evening with dread:
a kitchen, two bikes, Barbie’s town house to boot!
And, thanks to Grandpa, a train with a toot!
We opened the boxes,
my heart skipped a beat- let no parts be missing
or parts incomplete!
Too late for last-minute returns or replacement;
if we can’t get it right, it goes in the basement!
When what to my worrying eyes should appear
but 50 sheets of directions, concise, but not clear,
With each part numbered and every slot named,
so if we failed, only we could be blamed.
More rapid than eagles the parts then fell out,
all over the carpet they were scattered about.
“Now bolt it! Now twist it! Attach it right there!
Slide on the seats, and staple the stair!
Hammer the shelves, and nail to the stand.”
“Honey,” said hubby, “you just glued my hand.”
And then in a twinkling, I knew for a fact
that all the toy dealers had indeed made a pact
to keep parents busy all Christmas Eve night
with “assembly required” till morning’s first light
We spoke not a word, but kept bent at our work,
till our eyes, they went bleary; our fingers all hurt.
The coffee went cold and the night, it wore thin
before we attached the last rod and last pin.
Then laying the tools away in the chest,
we fell into bed for a well-deserved rest.
But I said to my husband just before I passed out,
“This will be the best Christmas, without any doubt.
Tomorrow we’ll cheer, let the holiday ring,
and not have to run to the store for a thing!
We did it! We did it! The toys are all set
for the perfect, most perfect, Christmas, I bet!”
Then off to dreamland and sweet repose
I gratefull went, though I suppose
there’s something to say for those self-deluded-
I’d forgotten that BATTERIES are never included!

Season’s Crude Greetings

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Money’s Short
Times are Hard
Here’s your F***ing
Christmas Card

Twas the night before Christmas
and all through the house
everyone felt shitty
even the mouse

Mom at the whorehouse
and dad smoking grass
I’d just settled down
for a nice piece of ass

When out on the lawn
I heard such a clatter
I sprung from my piece
to see what’s the matter

Then out on the lawn
I saw a big dick
I knew in a moment
it must be Saint Nick

He came down the chimney
like a bat out of hell
I knew in a moment
the old f***er fell

He filled all our stockings
with pretzels and beer
and a big rubber dick
for my brother the queer

He rose up the chimney
with a thuderous fart
the son of a bitch
blew the chimney apart

He swore and he cursed
as he rode out of sight
piss on you all
and have a good night

Have A Nice Christmas, Asshole