KAREL'S CHEESE HOUSE

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. Oh, heck! 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.

10. All day I make toys -- all night I make love.

9. Has anyone ever told you you have beautiful knees?

8. We don't see many happenin' ladies north of the Arctic Circle.

7. That's quite a set of ornaments you've got there.

6. Just because a guy wears tights doesn't mean he's gay.

5. One night with me, baby, and you'll be sneezin' tinsel.

4. Why, yes -- I am George Stephanopoulos!

3. I can't tell you how hard it is to be the only Jewish elf?

2. Not everything about me is tiny.

1. That's not Elmo, but don't stop tickling.

10. "I'm down here"

9. "Just because I've got bells on my shoes doesn't mean I'm a sissy"

8. "I was once a lawn ornament for John Bon Jovi"

7. "I can get you off the naughty list."

6. "I have certain needs that can't be satisfied by working on toys."

5. "I'm a magical being. Take off your bra."

4. "No, no. I don't bake cookies. You're thinking of those dorks over at Keebler."

3. "I get a thimbleful of tequila in me and I turn into a wild man."

2. "You'd look great in a Raggedy Ann wig."

1. "I can eat my weight in cocktail wieners."

16. To avoid confusion, staff reverts back to referring to Madelaine Albright by name.

15. New "doggy door" makes it that much easier to sneak out a midnight run to McDonald's.

14. At long last, Bill won't have to flinch *every* time he hears "Bad boy."

13. President no longer the only one accused of burying his bone in someone else's yard.

12. "Bitch" label now somewhat ambiguous.

11. Accusations of crotch-sniffing at the White House no longer automatically implicate the President.

10. New, unwelcome presents under the Christmas tree.

9. Obviously miffed Socks slips Kenneth Starr a note reading "Bil kilt Vyns Fosdr!"

8. Shouts of "Come!" from Lincoln bedroom no longer make Hillary suspicious.

7. Chelsea drops to #2 on the White House Pug-Ugly List.

6. Pipe and slipper retrieval removed from Al Gore's daily to-do list.

5. Roger Clinton no longer the only one to piddle in the Rose Garden.

4. Cries of "What a dog!" no longer make Janet Reno burst into tears at State dinners.

3. To the embarrassment of the trainers, dog still unable to tell Al Gore from a tree.

2. "Get that horny furball off my leg!" no longer refers exclusively to the President.

and the Number 1 Change at the White House
Now That the Clintons have a Puppy...

1. Campaign donors staying overnight in the Lincoln Bedroom now find complimentary Tootsie Rolls on their pillows.

A wealthy woman is giving a garden party, and several well-to-do guests attend. While the party ensues, two gardeners are out on the back lawn working. One of the guests was watching the gardeners do their thing, and while one gardener was busy weeding the other jumped up and did graceful swirling dance movements. Taken by his grace, the guest remarked to the host, 'That man is such a talented dancer, that I'd pay him a hundred pounds to demonstrate his dancing before my aerobics class!' When the host asked the first gardener about such an arrangement, he yelled, 'Hey Fred! Do you think for a hundred pounds you could step on that rake again?'

The pet store was selling them for five cents a piece. I thought this was odd since they were normally a couple thousand. I decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth so I bought 200 of them. I like monkeys.

I took my 200 monkeys home. I have a big car. I let one of drive. His name was Sigmund. He was retarded. In fact, none of them were really bright. They kept punching themselves in the genitals. I laughed. They punched me in the genitals. I stopped laughing.

I herded them into my room. They didn't adapt very well to their new environment. They would screech and hurl themselves off the couch at high speeds and slam into the wall. Although humorous at first, the spectacle lost its novelty halfway into it's third hour.

Two hours later I found out why all the monkeys were so inexpensive; they all died. No apparent reason. They all just sort of dropped dead. Kinda like when you buy a goldfish and it dies five hours later. God damn cheap monkeys.

I didn't know what to do. There were 200 dead monkeys lying all over my room; on the bed, in the dresser, hanging from my bookcase. It looked like I had 200 throw rugs. I tried to flush one down the toilet. It didn't work. It got stuck. Then I had one dead, wet monkey and one hundred ninety-nine dead, dry monkeys.

I tried to pretend that they were just stuffed animals. That worked for awhile, that is until they began to decompose. It started to smell real bad.

I had to pee but there was a dead monkey in my toilet and I didn't want to call a plumber. I was embarrassed.

I tried to slow down the decomposition by freezing them. Unfortuantely there was only enough room for two at a time, so I had to change them every 30seconds. I also had to eat all the food in the freezer so it didn't go bad.

I tried to burn them, but little did I know that my bed was flammable. I had to extinguish the fire.

Then I had one dead, wet monkey in my toilet, two dead, frozen monkeys in my freezer, and one hundred ninety-seven dead, charred monkeys in a pile on my bed, The odor wasn't improving.

I became agitated at my inability to dispose of the dead monkeys and I really had to use the bathroom. So I went and severely beat one of the monkeys. I felt better.

I tried throwing them away but the garbage man said the city was not allowed to dispose of charred primates. I told him I had a wet one. He couldn't take it either. I didn't bother asking about the frozen ones.

I finally arrived at a solution. I gave them out as Christmas gifts. My friends didn't quite know what to say. They pretended to like them, but I could tell they were lying. Ingrates. So I punched them in the genitals.

I like monkeys.

A man with a bad stomach complaint goes to his local doctor and asks him what he can do. The doctor replies that the illness is quite serious but can be cured with a small course of two suppositories inserted deep up the back passage. The man agrees, and so the doctor warns him of the pain, tells him to bend over, and shoves the thing way up his behind. The doctor then hands him the second dose and tells him to do the same thing in six hours time using rubber gloves and KY-Jelly or something.

So, the man goes home and later that evening tries to get the second suppository inserted, but he finds he cannot reach himself properly to obtain the required depth. Thus, he calls his wife over and tells her what to do. The wife nods, puts one hand on his shoulder to steady him and with the other shoves the medicine home. Suddenly the man screams in disgust. "What's the matter?" asked his wife. "Did I hurt you?"

"No," replies the man, "but I just realized that when the doctor did that, he had BOTH hands on my shoulders."

I had the most interesting conversation with the top sales weasel at our company today. She came into my office and noticed I had a box of Altoids on my desk.

(Have you had them? They are these obnoxiously strong peppermints made in England.) As soon as she saw them, she burst into laughter. Turns out she had recently had an affair with a guy who called her and left her an incredibly steamy voice mail message after an encounter. He went on and on about what a blow job goddess she was, how amazing she was, how he'd never be the same, etc. She was kind of puzzled, thinking: what did I do to this guy that was so different from my regular technique? She finally figured it out: she's a smoker, and before getting intimate with him, she had gone to the bathroom to "freshen up." Not having a toothbrush, she crunched on about four Altoids and then got busy. Apparently things went amazingly.

So she passed this little tidbit on to another female sales weasel, who immediately tried it out on *her* fiance. Apparently this guy has never, ever been into oral sex, but liked the mint sensation so much that he asked her to stop and chew another Altoid mid-blow job. He is now a fellatio gourmand.

This news has been going around our office. Having a box of Altoids on your desk is now like being part of the Secret Blowjob Goddess Society. It's the equivalent of having the hottest car or coolest computer. News spread like crazy among the females, who all went out at lunch to Walgreens to buy a box of Altoids (about $2 for 100 or so), and their partners across the city tonight are getting one hell of a corporate blow job. As far as company-wide morale boosting events, it doesn't get much better.

Some of the men found out, too -- they went out after work to buy them for their wives. They strategized on how to get their wives to eat them. And people wonder why I work in technology.

(For what it's worth -- it really does work! It leaves a lasting tingle that is quite exquisite.)

10. You go in for routine surgery, you come out with a tail

9. You recognize your doctor as kid who was mopping the lobby when you checked in

8. Instead of sponge bath, they send St. Bernard to lick you

7. As you're going under, your surgeon says, "Man, am I baked"

6. In the operating room, they have one of these guys [shot of "Late Show" staffer Bill Scheft waving]

5. Every couple of minutes, you hear a bugle playing Taps

4. All the diplomas on the wall are signed by Sally Struthers

3. You and your roommate have to take turns on the I.V.

2. Through fog of anesthesia, you hear surgeon shouting, "Bring the damn Scotch tape! And plenty of it!"

1. Instead of "patient", they use the term "plaintiff"

After spending 3-1/2 hours enduring the long lines , surly clerks and insane regulations at the department of motor vehicles, I stopped at a toy store to pick up a gift for my son.

I brought my selection - a baseball bat - to the cash register. "Cash or charge?" the clerk asked.

"Cash," I snapped. Then apologizing for my rudeness , I explained , "I've spent the afternoon at the motor-vehicle bureau."

"Shall I giftwrap the bat?" the clerk asked sweetly. "Or are you going back there?"