It’s a multiple choice answer.
A butchered zebra? (Damn 20 fucking character minimum requirement for posts! 
)
Did you realise that earth is able to fit inside Uranus 63 times? It is actually 64 if you really relax.
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These are the answers that I can remember, a newspaper, a decapitated nun, a penguin that’s been hit by a snow blower, etc.
A"foot" stool, get it?
Nope 
…
WHY DO WE PUT ANGELS ON TOP OF CHRISTMAS TREES?
Anyone ever wonder about the tradition or how it began?
Well.
As the story goes, it all happened a long time ago in the far away from the North Pole.
The first of December had just rolled around and Santa was nowhere near ‘ready,’ to deliver his toys.
The reason he was nowhere near, ‘ready,’ was because this story actually started three months earlier; however, for the sake of brevity, I have shortened it.
You see, three months ago, there were rumblings among the ranks of the elves. They wanted to be paid more. Santa was, of course, in an uproar because he had already stretched his yearly budget to give the greedy little shits what they wanted for this year. Fucking lunch and dinner break, real food instead of that empty magic shit. Mrs, Claus had never worked to hard in her life, having to prepare all those meals. But there they were the unhappy little shits, demanding more gold. Where in the fuck was Santa supposed to get more gold in the middle of the North Pole at Christmas time? Fuck he was pissed. But with promises made for the following year, he was able to appease the greedy little shits and get them back to work,. Even so, they were not working hard enough or fast enough, and here it was December, and Santa was fucking far behind schedule. His only solution was to join the elves and start making some of the friggingn toys himself. He hoped that his presence in the workshop would get everyone to speed up.
So, poor ole Santa spent 15 hours a day in the frigging workshop trying to hurry up the elves and listening to their constant whining, “Were hungry, I have to go to the bathroom. I have a cold. I don’t feel well today. I’m not paid enough for this.” Holy shit.n Santa was about to lose his mind.
Then he would go home after a long day at the shop and he would have to listen to Mrs. Clause. AWWWW Fuck! "I broke a nail today on the oven door. I can’t make it another 2 months. “When I said, “For better or for worse,” I didn’t know how bad it was going to get.” “This Christmas thing was your idea. Why do I have to work so hard.” “So what if there was no bacon for breakfast this morning. We are out of bacon. Do you want me to slaughter a fucking reindeer. How about that red nosed bastard you like so much.” Santa knew there was no way out. "Yes dear. Yes dear. No honey, I don’t want you to kill the reindeer. Come over here and let me massage your feet for you. It will make you feel better. I will schedule you an appointment at the beauty shop, you know, that one in Beverly Hills that you like, and even let you use the magic sleigh, just hang in there until Christmas day,
Somehow, he always managed to appease her. But month after long month dragged slowly by. The toy manufacturing had picked up a little but if looked like Santa was going to have to make two trips this Christmas. He would deliver all the toys he had. While he was delivering those toys, he could keep the elves working and then come back for the last batch. But what if the elves didn’t work while he was gone? Could he get Mrs. Clause to work in the toy shop? He face-palmed himself hard for that stupid idea. He wouldn’t even ask. The thought of a rolling pin up-side his head made him cringe. One swat from Mrs. Claus’s rolling pin could end Christmas forever.
So, here it was. December 1st. Oh. Sorry! I was going to save some time by not telling you all the events that led up to December 1st… My bad! Okay. Well. Everyone is caught up now, right? It should be sufficient to say, "There was unrest and turmoil in the Claus house this particular Christmas.
So, here it was, December first, and Santa sat wondering if midgets or dwarfs could be forced to wear elf costumes and make toys as he sipped on his morning coffee. “Your not listening to me. Your not listening to me. Your not listening to me!” Santa woke from his daydream of a perfectly run toy shop that employed midgets and dwarfs. “Oh, I’m sorry honey. What were you saying.” “I said, we are out of eggs. If you want these damn dwarfs fed…” (Santa interrupting) … “They are elves hone.” “Elves, Dwarfs, I don’t give a damn.” (Her glare made Santa wonder where the rolling pin was.) "If you don’t get me some more eggs, those little shits can go without breakfast in the morning. “Yes dear.” was all Santa could think to say.
So now instead of going to work in the toy shop. Santa had to go find some eggs. His first thought was, “Penguins.” Then, “:Awww Fuck! I knew I should have bought that house in the South Pole.” Where in the hell was santa going to get eggs? Lucky for ole santa, he remembered that bird life in the Arctic was diverse and unique. There were over 280 species of birds in the Arctic. He could do this. He told his wife his plan. “You moron! It’s the fucking middle of winter. Do I have to do all your thinking for you?” Santa cringed! “Where was that rolling pin.” he thought to himself. "You hop in that fancy sleigh of yours, take some frigging money, go to the nearest Wallmart. She did some scribbling on a slip of paper and slapped it down on his lap ( Fairbanks Supercenter #2722 537 Johansen Expy, Fairbanks, AK 9970.) Now go! “Yes dear.”
So Santa spent his day at the Wallmart in Fairbanks Alaska being mauled by children. “I want this. I want that. Are you really Santa. How come I didn’t get what I asked for last Christmas. Is that beard real? Are you really that fat? Where’s Rudolph? Why didn’t you bring Rudolph? Show me a magic trick. Make your reindeer fly.” Oh! It was exasperating. The Wallmart had never recieved such a large order for eggs. Computers were linking up to satelites. Satelites were linking up to each other. Wallmarts across the world were checking their egg inventories, contacting their suppliers. The suppliers were counting their chikens. And then the whole thing happened in reverse. In the mean time. Santa bought every egg in the store.
AWWWW Fuck what a debacle. You would think the fucking store employees had never seen a magic bag before. “Hey Fred, watch this. I drop the egg in the bag and “Whoosh” it just fucking dissappears.” Over and over and over, every fucking employee had to drop something in the fucking bag. When Santa got home and emptied the bag, he found 3 cats, a bike (Obviously a return that a car had run over,), a stuffed polar bear, magazines. several crosses and containers of holy water, and an old man on a motorized shopping cart.). Lucky for Santa the man was senile. Santa convinced the man that he was at the Wallmart Santa’s Village and that his parents would come and pick him up soon. In the mean time, he could have a nice cup of hot chocolate and watch TV in the living room.
Santa got to work late that day, and as suspected the elves had just not put their backs into it. Of course he was angry but he just stuffed that anger down so he could keep everyone happy. Work eventually picked up and it began to look like he might actually meet his deadline.
Now this might be the end of our story, if all had gone well. But things didn’t go well. Now, in additiont to makeing the meals for the elves, Mr. Clause found herself caring for a senile old man on a motorized trike! She was not happy about this situation at all. All day long the old fart would do circles in the living room around the coffee table calling out for someone named 'Whitefire." “Whitefire, Whitefire. Whitefire.” all fucking day long. Mrs. Clause was going to lose her mind. And what in the hell was a Whitefire? A pet dog? " Nothing made any sense. But it was on the 7th. of December, when Mrs. Clause, finally put her foot down. She looked her husband straight in the eyes and told him. "You get me some god damn help or I’m not cooking another meal.
Six A.M. the next morning, the package arrived. ACME Robotics, Inc. “Santa! What in the hell is this!” Mrs. Clause began shouting at 5AM, the time she usually got up to begin preparring for breakfast. “Honey, that’s your new helper. It’s the Tin Man 2000, kitchen aid. He is supposed to know how to cook, clean, and make your life in the kitchen easier.” “Why in the hell didn’t you hire a human being?”
Honey, I just don’t have time to do the interviews. I couldn’t just hire anyone. I would never hire anyone who did not meet your high standards," Santa Said. But what he thougt was “You picky bitch.
You wanted help and I got you help. What the fuck else do you want from me. I am busy trying to pay our fucking mortgage and keep you happy.” Then he said, “besides honey, it comes with garuntees.”
“Harrumph!” Mrs. Clause turned towards the kichen and stomped away, but as she got to the door she looked over he shoulder and said, “You get that damn thing working and get it in here pronto.”
Poor ole santa spent the next three days trying to get the fucking tin shit to operate. He followed every instruction in the manual. He spent hours on line with the service center. He made a million promises to Mrs. Clause, but forgot them all as soon as they were made becuase he was tired and willing to say anything to keep her keeping the fucking elves happy. So he worked on the fucking Tin Man.
On the third day, there was a knock on the door. Two men from ACME Robot Inc, had shown up to see first hand what the problem was. They were not happy. The weather had started to turn bad. A storm was brewing. And what happened next did not make matters any better.
That fucking Tin Man took one look at the technicians that walked into the room, stood up, and said, “Well Santa, thanks for the advice but Mrs. Clause needs me in the kitchen now.” What The Fuck! That goldbricking piece of lead had been sitting here all along just avoiding responsibilities! Santa went to explain what had been happening and how he had tried to get the robot to work. But, each time the technicians looked into the kitchen, the frigging tin thing was doing as advertised. It was humiliating. Santa made a mental note to turn the lying, manipulating scrap of tin, into runners for his sleigh as soon as Christmas was over. Mrs. Clause gave a loud sneeze in the kitchen. “Perhaps things were going to get better?” Santa hoped.
Santa ordered pizza and beer for the two ACME reps., Boomer and, and, and… “What was the short one’s name?” Ahhh, David Killum or Killhim or something like that. Santa hated the midget the minute he saw him. And after Santa explained what was going on, the jerk opened his mouth. Complete support for the damn elves. “Well, you’re rich. You have a stinking holiday named after you. Why don’t you just give them what they want? Are you a bigot? Macdonald’s only works employees 8 hours a day. Fuck Santa, you’re an ass.!” Santa just stuffed his emotions once again to keep everyone happy. These two edits would be leaving soon anyway… As for Santa, he could always escape to the workshop.
But the idiots did not leave soon. The storm got worse. They couldn’t leave. It was the worst blizzard in 20 years. Not even Rodolph could be risked in this kind of weather. The wind and snow were blowing everything away. Speaking of everything, have you any idea at all how difficult it is to keep flying reindeer on the ground in the middle of a blizzard. Santa had to tie all the reindeer to poles in the ground. Do you think they were happy about that? Fuck no! They whined, complained, floated up to the ceiling of the barn and refused to come down and flew all over the place evading capture. It took a whole day to gather up the shitheads and get them all tied down. And the hard thing was being NICE about it. FUCK! Why didn’t the little shits know that Santa was doing this for their own goWHY DO WE PUT ANGELS ON TOP OF CHRISTMAS TREES?
Anyone ever wonder about the tradition or how it began?
Well.
As the story goes, it all happened a long time ago in the far away North Pole.
The first of December had just rolled around and Santa was nowhere near ‘ready,’ to deliver his toys.
The reason he was nowhere near, ‘ready,’ was because this story actually started three months earlier; however, for the sake of brevity, I have shortened it.
You see, three months ago, there were rumblings among the ranks of the elves. They wanted to be paid more. Santa was, of course, in an uproar because he had already stretched his yearly budget to give the greedy little shits what they wanted for this year. Fucking lunch and dinner break, real food instead of that empty magic shit. Mrs, Claus had never worked to hard in her life, having to prepare all those meals. But there they were the unhappy little shits, demanding more gold. Where in the fuck was Santa suppopsed to get more gold in the middle of the North Pole at Christmas time? Fuck he was pissed. But with promises made for the following year, he was able to appease the greedy little shits and get them back to work,. Even so, they were not working hard enough or fast enough and here it was December, and Santa was fucking far behind schedule. His only solution was to join the elves and start making some of the friggingn toys himself. He hoped that his presence in the workshop would get everyone to speed up.
So, poor ole Santa spent 15 hours a day in the frigging workshop trying to hurry up the elves and listening to their constant whining, “Were hungry, I have to go to the bathroom. I have a cold. I don’t feel well today. I’m not paid enough for this.” Holy shit.n Santa was about to lose his mind.
Then he would go home after a long day at the shop and he wouild have to listen to Mrs. Clause. AWWWW Fuck! "I broke a nail today on the oven door. I can’t make it another 2 months. “When I said, “For better or for worse,” I didn’t know how bad it was going to get.” “This Christmas thing was your idea. Why do I have to work so hard.” “So what if there was no bacon for breakfast this morning. We are out of bacon. Do you want me to slaughter a fucking reindeer. How about that red nosed bastard you like so much.” Santa knew there was no way out. "Yes dear. Yes dear. No honey, I don’t want you to kill the reindeer. Come over here and let me massage your feet for you. It will make you feel better. I will schedule you an appointment at the beauty shop, you know, that one in Beverly Hills that you like, and even let you use the magic sleigh, just hang in there until Christmas day,
Somehow, he always managed to appease her. But month after long month dragged slowly by. The toy manufacturing had picked up a little but if looked like Santa was going to have to make two trips this Christmas. He would deliver all the toys he had. While he was delivering those toys, he could keep the elves working and then come back for the last batch. But what if the elves didn’t work while he was gone? Could he get Mrs. Clause to work in the toy shop? He face-palmed himself hard for that stupid idea. He wouldn’t even ask. The thought of a rolling pin up-side his head made him cringe. One swat from Mrs. Claus’s rolling pin could end Christmas forever.
So, here it was. December 1st. Oh. Sorry! I was going to save some time by not telling you all the events that led up to December 1st… My bad! Okay. Well. Everyone is caught up now, right? It should be sufficient to say, "There was unrest and turmoil in the Claus house this particular Christmas.
So, here it was, December first, and Santa sat wondering if midgets or dwarfs could be forced to wear elf costumes and make toys as he sipped on his morning coffee. “Your not listening to me. Your not listening to me. Your not listening to me!” Santa woke from his daydream of a perfectly run toy shop that employed midgets and dwarfs. “Oh, I’m sorry honey. What were you saying.” “I said, we are out of eggs. If you want these damn dwarfs fed…” (Santa interrupting) … “They are elves hone.” “Elves, Dwarfs, I don’t give a damn.” (Her glare made Santa wonder where the rolling pin was.) "If you don’t get me some more eggs, those little shits can go without breakfast in the morning. “Yes dear.” was all Santa could think to say.
So now instead of going to work in the toy shop. Santa had to go find some eggs. His first thought was, “Penguins.” Then, “:Awww Fuck! I knew I should have bought that house in the South Pole.” Where in the hell was santa going to get eggs? Lucky for ole santa, he remembered that bird life in the Arctic was diverse and unique. There were over 280 species of birds in the Arctic. He could do this. He told his wife his plan. “You moron! It’s the fucking middle of winter. Do I have to do all your thinking for you?” Santa cringed! “Where was that rolling pin.” he thought to himself. "You hop in that fancy sleigh of yours, take some frigging money, go to the nearest Wallmart. She did some scribbling on a slip of paper and slapped it down on his lap ( Fairbanks Supercenter #2722 537 Johansen Expy, Fairbanks, AK 9970.) Now go! “Yes dear.”
So Santa spent his day at the Wallmart in Fairbanks Alaska being mauled by children. “I want this. I want that. Are you really Santa. How come I didn’t get what I asked for last Christmas. Is that beard real? Are you really that fat? Where’s Rudolph? Why didn’t you bring Rudolph? Show me a magic trick. Make your reindeer fly.” Oh! It was exasperating. The Wallmart had never recieved such a large order for eggs. Computers were linking up to satelites. Satelites were linking up to each other. Wallmarts across the world were checking their egg inventories, contacting their suppliers. The suppliers were counting their chikens. And then the whole thing happened in reverse. In the mean time. Santa bought every egg in the store.
AWWWW Fuck what a debacle. You would think the fucking store employees had never seen a magic bag before. “Hey Fred, watch this. I drop the egg in the bag and “Whoosh” it just fucking dissappears.” Over and over and over, every fucking employee had to drop something in the fucking bag. When Santa got home and emptied the bag, he found 3 cats, a bike (Obviously a return that a car had run over,), a stuffed polar bear, magazines. several crosses and containers of holy water, and an old man on a motorized shopping cart.). Lucky for Santa the man was senile. Santa convinced the man that he was at the Wallmart Santa’s Village and that his parents would come and pick him up soon. In the mean time, he could have a nice cup of hot chocolate and watch TV in the living room.
Santa got to work late that day, and as suspected the elves had just not put their backs into it. Of course he was angry but he just stuffed that anger down so he could keep everyone happy. Work eventually picked up and it began to look like he might actually meet his deadline.
Now this might be the end of our story, if all had gone well. But things didn’t go well. Now, in additiont to makeing the meals for the elves, Mr. Clause found herself caring for a senile old man on a motorized trike! She was not happy about this situation at all. All day long the old fart would do circles in the living room around the coffee table calling out for someone named 'Whitefire." “Whitefire, Whitefire. Whitefire.” all fucking day long. Mrs. Clause was going to lose her mind. And what in the hell was a Whitefire? A pet dog? " Nothing made any sense. But it was on the 7th. of December, when Mrs. Clause, finally put her foot down. She looked her husband straight in the eyes and told him. "You get me some god damn help or I’m not cooking another meal.
Six A.M. the next morning, the package arrived. ACME Robotics, Inc. “Santa! What in the hell is this!” Mrs. Clause began shouting at 5AM, the time she usually got up to begin preparring for breakfast. “Honey, that’s your new helper. It’s the Tin Man 2000, kitchen aid. He is supposed to know how to cook, clean, and make your life in the kitchen easier.” “Why in the hell didn’t you hire a human being?”
Honey, I just don’t have time to do the interviews. I couldn’t just hire anyone. I would never hire anyone who did not meet your high standards," Santa Said. But what he thougt was “You picky bitch.
You wanted help and I got you help. What the fuck else do you want from me. I am busy trying to pay our fucking mortgage and keep you happy.” Then he said, “besides honey, it comes with garuntees.”
“Harrumph!” Mrs. Clause turned towards the kichen and stomped away, but as she got to the door she looked over he shoulder and said, “You get that damn thing working and get it in here pronto.”
Poor ole santa spent the next three days trying to get the fucking tin shit to operate. He followed every instruction in the manual. He spent hours on line with the service center. He made a million promises to Mrs. Clause, but forgot them all as soon as they were made becuase he was tired and willing to say anything to keep her keeping the fucking elves happy. So he worked on the fucking Tin Man.
On the third day, there was a knock on the door. Two men from ACME Robot Inc, had shown up to see first hand what the problem was. They were not happy. The weather had started to turn bad. A storm was brewing. And what happened next did not make matters any better.
That fucking Tin Man took one look at the tecnitians that walked into the room, stood up, and said, “Well Santa, thanks for the advice but Mrs. Clause needs me in the kitchen now.” What The Fuck! That gold bricking piece of lead had been sitting here all along just avoiding responsibilities! Santa went to explaining what had been happening and how he had tried to get the robot to work. But, each time the technitians looked into the kitchen, the frigging tin thing was doing as advertised. It was humioliating. Santa made a mental not to turn the lying, manipulating, scrap of tin, into runners for his sleigh as soon as Christmas was over. Mrs. Clause gave a loud sneeze in the kitchen. “Perhaps things were going to get better?” Santa hoped.
Santa ordered pizza and beer for the two ACME reps., Boomer and, and, and… “What was the short one’s name?” Ahhh, Davil Killum or Killhim or something line that. Santa hated the midget the minute he saw him. And after Santa explained what was going on, the jerk opened his mouth. Complete support for the damn elves. “Well, your rich. You have a stinking holiday named after you. Why don’t you just give them what they want? Are you a bigot? Macdonald’s only works employees 8 hours a day. Fuck Santa, your an ass.!” Santa just stuffed his emotions once again to keep everyone happy. These two idits would be leaving soon anyway… As for Santa, he could always escape to the workshop.
But the idots did not leave soon. The storm got worse. They couldn’t leave. It was the worst blizzard in 20 years. Not even Rodolph could be risked in this kind of weather. The wind and snow was blowing everything away. Speaking of everything, have you any idea at all how difficult it is to keep flying reindeer on the ground in the middle of a blizzard. Santa had to tie all the reindeer to poles in the ground. Do you think they were happy about that? Fuck no! They whined, complained, floated up to the ceiling of the barn and refused to come down and flew all over the place evading capture. It took a whole day to gather up the shitheads and get them all tied down. And the hard thing was being NICE about it. FUCK! Why didn’t the little shits know that Santa was doing this for their own good. He had to spend 3 more hours than needed, giving them all reindeer treats and talking nice to them. Now Sheldon, now Nyarlathotep, "Who in the fuck names a reindeer “Nyarlathotep?” now Calilasseia and Zodan, Now Grinseed, and Cyber, and Watchman and Algebe. Now, DoG, and Seeker and Randomhero. EVERYONE CALM THE FUCK DOWN AND HAVE A GOOD NIGHT! “That goes for you too, Rudolph!”
It was like the 20th of December before Santa could get back to the shop. Storm was horrific. The van that the ACME reps had come up in was gone. Well, when I say gone, I mean burried so deep in the snow that it was unrecoverable. Even if it could be recovered, there were no frigging roads to drive on. This was bullshit. Santa was going to have to spend his christmas with an angry rolling pin flinging battleaxe with deadly aim, a fucking Tin Man, who by the way was proving himself to be a wannabe failed commedian from the Comedy Club. The asshole went about the house talking about hmself in the thrid person. “Tin Man is sitting on the couch. Tin Man is cutting the carrot, cutting the carrot, cutting the carrot. Tin Man wants to make the eggnog.” “Fucking self charging batteries.”: is all Santa could think. And then, “How pretty aluminum runners are going to look on the sleigh.”
The two assholes, Booomer and David, followed him out to the toy shop one day. Whiny bitches…“But we are tired of sitting in the house listening to Old Man run circles around the coffee table screaming for Whitefire.” “Whine Whine Whine,” Couldn’t the assholes think of something productive to do? How about murdering the old fart on the trike and feeding him to a killer whale? That would be entertaining. But Noooooo! These assholes wanted to see Santa’s workshop. Santa smied and held in his disdain for human existence. “This was going to be the last Christmas he ever went through this shit.”
December 23 reared its ugly head. The toys were not ready yet but progress had been made. It turned out that the two assholes, Goober… Boober… Boomer and that other guy, the short garden elf looking fellow, made some very good suggestions about increasing productivity. A few orginizational changes and a better system of checking up on the work that was being done tended to remove all duplication of effort and got everyone working more smoothly. But the two assholes were insufferable. “You can thank us for saving Christmas. I want a new BMW. I want a fishing boat.” “Oh fuck me.” Thought Santa. But he just smiled and said, “I’ll see what I can do.” Secretly he hoped ;the two assholes would break their arms patting each other on the back. “Aaaaa-chooo!” Came a huge sneeze from the kitchen, and a plate hit the floor breaking.
Santa went to the kitchen to make sure Mrs. Clause was okay. He hoped it was the Tin Man’s head that had broken. When he looked into the kitchen, there was the Tin Man sitting at the table, simmping on a warm cup of oil, while Mrs. Clause was leaning over picking up the fucking glass. Santa had about had it with this Tin hunk of bullshsit. “Why aren’t you helping her pick up the broken dish?” Inquired Santa.
“Well, I had a spot of rust on my right elbow this morning and so we decided I sould take it easy today and not do anything too strenuous.” Now Santa really held in his temper, but spoke sternly and very matter of fact. “If you do not get your mechanical ass, out of that chair, and begin doing the job you were brough here to do, I am going to turn you into skids for my sled tonight.”
“What!” The shocked Tin Man feigned a heart attack. “Turn me into skids! Oh my God, see how I am treated. I work, I slave, I get a little sick, and I can’t even sit and have a cup of warm oil.” “Get your Tin ASS out of that seat now and help my wife.” The glare in Santa’s eyes must have been convincing because Tin swigged down the remaining oil as he stood and got to work.
“Oh don’t be so hard on the Tin Man,” came a weak sounding voice from Mrs Clause. “What The Fuck!” Santa’s eyes opened wide as he turned to see his wife. She was pale as the snow. She had dark bags under her eyes. She was sweating but wrapped warmly in a bath robe with a towel around her neck. The smell of Vics Vabor Rub hit Santa’s nostrils. “Hony, are you okay.”
“I’m fine, I’m fine,” she murmured before a fit of raspy coughs overtook her and caused her to hunch over. “No honey, your sick. You go to bed this instant.” Santa escorted Mrs Claus to bed. "But what about Christmas. What about all the toys. What about the children? " I’m going to deal with it. You are sick. You need to stay in bed. I will get that damn Tin thing to work and I have those two ACME guys who can do something as well. We will figure it out. Then Santa gave her the cell phone and said, “If you need anything at all, you just send me a text message,” “Okay honey.” and she fell asleep before her head hit the pillow.
Now when santa went into the living room, Old Man was circling the coffee table yelling, “Whitefire!” and the two ACME reps were watching reruns of Bay Watch. “Oh Fuck” thought Santa. "Hey, the weather is nice, why don’t you two go out and get us a Christmas tree. It’s a tradition around here to have a Christmas tree. “Good Idea,” thought the two boobs, and out the door into the snow they went.
Santa knew that the idiots would never find a tree under all that snow. He made a few quick calls before going to the shop.,
Surprisingly, things in the shop were going well and all would be ready for Christmas morning on the 25th. Things were beginning to look up. Toys were getting made, breakfast for the elves would be okay, Santa could do it himself if he had to. The reindeer…" THE REINDEER! AWWWWWW FUCK! The fucking reindeer were still tied to poles in the fucking barn." Santa ran to the barn as fast as his fat chubby legs would take him. There they all were, sad, depressed, heads hanging low, forgotten, unappreciated. “For fuck sake, this was going to be a mess.” Santa pulled out the reindeer treats, untied them, and fed them one by one. He spent hours telling them how special they were. How important they were. How much he loved them and how he had tied them up out of that love. How he was protecting them from the storm. How sorry he was for having to do such a thing. In the end, the reindeer started to come around but Santa fell asleep in the barn. It was 3 AM when he woke to a vibrating button. “What the fuck,” thought Santa, “My ass fell asleep on the snowy ground.” But as he stood the vibration kept coming. He reached around and pulled a vibrating cell phone from his hip pocket?
25 text messages:
I need a glass of water.
Where are you?
Are you bringing me some water? Make it orange juice.
Hello?
Are you there?
Santa! Where are you?
Is anyone going to answer me?
I have been sitting in this bed for 30 minutes now calling you.
It’s been 45 minutes now. Where are you?
You had better get yourself home Mr.
I swear if you are not home soon, I am not going to be here when you get back.
What in the hell happened to you.
You used to be so loving.
How can you ignore me like this?
After all, I have done, this is the way you treat your sick wife?
I could have married that Rat Shit guy you know. He would have treated me like a high priestess.
I don’t deserve this.
Where are you?
Oh hell, it’s been an hour Mr. I’m going downstairs to get my own damn glass of orange juice.
We are going to have a talk when you get home.
I’m going to go and stay with my mother.
Do you know there is no orange juice in the house? I had to drink fucking water.
You don’t love me anymore.
This is what my life has become.
Just you wait until I am feeling better Mister Claus.
Santa Texted as fast as he could, “Sorry honey. I am on my way. I fell asleep in the barn with the reindeer.” And as he dragged himself through the snow, on the way back to the house, the sun rose on December 24th.
What a fucking day! The weather clear enought to a heilochopter in to pick up the two pricks from ACME. “Santa hoped they crashed on the way home.” Mrs. Claus was sending text messagee every 15 minutes. "My feet arfe sore. I need a shoulder rub. Bring me some orange juice. I’m too cold. I’m too hot. What are you doing now? Why don’t we spend time together any more? Do you still love me? The soup is cold. Tin said it’s Gazpacho. Who in the fuck serveds cold soup to a sick person and what the fuck is Gazpacho? " Are you comming here or not?
Of course Santa could not go visit his sick wife. He was busy supervising the loading of the sleigh. Midnight was the deadline. He had to be in the air by midnight. Every – fucking – fifteen – minutes. “Ding - where are you” “Ding - what are you doing now.” “Ding - I don’t feel good.” “Ding - I’m too hot.” Ding - I’m too cold." “Ding ding ding ding ding ding ding ding and fucking ding!” Santa thought to himself. And then he sneezed. And then he noticed that slight drip in the back of his throat. “Shit!” he thought, and by 5pm he was running a temperature of 102. Hot flashes and cold shivers came upon him like a whirlwind. As he listened to the evening wearhter reports.
While the storm had left the north pole it now encompassed all of greenland, half of China, all olf Canada and was threatening the USA. “Fucking storms everywhere,” he thought. "I better get these reindeer in the air. But when he got to the barn the fucking reindeer had gotten into the reindeer treats. “Aww Fuck!” The fat little fucks were lying about on the floor with their distended bellies in a dazed comatose state of zombie like sleep. “What fucking asshole went off and left all the reindeer treats out where the damn reindeer could eat them,” he mumbled to himself before recalling his night spent sleeping in the barn.
The rest of the day, day? It was 6 pm. For the next three hours, Santa was waking up reindeer, having them walk off their bloated stomachs, responding to text messages from Mrs. Claus, who was obviously less sick than him judging by the activity of her posts, and drinking Nyquil by the bottle. “Fuck he felt good. The best he had felt in weeks.”
His last text message before he took flight with his 8 tiny little reindeer, (9 counting Rudolph), showed just how good he felt. “I wub you honey, you are the very verrry bestist thing that ever happened to me. Youare my cuddlebunny, lambsy wambsy. I’mm gonna go drop off the toys now buyt will be howm soon to give you kissssys and hugggys.” Santa was fucked up.
Because of the storms, and because I am trying to make a long story short, Santa left for the sky an hour early. I won’t mention the elves bitching because they were toymakers and not truck loaders and how there was nearly a strike because Santa asked them to load the fucking sleigh. Or how he tried to get the Tin Man to help him out. That dipshit thought it would be fun to jump into the magic bag and figure out how it worked. Santa just left him there for all the good he was doing. Santa ended up doing most of the loading himself, fucking lazy elves. But he got the sleigh in the air.
That’s when the Nyquil began wearing off and Santa lost his buzz to discover he was going the wrong way. Any further and he would have hit December 26th, completely missing December 25th. Stuffing down his emotions he went to work. Entering one home after another. Dropping off toy after toy. Pretending he didn’t have a fever of 102. Pretending he was having fun, “Ho Ho Ho,” he yelled into the night air as he thought to himself, “You greedy, self-absorbed little shits.”
On his journey, he was nearly smashed into by a Boeing 747. A flock of seagulls used the sleigh as a resting post and now everything was covered in birdshit. He had to go around 16 different storm systems and weathered 10 of them. But packages were making it to their destinations. “So, why are there two left and why don’t they have name tags?” “Awwwww Fuck” Santa had to backtrack all his gift-giving activity to find the two kids that he missed giving presents to. He returned to tens of thousands of homes before he got the idea of calling the elves.
“Oh,” said the elf on the other end of the line. “We didn’t put name tags on those packages because they were for Boomer and Dave, you know the guys from ACME.” Santa nearly pulled his beard off his face and thought long and hard about just dumping the gifts in the ocean, but no. He was too honest for that. So he tracked down Boomer and David and slipped their gifts under their fucking Christmas trees and then traversing all the fucking storms, avoiding morning air traffic, and feeling like shit, he headed home.
He parked the frigging sleigh in the barn. loosed the damn reindeer and just left them. They could eat whatever was left of the fucking reindeer snacks because Santa didn’t care anymore. His phone dinged. “When are you coming home?” was the text. Santa was in a rage. He flung open the front door and yelled at the top of his lungs, “I’m fucking home now. I’m tired! I’m sick! I am going to sleep now and if anyone knows what’s good for them, they are going to LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE.!”
Santa flopped into the big easy chair by the fireplace in the living room. Tin and Mrs. Claus looked on a gasp. No one dared approach the grumpy old bastard. And just then, the doorbell rang., “What the fuck now!” roared Santa. The windows shuddered at the volume of his voice. He flung open the door to see what was the matter.
And there, standing on the stoop of the front porch, was the cutest little angel he had ever seen. “What!” Santa Growled! “Here is the Christmas tree you ordered Santa. What do you want me to do with it?” And Santa said, “SIT ON IT.” and slammed the door shut.
And that my friends is why we put angels on top of Christmas trees at Christmas time. You see, everyone who walked by Santa’s house that night, saw the little angel sitting on the tree in his front yard, and from that time forward it has become a tradition. MERRY FUCKING CHRISTMAS.
…(tumbling to floor out of nowhere… coming to rest flat on back looking up at ceiling… blinking rapidly… looking around in confusion…)… What the…? Where the hell am I???.. (picking self up from floor… wiping away tensile and snow from body… noticing graffiti on wall above a nasty urinal…)… “For a good time call Cog. 555-6969”… (…realizing it is the AR bathroom…)… Aw, son-of-a-bitch! How the hell did I get HERE???
There was a man who had worked his whole life in a pickle factory. One day he came home and told his wife that he had been fired from his job.
She began to scream and yell, “You have given them twenty years of devoted service. Why did they f…ire you?”
“For twenty years I’ve wanted to stick my pecker in the pickle slicer,” he explained, “and today I finally did it!”
The wife ran over and pulled his pants down to see what damage had been done.
“You look okay,” she said with a sigh of relief. “So what happened to the pickle slicer?”!
“Well,” he said with hesitation, “they fired her, too.”
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A man walks into a bar, notices a very large jar on the counter, and sees that it’s filled to the brim with $10 bills. He guesses there must be at least ten thousand dollars in it. He approaches the bartender and asks, “What’s with the money in the jar?”
“Well…, you pay $10, and if you pass three tests, you get all the money in the jar and the keys to a brand new Lexus”
The man certainly isn’t going to pass this up, so he asks, “What are the three tests?”
“You gotta pay first,” says the bartender, “those are the rules.”
So, after thinking it over a while, the man gives the bartender $10 which he stuffs into the jar.
“Okay,” says the bartender, "here’s what you need to do:
First - You have to drink a whole quart of tequila, in 60 seconds or less, and you can’t make a face while doing it."
“Second - There’s a pit bull chained in the back with a bad tooth. You have to remove that tooth with your bare hands.”
“Third - There’s a 90-year old lady upstairs who’s never had se*. You have to take care of that problem.”
The man is stunned! “I know I paid my $10 – but I’m not an idiot! I won’t do it! You’d have to be nuts to drink a quart of tequila and then do all those other things!”
“Your call,” says the bartender, “but, your money stays where it is.”
As time goes on, the man has a few more drinks and finally says, “Where’s the damn tequila?!”
He grabs the bottle with both hands and drinks it as fast as he can. Tears stream down both cheeks – but he doesn’t make a face – and he drinks it in 58 seconds! Next, he staggers out the back door where he sees the pit bull chained to a pole. Soon, the people inside the bar hear loud growling, screaming, and sounds of a t*rrible fight – then nothing but silence!
Just when they think that the man surely must be dead, he staggers back into the bar. His clothes are ripped to shreds and he’s bleeding from bites and gashes all over his body. He drunkenly says, “Now…, where’s that old woman with the bad tooth?”
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Did you know plane engines are actually used to keep the pilot cool?
When one goes out, you can really see him sweating!
1 Like
There was a couple who were married for 20 years, and every time they had sex the husband always insisted on shutting off the lights. He was very insecure about his body and felt ashamed of his small penis.
Well, after 20 years the wife felt this was stupid. She figured she would break him of the crazy habit. So one night, while they were in the middle of doing it, she turned on the lights. She looked down and saw her husband was holding a dildo.
She gets completely upset and screams “You asshole! How could you be lying to me all of these years. You better explain yourself?!”
The husband looks her straight in the eyes and says very calmly “Honey, I’ll explain the dildo if you can explain the three kids.”
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Two old ladies Dolly and Ruby were talking about their grandchildren.
Dolly said, “Each year I send each of my grandchildren a card with a generous check inside. I never hear from them… never receive a thank you message.”
Ruby replies, “I too send my grandchildren a very generous check. I hear from them within a week after they receive it. In fact, they each pay me a personal visit.”
"Wow! How come ?”remarked Dolly.
“Very simple solution… I don’t sign the check!”
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I knew I liked garden elves!
A lady goes to her parish priest one day and tells him, “Father, I have a problem. I have two female parrots but they only know how to say one thing.” “What do they say?” the priest inquired. “They say, ‘Hi, we’re prostitutes. Do you want to have some fun?’” the woman said embarrassingly. “That’s obscene!” the priest exclaimed, “I can see why you are embarrassed.” He thought a minute and then said, “You know, I may have a solution to this problem. I have two male parrots whom I have taught to pray and read the Bible. Bring your two parrots over to my house and we will put them in the cage with Francis and Job. My parrots can teach your parrots to praise and worship. I’m sure your parrots will stop saying that…that phrase in no time.” “Thank you,” the lady responded, “this may very well be the solution.” The next day, she brought her female parrots to the priest’s house. As he ushered her in, she saw his two male parrots were inside their cage, holding their rosary beads and praying. Impressed, she walked over and placed her parrots in with them. After just a couple of seconds, the female parrots exclaimed out in unison, “Hi, we’re prostitutes. Do you want to have some fun?” There was a stunned silence. Finally, one male parrot looked over at the other male parrot and said, “Put the beads away, Francis, our bloody prayers have been answered!”
1 Like
True story. I was at a hospital a few months ago. I saw this sign, walked in and tried to volunteer as help …
That was not right! There is room for every person doing every job!!! I hate discrimination based on sex 
FOR example - you’d have been perfect for this!
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A young hen and a horse lived on a farm owned by a very rich farmer who had a brand new Porsche. The hen and horse were best friends. One morning, before the hen awoke, the horse went to drink from the pond. As he waded into the water on the muddy side, he suddenly got stuck. Unable to free himself, the horse started making a bunch of noise, which woke the hen. The hen rushed to the horse, saw he was stuck, and realized she could not pull him out on her own. Then she had an idea. She quickly ran to the barn, got a rope, and took it to the farmer’s Porsche. After tying the rope to the bumper, the hen drove the car to the pond, tossed the end of the rope to the horse, and was able to pull him out with the car as he held the rope with his mouth. Naturally, the horse was very grateful, and they became even better friends.
A few weeks later, the horse heard the hen making an awful racket near the pond, and he looked over to see the poor little hen stuck in the mud of a large puddle. Remembering how the hen had saved him, the horse went to get the car, but the farmer had taken it out for the day. Plus, the barn was locked up, so he couldn’t get a rope. After a moment of thought, the horse had an idea. Knowing he couldn’t go into the mud without getting stuck himself, the horse was able to straddle the puddle and shuffle his way to a position directly over the hen. Once there, he lowered his penis so the hen could grab it. He then lifted the hen and shuffled his way back to the edge of the puddle to take the hen to safety. The End.
The moral of this story? “When you are hung like a horse, you don’t need a Porsche to pick up chicks.”
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