T'was the night before Christmas and God was it neat. The kids were both gone and my wife was in heat. The doors were all bolted the phone off the hook, it was time for some nooky by hook or by crook Mom dressed in her teddy and I in the nude had just hit the bed and had reached for the lube when out on the lawn there arose such a cry that I lost my erection and momma went dry. Up to the window I sprang like an elf and tore back the shade while she played with herself. The moon was so bright that it lit up the yard the place was a mess, something'd hit it real hard. When what to my wondering eyes should appear but a crooked old sleigh and eight mangy reindeer. A fat little driver half out of his sled with a sock in his ear and a bra on his head Sure as I'm speaking he was as high as a kite and he yelled to his team, but it didn't sound right. Whoa shithead! Whoa asshole! Whoa stupid! Whoa putz! Fuckin' slow down this rig or I'll cut off your nuts. Get over the lamp post and don't hit that tree and quit shaking the sleigh cause I gotta go pee. They just cleared the lamp post, the tree got a rub as Santa leaned out and threw up in a shrub. And then from the roof came one hell of a splatter as each little reindeer now emptied his bladder. I was donning my jacket to cover my ass when down through the chimney he came with a crash. His suit was all soaked with perfume galore he looked like a bum and smelled like a whore. That was some cathouse he said with a smile the reindeer are pooped so I'll hang here awhile. He walked to the kitchen and poured a tall drink then whipped out his pecker and pissed in the sink. I started to laugh, my wife smiled with glee the old boy was hung nearly down to his knee. Back in the den Santa reached into his sack but the toys were all gone. Some new items were packed. The first thing he found was a black leather whip then came some x-rated video clips. A box full of condoms was Santas next find and a six pack of panties, the edible kind. A bra without nipples, a penis extension boxes of goodies I won't even mention. A cock ring, a G-string, and all types of oil and a dildo so long that it lay in a coil. This stuff ain't for kids, Mrs.Santa would shit So if you don't mind, I'll leave it here when I split He filled every stocking and then took his leave with one tiny butt plug tucked under his sleeve. He sprang t'words his sleigh, but his feet were like lead and he fell on his ass and farted instead. He swore a blue streak and climbed into his hitch lets go ya varmits the nights been a bitch . The lurch of the sleigh slammed him back in his chair and he let out a belch as they took to the air. Bending the lamp post and raking the tree he bounced off a rooftop and finally got free "I'm comin home woman!" he yelled with a smirk "so grab both your ankles and pull up your skirt!!"

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Fruitcake Recipe
1 cup water
1 cup sugar
4 large eggs
2 cups dried fruit
1 teaspoon baking soda
1 teaspoon salt
1 cup brown sugar lemon juice nuts
1 gallon whiskey Sample the whiskey to check for quality.
Take a large bowl.
Check the whiskey again to be sure it is of the highest quality.
Pour one level cup and drink.
Repeat.
Turn on the electric mixer.
Beat 1 cup butter in a large, fluffy bowl.
Add 1 teaspoon sugar and beat again.
Make sure the whiskey is still OK.
Cry another tup.
Turn off mixer.
Break 2 eggs and add to the bowl and chuck in the cup of dried fruit.
Mix on the turner.
If the fried druit gets stuck in the beaterers, pry it loose with a drewscriver.
Sample the whiskey to check for tonsisticity.
Next, sift 2 cups of salt.
Or something.
Who cares?
Check the whiskey.
Now sift the lemon juice and strain your nuts.
Add one table spoon.
Of sugar or something.
Whatever you can find.
Grease the oven.
Turn the cake tin to 350 degrees.
Don't forget to beat off the turner.
Throw the bowl out of the window.
Check the whiskey again.
Go to bed.
Who the heck likes fruitcake anyway?

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CHRISTMAS CAROLS FOR THE PSYCHIATRICALLY CHALLENGED:

PARANOID SCHIZOPHRENIA- Do You Hear What I Hear?

MULTIPLE PERSONALITY- We Three Kings Disoriented Are.

DEMENTIA- I Think I'll Be Home For Christmas, But I've Forgotten.

NARCISSISTIC- Hark The Herald Angels Sing (About Me)

COMPULSIVE - Deck the Halls and Walls and House and Lawn.

BORDERLINE PERSONALITY- Thoughts of Roasting in an Open Fire.

PARANOIA- Santa Claus is Coming To Get Me.

PERSONALITY DISORDER, NOS - You Better Watch Out, I'm Gonna Cry, I'm Gonna Pout, Then MAYBE I'll Tell You Why.

DEPRESSION- Silent night, Holy night. All is calm, All is pretty lonely.

OBSESSIVE COMPULSIVE- Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell Rock, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell Rock, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell Rock, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell Rock, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell Rock, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell Rock, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell Rock, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell Rock, Jingle Bell...

PASSIVE AGGRESSIVE- On the First Day of Christmas My Mother Gave to Me (and Then Took It All Away).

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** LAST WORD -- 'Twas the Month after Christmas Okay, here's one more spin on an old holiday favorite.

'Twas the month after Christmas, and all through the house, Nothing would fit me, not even a blouse.
The cookies I'd nibbled, the eggnog I'd tasted, At the holiday parties had gone to my waist.

When I got on the scales there arose such a number!
When I walked to the store (less a walk than a lumber), I'd remember the marvelous meals I'd prepared, The gravies and sauces and beef nicely rared; The wine and the rum balls; the bread and the cheese, and the way I'd never said, "No thank you, please."
As I dressed myself in my husband's old shirt, and prepared once again to do battle with dirt, I said to myself, as only I can, "You can't spend a winter disguised as a man!"

So, away with the last of the sour cream dip.
Get rid of the fruit cake, every cracker and chip.
Every last bit of food that I like must be banished, 'til all the additional ounces have vanished.

I won't have a cookie--not even a lick.
I'll want only to chew on a long celery stick.
I won't have hot biscuits, or corn bread, or pie, I'll munch on a carrot and quietly cry.

I'm hungry, I'm lonesome, and life is a bore, But isn't that what January is for?
Unable to giggle, no longer a riot.
Happy New Year to all and to all a good diet!

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