- Hey Babe, when was the last time you did it in a sleigh?
- Wanna see my 12-inch elf?
- I’ve got something special in the sack for you!
- Ever make it with a fat guy with a whip?
- I know when you’ve been bad or good–so let’s skip the small talk, sister!
- Some of my best toys run on batteries…
- Interested in seeing the “North Pole”? (Well, that’s what the Mrs. calls it…)
- I see you when you`re sleeping–and you don`t wear any underwear, do you?
- Screw the “nice” list–I`ve got you on my “naughty” list!
- Wanna join the “Mile High” club?
You must be surprised that I’m writing to 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, when, filled with illusion, I wrote you my letter. I asked for a bicycle, an electric train set, a pair of roller blades, and a football uniform. I destroyed my brain studying the whole year. Not only was I the first in my class, but I had the best grades in the whole school.
I’m not going to lie to you, 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 within reach that I would not do for humanity.
What balls do you have leaving me a f**king yo-yo, a stupid whistle and a pair of socks. What the f**k were you thinking, you fat son of a bitch, that you’ve taken me for a sucker the whole f**king year to come out with some shit like this under the tree. As if you hadn’t f**ked me enough, you gave that little faggot across the street so many toys that he can’t even walk into his house.
Please don’t let me see you trying to fit your big fat ass down my chimney next year. I’ll f**k you up. I’ll throw rocks at those stupid reindeer and scare them away so you’ll have to walk back to the f**king North Pole, just like what I have to do now since you didn’t get me that f**king bike. F**K YOU SANTA. Next year you’ll find out how bad I can be, you FAT-SON-OF-A-BITCH.
- Instead of milk and cookies, leave him a salad and a note explaining that you think he could stand to lose a few pounds.
- While he’s in the house, go find his sleigh and write him a speeding ticket.
- Leave him a note explaining that you’ve gone away for the holidays. Ask if he would mind watering your plants.
- While he’s in the house, replace all his reindeer with exact replicas. Then wait and see what happens when he tries to get them to fly.
- Keep an angry bull in your living room. If you think a bull goes crazy when he sees a little red cape, wait until he sees that big, red Santa suit!
- Build an army of mean-looking snowmen on the roof, holding signs that say “We hate Christmas” and “Go away Santa.”
- Leave a note by the telephone telling Santa that Mrs. Claus called and wanted to remind him to pick up some milk and a loaf of bread on his way home.
- Throw a surprise party for Santa when he comes down the chimney. Refuse to let him leave until that huge cake arrives.
- While he’s in the house, find the sleigh and sit in it. As soon as he comes back and sees you, tell him that he shouldn’t have missed that last payment, and take off.
- Leave a plate filled with cookies and a glass of milk out with a note that says, “For The Tooth Fairy. :)” Leave another plate out with half a stale cookie and a few drops of skim milk in a dirty glass with a note that says, “For Santa. :(“
- Take everything out of your house as if it’s just been robbed. When Santa arrives, show up dressed like a policeman and say, “Well, well. They always return to the scene of the crime.”
- Leave out a copy of your Christmas list with last-minute changes and corrections.
- While he’s in the house, cover the top of the chimney with barbed wire.
- Leave lots of hunting trophies and guns out where Santa’s sure to see them. Go outside, yell, “Ooh! Look! A deer! And he’s got a red nose!” and fire a gun.
- Leave Santa a note explaining that you’ve moved. Include a map with unclear and hard-to-read directions to your new house.
- Set a bear trap at the bottom of the chimney. Wait for Santa to get caught in it, and then explain that you’re sorry, but from a distance, he looked like a bear.
- Leave out a Santa suit, with a dry-cleaning bill.
- Paint “hoof-prints” all over your face and clothes. While he’s in the house, go out on the roof. When he comes back up, act like you’ve been “trampled.” Threaten to sue.
- Instead of ornaments, decorate your tree with Easter eggs.
- Dress up like the Easter Bunny. Wait for Santa to come and then say, “This neighborhood ain’t big enough for the both of us.”
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:
- 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.”
- 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.
- 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.
- 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.”
- “Ho, ho, ho!” has been replaced by “Yee Haw!” And you also are likely to hear Bubba’s elves respond, “I her’d dat!”
- 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.
- 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.
- 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.
- 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.”
(member of North American Fairies and Elves Local 209)
Barbie’s Letter To Santa:
Listen you fat troll, I’ve been saving your ass every year, being the perfect Christmas Present, wearing skimpy bathing suits in December and dressing in fake Chanel at sappy tea parties. I hate to break it to ya’, Santa, but it’s pay back time. There had better be some changes around here, or I’m gonna call for a nationwide meltdown, and trust me, you don’t wanna be around to smell it. These are my demands for Christmas 2004:
Sweat pants and an oversized sweatshirt. I’m sick of looking like a hooker in hot pink bikinis. Do you have any idea what it feels like to have nylon and Velcro up your butt? I don’t suppose you do.
Real underwear that can be pulled on and off. That cheap-o molded underwear some genius at Mattel came up with looks like cellulite!
A REAL man… I don’t care if you have to go to Hasbro to get him, bring me GI JOE. Hell, I’d take Tickle-Me-Elmo over that pathetic bump of a boy toy, Ken. And what was up with that earring anyway? HULLO!?!
It’s about time you made us all anatomically correct. Give me arms that actually bend so I can push the aforementioned Ken-wimp away once he is anatomically correct.
Breast reduction surgery. ‘Nuff said.
A jog bra. To wear until I get the surgery.
A new career. Pet doctor, school teacher and make real money.
A new, more 90s persona. Maybe “PMS Barbie,” complete with a pint of cookie dough ice cream and a bag of chips.
No more McDonald’s endorsements. The grease is wrecking my vinyl complexion.
Mattel stock options. It’s been 40 years – I think I deserve a piece of the action.
Considering my valuable contribution to society and Mattel, I think these demands are reasonable. If you don’t like it, you can find yourself a new bitch for next Christmas. It’s that simple.
Ken’s Letter To Santa:
Dear Santa, It has come to my attention that one of my colleagues has petitioned you for changes in her contract, specifically asking for anatomical and career changes. In addition, it is my understanding that disparaging remarks were made about me, my sexuality, and some of my fashion choices. I would like to take this opportunity to inform you of issues concerning Ms. Barbie, as well as some of my own needs and desires: First, I, along with several of my colleagues, feel Ms. Barbie DOES NOT deserve the preferential treatment she has received over the years. That bitch has everything. Neither I, nor Joe, Jem, nor The Raggedys, Ann & Andy, have dream houses, Corvettes, dune buggies, evening gowns, and some of us do not even have the ability to change our hairstyle. I have had a limited wardrobe, obviously designed to complement but never upstage Ms. Barbie.
My decision to accessorize with an earring was immediately quashed, which I protest, for it was my decision and reflects my lifestyle choice. I would like a change in my career to further explore my creative nature. Some options which could be considered are “Decorator Ken,” “Beauty Salon Ken,” or “Broadway Ken.” Other avenues which could be considered are: “Go-Go Ken,” “Impersonator Ken” (with wigs and gowns), or “West Hollywood Ken.” These would more accurately reflect my interests and, I believe, open up markets that have been under served. As for Ms. Barbie needing bendable arms so she can “push me away”, I need bendable knees so I can kick the bitch to the curb. Bendable knees would also be helpful in other situations of which you are aware. In closing, further concessions to the Blonde Bimbo from Hell, while the needs of others within my coalition are ignored, will result in legal action to be taken by myself and others. And kindly tell Ms. Barbie she can forget about G.I. Joe… he’s mine, at least that’s what he said last night.
Once upon a time, a perfect man and a perfect woman met. After a perfect courtship, they had a perfect wedding. Their life together was, of course, perfect. One snowy, stormy Christmas Eve, this perfect couple was driving their perfect car (a Grand Caravan) along a winding road, when they noticed someone at the side of the road in distress. Being the perfect couple, they stopped to help. There stood Santa Claus with a huge bundle of toys. Not wanting to disappoint any children on the eve of Christmas, the perfect couple loaded Santa and his toys into their vehicle. Soon they were driving along delivering toys. Unfortunately, the driving conditions deteriorated and the perfect couple and Santa Claus had an accident. Only one of them survived the accident. The mind numbing question is: Who was the survivor?
Scroll down for the answer…
The perfect woman survived. She’s the only one who really existed in the first place. Everyone knows there is no Santa Claus and there is no such thing as a perfect man. Women stop reading here. That is the end of the joke.
Men keep’a scrollin’…
So, if there is no perfect man and no Santa Claus, the perfect woman must have been driving. And that explains why there was a car accident. By the way, if you’re a woman and you’re reading this, this illustrates another point: Women never listen, either.