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The FAA Inspection
With the number of airline disasters lately, the FAA now sends an inspector to the North Pole to check out Santa Claus's sleigh before allowing him to fly on Christmas eve.
The inspector arrives and checks the reindeer and they look good, he checks the harness and it looks okay, he checks the sleigh and it is also okay. Then he says, "Santa, lets take it up for a check ride and if everything looks good I'll certify you to fly."
Santa hitches the reindeer up and taxis onto the runway and just as he's starting his takeoff roll he looks over and notices the inspector has a pump shotgun on his lap. "Hey! Whats the shotgun for!?" Santa yells.
The inspector says, "Well, Santa, I'm really not supposed to tell you this, but there is going to be an engine failure on takeoff."
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Category: Christmas Jokes
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The politically correct Christmas
On the 12th day of the Eurocentrically imposed midwinter festival, my Significant Other in a consenting adult, monogamous relationship gave to me:
TWELVE males reclaiming their inner warrior through ritual drumming,
ELEVEN pipers piping (plus the 18-member pit orchestra made up of members in good standing of the Musicians Equity Union as called for in their union contract even though they will not be asked to play a note),
TEN melanin deprived testosterone-poisoned scions of the patriarchal ruling class system leaping,
NINE persons engaged in rhythmic self-expression,
EIGHT economically disadvantaged female persons stealing milk-products from enslaved Bovine-Americans,
SEVEN endangered swans swimming on federally protected wetlands,
SIX enslaved Fowl-Americans producing stolen non-human animal products,
FIVE golden symbols of culturally sanctioned enforced domestic incarceration,
(NOTE: after members of the Animal Liberation Front threatened to throw red paint at my computer, the calling birds, French hens and partridge have been reintroduced to their native habitat. To avoid further Animal-American enslavement, the remaining gift package has been revised.)
FOUR hours of recorded whale songs
THREE deconstructionist poets
TWO Sierra Club calendars printed on recycled processed tree carcasses and...
ONE Spotted Owl activist chained to an old-growth pear tree.
Merry Christmas Happy Chanukah. Good Kwanzaa. Blessed Yule. Happy Holidays! (unless otherwise prohibited by law)*
*Unless, of course, you are suffering from Seasonally Affected Disorder (SAD). If this be the case, please substitute this gratuitous call for celebration with suggestion that you have a thoroughly adequate day.
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Category: Christmas Jokes
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The politically correct Christmas
On the 12th day of the Eurocentrically imposed midwinter festival, my Significant Other in a consenting adult, monogamous relationship gave to me:
TWELVE males reclaiming their inner warrior through ritual drumming,
ELEVEN pipers piping (plus the 18-member pit orchestra made up of members in good standing of the Musicians Equity Union as called for in their union contract even though they will not be asked to play a note),
TEN melanin deprived testosterone-poisoned scions of the patriarchal ruling class system leaping,
NINE persons engaged in rhythmic self-expression,
EIGHT economically disadvantaged female persons stealing milk-products from enslaved Bovine-Americans,
SEVEN endangered swans swimming on federally protected wetlands,
SIX enslaved Fowl-Americans producing stolen non-human animal products,
FIVE golden symbols of culturally sanctioned enforced domestic incarceration,
(NOTE: after members of the Animal Liberation Front threatened to throw red paint at my computer, the calling birds, French hens and partridge have been reintroduced to their native habitat. To avoid further Animal-American enslavement, the remaining gift package has been revised.)
FOUR hours of recorded whale songs
THREE deconstructionist poets
TWO Sierra Club calendars printed on recycled processed tree carcasses and...
ONE Spotted Owl activist chained to an old-growth pear tree.
Merry Christmas Happy Chanukah. Good Kwanzaa. Blessed Yule. Happy Holidays! (unless otherwise prohibited by law)*
*Unless, of course, you are suffering from Seasonally Affected Disorder (SAD). If this be the case, please substitute this gratuitous call for celebration with suggestion that you have a thoroughly adequate day.
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Category: Christmas Jokes
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Rating your Christmas parties
If you threw a party, the worst thing you could have done was throw the kind of party where your guests, the next day, call you up to say they had a nice time. Now you'll be expected to throw another great party next year.
What you should have done was throw the kind of party where your guests wake up several days from now and call their lawyers to find out if they've been indicted for anything. You want your guests to be so anxious to avoid a recurrence of your party that they immediately start planning parties of their own, a year in advance, just to prevent you from having another one.
So next time, make sure your party reaches the correct Festivity Level:
Festivity Level One:
Your guests are chatting amiably with each other, admiring your Christmas-tree ornaments, singing carols around the upright piano, sipping at their drinks and nibbling at hors d'oeuvres.
Festivity Level Two:
Your guests are talking loudly--sometimes to each other and sometimes to nobody at all, rearranging your Christmas-tree ornaments, singing "I Gotta Be Me" around the upright piano, gulping their drinks and wolfing down hors d'oeuvres.
Festivity Level Three:
Your guests are arguing violently with inanimate objects, singing "I Can't Get No Satisfaction," gulping other people's drinks, wolfing down Christmas-tree ornaments, and placing hors d'oeuvres in the upright piano to see what happens when the little hammers strike them.
(You want to keep your party somewhere around Level Three, unless you rent your home and own firearms, in which case you can go to Level Four.)
Festivity Level Four:
Your guests have hors d'oeuvres smeared all over their bodies, are performing a ritual dance around the burning Christmas tree, and have consumed all ten gallons of alcohol at the party. The piano is missing.
The best way to get to Level Four is eggnog. To make eggnog, you'll need rum, whiskey, wine, gin and, if they are in season, eggs. Combine all ingredients in a large, festive bowl. If you use enough alcohol you won't have to worry about them getting salmonella poisoning--their alcohol toxicity level will eliminate that possibility. Then induce your guests to drink this potent mixture.
If your party is successful, the police will knock on your door. If your party is very successful, the police will then lob tear gas through your living-room window. As host, your job is to make sure they don't arrest anybody. Or, if they're dead set on arresting someone, your job is to make sure it isn't you. The best way to do this is to show a lot of respect for their uniforms and assure them you're not doing anything illegal. Here's how to handle it:
Police: "Good evening. Are you the host?"
You: "No."
Police: "We've been getting complaints about this party."
You: "About the drugs?"
Police: "No."
You: "About the guns, then? Is somebody complaining about the guns?"
Police: "No, the noise."
You: "Oh, the noise. Well, that makes sense, because there are no guns or drugs here. (An enormous explosion is heard in the background.) Or fireworks. Who's complaining about the noise? The neighbors?"
Police: "No, the neighbors fled inland hours ago. Most of the recent complaints have come from several miles away. Do you think you could ask the host to quiet things down?"
You: "No problem. (At this point, a Volkswagen bug with primitive religious symbols drawn on the doors emerges from the living room and roars down the hall, past the police and out the front door onto the lawn, where it smashes into a tree. Eight guests tumble out onto the grass, moaning.) See? Things are starting to wind down."
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The Australian Christmas
Here comes Santa Claus, here comes Santa Claus,
Sweating his fat away
Here comes Santa Claus, here comes Santa Claus,
Water-skis on his sleigh
Never have a white Christmas
When you in Melbourne live
Wearing hot pants on the beach
When you your presents give
Here comes Santa Claus, here comes Santa Claus,
Sweating his fat away
Here comes Santa Claus, here comes Santa Claus,
Water-skis on his sleigh
Chestnuts roasting on the sidewalk
Castles in the sand
Eating ice-cream, having good talks
Warm Christmas, isn't that grand?
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The Shopping Criminal
It was Christmas and the judge was in a merry mood as he asked the prisoner,"What are you charged with?"
"Doing my Christmas shopping early", replied the defendant.
"That's no offense", said the judge. "How early were you doing this shopping?"
"Before the store opened."
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Jack was in front of me coming out of church one day, and the preacher was standing at the door as he always is to shake hands. The preacher grabbed Jack by the hand and pulled him aside.
The Pastor said to him, 'You need to join the Army of the Lord!'
Jack replied, 'I'm already in the Army of the Lord, Pastor.'
Pastor questioned, 'How come I don't see you except at Christmas and Easter?'
He whispered back, 'I'm in the secret service.'
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Jones: "The chinese make it an invariable rule to settle all their debts on New Year's Day."
Smith: "So I understand, but, then again, the Chinese don't have a Christmas the week before!"
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Billy Gates writes to Santa
Dear Santa,
How are you doing? I hope you've had a successful year and have come up with a lot of interesting toys. It's really neat how you're able to do that year after year. I guess that's how you stay number one in the Christmas presents business business.
Actually, I admire the way you run Christmas. You really have a handle on it. You find out what people want (with letters like this and having kids tell you in person), and then you make the presents and control how they are delivered. It's an impressive operation.
I also like how you've got it to where when somebody says "Christmas presents," people automatically think Santa Claus. What a marketing advantage. Best of all, even though you're a huge success, people still don't know much about your private life. It's just rumors. That's so neat.
I think being at the North Pole helps. That was a good move. For example, when you're designing toys, only your elves know what you're doing, and you're way up there where nobody can spy on you and steal your ideas. And even if they do, you can always just let it out that you're making the same stuff to bring to people for free, so why would they buy the other guy's stuff?
Also, other people who make Christmas presents can't deliver them like you can. Yours is the only sleigh on the distribution highway. You must get some great discounts from them, because if they don't play ball you can just refuse to give out their presents. Very Sharp.
What I don't get is why you give away stuff. That's the dumbest idea I've ever heard. I admit, its why you're number one- who could compete with a deal like that? But it must make it hard to stay in business, especially when you have to visit every kid in the world. You have to keep growing or fail.
Here's an idea on how you can help finance your operation: Give everybody at least one present at Christmas, then you could make batteries and sell them the rest of the year. It would create a demand: You give people something and then sell them what they need to make it work.
Another thing, about you coming down the chimney. That's so slow and inefficient. And what about all the people who don't have chimneys? Santa. I have one word for you--windows. Everybody has windows.
That's about all I have to say. You're probably wondering if I was good or bad this year, but I don't really like to talk about my personal life, if that's O.K. (Just out of curiosity: When you were a boy, did any of the other kids call you a nerd?) Anyway, I don't really have anything to ask for. Mostly I think up something to play with and then build it myself. I guess I'm sort of like you--I make my own toys.
Best of luck,
Billy Gates.
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Every Christmas morning, when my kids were little, I read them the nativity story out of the big family bible.
When my son was old enough to talk, he asked me what a stable was.
I thought for a moment how to explain it to him in terms he could understand, then told him, "It's something like your sister's room, but without a stereo."
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A young woman was taking an afternoon nap. After she woke up, she told her husband, "I just dreamed that you gave me a pearl necklace for Valentine's day. What do you think it means?"
"You'll know tonight." he said.
That evening, the man came home with a small package and gave it to his wife. Delighted, she opened it--only to find a book entitled "The meaning of dreams".
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Category: Valentine's Day Jokes
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A guy walks into a post office one day to see a middle-aged, balding man standing at the counter methodically placing "Love" stamps on bright pink envelopes with hearts all over them. He then takes out a perfume bottle and starts spraying scent all over them.
His curiosity getting the better of him, he goes up to the balding man and asks him what he is doing. The man says, "I'm sending out one thousand Valentine cards signed, 'Guess who?'"
"But why?" asks the man.
"I'm a divorce lawyer," the man replies.
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Top economist Valentine's Day cards
4. You raise my interest rate thirty basis points without a corresponding dropoff in consumer enthusiasm.
3. Let's raise housing starts together.
2. You stoke the animal spirits of my market.
1. Despite your decade of inflation, I still love you.
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Dictionary for women
Argument (ar*gyou*ment) n. A discussion that occurs when you're right, but he just hasn't realized it yet.
Airhead (er*hed) n. What a woman intentionally becomes when pulled over by a policeman.
Bar-be-que (bar*bi*q) n. You bought the groceries, washed the lettuce, chopped the tomatoes, diced the onions, marinated the meat and cleaned everything up, but, he, "made the dinner."
Blonde jokes (blond joks) n. Jokes that are short so men can understand them.
Cantaloupe (kant*e*lope) n. Gotta get married in a church.
Clothes dryer (kloze dri*yer) n. An appliance designed to eat socks.
Diet Soda (dy*it so*da) n. A drink you buy at a convenience store to go with a half pound bag of peanut M&Ms.
Eternity (e*ter*ni*tee) n. The last two minutes of a football game.
Exercise (ex*er*siz) v. To walk up and down a mall, occasionally resting to make a purchase.
Grocery List (grow*ser*ee list) n. What you spend half an hour writing, then forget to take with you to the store.
Hair Dresser (hare dres*er) n. Someone who is able to create a style you will never be able to duplicate again. See "Magician."
Hardware Store (hard*war stor) n. Similar to a black hole in space-if he goes in, he isn't coming out anytime soon.
Childbirth (child*brth) n. You get to go through 36 hours of contractions; he gets to hold your hand and say "focus,...breath...push..."
Lipstick (lip*stik) n. On your lips, coloring to enhance the beauty of your mouth. On his collar, coloring only a tramp would wear...!
Park (park) v./n. Before children, a verb meaning, "to go somewhere and neck." After children, a noun meaning a place with a swing set and slide.
Patience (pa*shens) n. The most important ingredient for dating, marriage and children. See also "tranquilizers."
Waterproof Mascara (wah*tr*pruf mas*kar*ah) n. Comes off if you cry, shower, or swim, but will not come off if you try to remove it.
Valentine's Day (val*en*tinez dae) n. A day when you have dreams of a candlelight dinner, diamonds, and romance, but consider yourself lucky to get a card.
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Pat and Mick landed themselves a job at a sawmill. Just before morning tea Pat yelled: "Mick! I lost me finger!"
"Have you now?" says Mick. "And how did you do it?"
"I just touched this big spinning thing here like thi...
Darn! There goes another one!"
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Category: St. Patrick's Day Jokes
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Scorcher Murphy was selling his house, and put the matter in an agent's hands. The agent wrote up a sales blurb for the house that made wonderful reading. After Murphy read it, he turned to the agent and asked,
"Have I got all ye say there?"
The agent said, "Certainly ye have...Why d'ye ask?"
Replied Murphy, "Cancel the sale...'tis too good to part with."
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Category: St. Patrick's Day Jokes
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An Englishman, a Scotsman and an Irishman each order a Guiness in a pub. Upon being served, each finds a fly in their beer. Repulsed, the Englishman sends his back. The Scotsman gently flicks the fly out of his mug and begins drinking. The Irishman, carefully lifts the fly up by its wings and screams, "Spit it out! Spit it out!"
An Irishman walks into a bar and orders three glasses of Guiness, drinking them one at a time. Noticing this odd ritual, the bartender explains that the beer goes flat when poured and informs the man his beer would be much fresher if he ordered one glass at a time.
The Irishman explains he began this custom with his two brothers, who have moved to America and Australia, respectively. This is their way of remembering all the time they spent drinking together.
The man becomes a regular at the pub, well-known for always ordering three beers at once. One day he walks in and orders only two beers. Assuming the worst, a hush falls among other patrons.
When the Irishman returns to the bar to order his second round, the bartender quietly offers his condolences. The man looks confused for a moment, and then explains, "No, everyone's fine. I gave up beer for lent."
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Barty was trapped in a bog and seemed a goner when Big Mick O'Reilly wandered by.
"Help!" Barty shouted, "Oi'm sinkin'!"
Don't worry," assured Mick. "Next to the Strong Muldoon, Oi'm the strongest man in Erin, and Oi'll pull ye right out o' there."
Mick leaned out and grabbed Barty's hand and pulled and pulled to no avail.
After two more unsuccessful attempts, Mick said to Barty, "Shure, an' Oi can't do it. The Strong Muldoon could do it alone, mebbe, but Oi'll have to get some help."
As Mick was leaving, Barty called "Mick! Mick!
D'ye think it will help if Oi pull me feet out of the stirrups?
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Joey-Jim was tooling along the road one fine day when the local policeman, a friend of his, pulled him over. "What's wrong, Seamus?" Joey-Jim asked. "Well didn't ya know, Joey-Jim, that your wife fell out of the car about five miles back?" said Seamus. "Ah, praise the Almighty!" he replied with relief. "I thought I'd gone deaf!"
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Pat and Jimmy-Joe met and one said to the other,
"Have ye seen Mulligan lately, Pat?"
Pat said, "Well, I have and I haven't."
His friend asked, "Shure, and what d'ye mean by that?"
Pat said, "It's like this, y'see...I saw a chap who I thought was Mulligan, and he saw a chap that he thought was me. And when we got up to one another...it was neither of us."
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