THE REST –    December 22
  

TODAY'S QUESTION

If you see a Nacimiento around Christmas in the U.S. Southwest, what are you looking at? 

Previous Question and Answer: 

Question:  IPhillips Brooks's statue stands beside his church, historic Trinity Church in Boston. What famous Christmas carol is Brooks known for?


 Answer: "O Little Town of Bethlehem"  

 

Questions and answers from: J. Stephen Lang, The Big Book of American Trivia (Wheaton, IL: Tyndale House Publishers, Inc, 1997).

Merry Christmas

Christmas Quotation, Fact and Inspiration.

Computer Dating?

A hopeful suitor dropped into a computer-dating center and registered his qualifications. He wanted someone who enjoyed water sports, liked company, favored formal attire, and was very small. The computer operated faultlessly. It sent him a penguin.

From: David A. Rinke II -- Funny Pages Mailing List

---

After completing a round of golf, Tom goes to the club and was asked by his friend how his round went.

Tom replies, "It was a bad day. My partner Bill had a heart attack and died starting the 17th hole."

The friend says, "That must have been terrible."

Tom says, "Yeah, it was terrible--hit the ball, drag Bill, hit the ball, drag Bill, hit the ball..."

Source: David A. Rinke II Funny Pages Mailing List

The little church in the suburbs suddenly stopped buying from its regular office supply dealer. So, the dealer telephoned Deacon Brown to ask why. "I'll tell you why," shouted Deacon Brown. "Our church ordered some pencils from you to be used in the pews for visitors to register."

"Well," interrupted the dealer, "didn't you receive them yet?"

"Oh, we received them all right," replied Deacon Brown.

"However, you sent us some golf pencils...each stamped with the words, `Play Golf Next Sunday.'"

Source: David A. Rinke II Funny Pages Mailing List

A recent college graduate took a new job in a hilly Eastern city and began commuting each day to work through a tiring  array of tunnels, bridges and traffic jams.   To make the task less onerous, he invited several of his coworkers to share the ride.  He soon found, however, that the commute continued to get more stressful, especially the trips through the tunnels.  He consulted the company doctor.
    
"Doc," the frustrated commuter complained, "I'm fine on the bridges, in the traffic, in the day and at night, and even when Joe forgets to bathe all week long.    But when I get in the tunnels and I've got those four other guys crowded around me in the car, I get anxious and dizzy and feel like I'm going to explode.   What's wrong with me?"
    
Immediately the doctor announced he had identified the ailment.  "You have what is known as Carpool Tunnel Syndrome."

From : A Time to Smile zphhumor@info.harpercollins.com

    
          T'was the night before Christmas, and all through the shop,
          the computers were whirring; they never do stop.
          The power was on and the temperature right,
          In hopes that the input would feed back that night.
    
          The system was ready, the program was coded,
          And memory drums had been carefully loaded;
          While adding a Christmasy glow to the scene,
          The lights on the console, flashed red, white and green.
    
          When out in the hall there arose such a clatter,
          The programmer ran to see what was the matter.
          Away to the hallway he flew like a flash,
          Forgetting his key in his curious dash.
          He stood in the hallway and looked all about,
          When the door slammed behind him, and he was locked out.
    
          Then, in the computer room what should appear,
          But a miniature sleigh and eight tiny reindeer;
          And a little old man, who with scarcely a pause,
          Chuckled: "My name is Santa...the last name is Claus."
    
          The computer was startled, confused by the name,
          Then it buzzed as it heard the old fellow exclaim:
          "This is Dasher and Dancer and Prancer and Vixen,
          And Comet and Cupid and Donner and Blitzen."
    
          With all these odd names, it was puzzled anew;
          It hummed and it clanked, and a main circuit blew.
          It searched in its memory core, trying to "think";
          Then the multi-line printer went out on the blink.
    
          Unable to do its electronic job,
          It said in a voice that was almost a sob:
          "Your eyes - how they twinkle - your dimples so merry,
          Your cheeks so like roses, your nose like a cherry,
          Your smile - all these things, I've been programmed to
          know, And at data-recall, I am more than so-so;
          But your name and your address (computers can't lie),
          Are things that I just cannot identify.
    
          You've a jolly old face and a little round belly,
          That shakes when you laugh like a bowlful of jelly;
          My scanners can see you, but still I insist,
          Since you're not in my program, you cannot exist!"
    
          Old Santa just chuckled a merry "ho, ho",
          And sat down to type out a quick word or so.
          The keyboard clack-clattered, its sound sharp and clean,
          As Santa fed this "data" to the machine:
    
          "Kids everywhere know me; I come every year;
          The presents I bring add to everyone's cheer;
          But you won't get anything - that's plain to see;
          Too bad your programmers forgot about me."
    
          Then he faced the machine and said with a shrug,
          "Merry Christmas to All," as he pulled out its plug!
         

(author unknown)

ZONDERVAN PUBLISHING HOUSE E-MAIL ALERT SERVICE

57 Elm Street
Bethlehem, PA
11:51 P.M., December 24th



We're too late! It's already been here.

Mulder, I hope you know what you're doing.

Look, Scully, just like the other homes: Douglas fir, truncated, mounted, transformed into a shrine; halls decked with boughs of
holly; stockings hung by the chimney, with care.

You really think someone's been here?

Someone or some THING.

Mulder, over here - it's a fruitcake.

Don't touch it! Those things can be lethal.

It's O.K. There's a note attached: "Gonna find out who's naughty and nice."

It's judging them, Scully. It's making a list.

Who? What are you talking about?

Ancient mythology tells of an obese humanoid entity who could travel at great speed in a craft powered by antlered servants. Once each year, near the winter solstice, this creature is said to descend from the heavens to reward its followers and punish disbelievers with jagged chunks of anthracite.

But that's legend, Mulder -- a story told by parents to frighten children. Surely you don't believe it?

Something was here tonight, Scully. Check out the bite marks on this gingerbread man. Whatever tore through this plate of cookies was massive -- and in a hurry.

It left crumbs everywhere. And look, Mulder, this milk glass has been completely drained.

It gorged itself, Scully. It fed without remorse.

But why would they leave it milk and cookies?

Appeasement. Tonight is the Eve, and nothing can stop its wilding.

But if this thing does exist, how did it get in? The doors and windows were locked. There's no sign of forced entry.

Unless I miss my guess, it came through the fireplace.

Wait a minute, Mulder. If you're saying some huge creature landed on the roof and came down this chimney, you're crazy. The flue is barely six inches wide. Nothing could get down there.

But what if it could alter its shape, move in all directions at once?

You mean, like a bowl full of jelly?

Exactly. Scully, I've never told anyone this, but when I was a child my home was visited. I saw the creature. It had long white strips of fur surrounding its ruddy, misshapen head. Its bloated torso was red and white. I'll never forget the horror. I turned away, and when I looked back it had somehow taken on the facial features of my father.

Impossible.

I know what I saw. And that night it read my mind. It brought me a Mr. Potato Head, Scully. IT KNEW THAT I WANTED A MR. POTATO HEAD!

I'm sorry, Mulder, but you're asking me to disregard the laws of physics. You want me to believe in some supernatural being who soars across the skies and brings gifts to good little girls and boys. Listen to what you're saying. Do you understand the repercussions? If this gets out, they'll close the X-files.

Scully, listen to me: It knows when you're sleeping. It knows when you're awake.

But we have no proof.

Last year, on this exact date, SETI radio telescopes detected bogeys in the airspace over twenty-seven states. The White House ordered a Condition Red.

But that was a meteor shower.

Officially. Two days ago, eight prized Scandinavian reindeer vanished from the National Zoo, in Washington, D.C. Nobody - not even the zookeeper - was told about it. The government doesn't want people to know about Project Kringle. They fear that if this thing is proved to exist the public will stop spending half its annual income in a holiday shopping frenzy. Retail markets will collapse. Scully, they cannot let the world believe this creature lives. There's too much at stake. They'll do whatever it takes to insure another silent night.

Mulder, I --

Sh-h-h. Do you hear what I hear?

On the roof. It sounds like . . . a clatter.

The truth is up there. Let's see what's the matter.

The above X-files parody came to me from Pastor Kevin. He received it from someone  who found it on Benson Gregory's Web Page. It was adapted from Shouts & Murmurs, "The Xmas Files," by FrankCammuso and Hart Seely, (c) The New Yorker, December 16, 1996.   Formated by  PBB.