Do you hear what I hear . . .?
* “Feliz Navidad,” “The Christmas Song (Chestnuts Roasting on an Open Fire),” “White Christmas,” “Have a Holly Jolly Christmas” and umpteen different artists butchering “Oh Holy Night” on the 24/7 all-Christmas music radio stations over and over again;
* No sooner settling into the comfy recliner in the living room when the phone rings with another plea to donate to one more cause I know little about (I have no problem with the Salvation Army kettles, numerous special requests from my church and the increasing need for non-perishable goods donated to local food pantries);
* Horns blowing and brakes screeching as persons keep pulling out in front of me as I try to sneak out to the shopping center under cover of darkness (a mall and the night visitor), who apparently don’t see my miniature Miata motorcar. I’m finally beginning to work on the family wish lists, only to discover the items I’m seeking are “temporarily out of stock” (my quandary: I don’t like shopping on-line);
* The gas pump clicking away while I watch, helplessly, as the price per gallon slowly escalates to the three dollar mark for regular just in time for the holidays.
So what’s the best antidote to this merry madness as the Big Day looms? I reach for a glass – no, not THAT kind of holiday spirits – and take another healthy(?) chug-a-lug of pundemoanium punch, just what the (crack) doctor ordered to make the yuletide appetizing. I alternate this elixir with another chaw of my gift fruitcake, the only holiday comestible that, as Bill Engvall rightly observes, “looks the same coming up as it did going down.”
Warning: The same response might be forthcoming if you keep reading this irksome blend of seasonal inanities. Is that a gag reflex …?
Ah, Christmas – What other time of the year do you sit in front of a dead tree and eat candy out of your socks?
Santa’s sleigh always comes in first because he starts in the Pole position. It must have long-distance runners (oh, deer!).
He gave her a fork for Christmas because there is no tine like the present.
There’s a song in the air . . . but it doesn’t sound like the Hallelujah Chorus. But of chorus, it returns like the ghost of Christmas past each year this time to unsettle your stomach, like stale fruitcake. Join Jim (Santa’s Little Yelper) Britt and Jim (The Grinning Grinch) Bishop as they roast some musical chestnuts on a hot CD player on a “Warped Records Christmas Show,” 10 a.m.-noon Thursday, Dec. 23, on newsradio-ho-ho-no 550, WSVA; http://www.wsvaonline.com/
Before I tried selling any Christmas trees, I got myself spruced up (begging your fir-bearance).
I also tried wrapping Christmas presents, but I didn’t have the gift.
If I take some from the rich to give to the poor, would that makes me Ribbon Hood? (Questions like this should be outlawed, as should these quixotic queries):
Q: What would a reindeer do if it lost its tail?
A. It would go to a re-tail shop for a new one!
Q. Which of Santa’s reindeer has bad manners?
A. Rude-olph!
Q: Did you hear that one of Santa’s reindeer now works for Proctor and
Gamble?
A: Its true . . . Comet cleans sinks!
Q. Why did Santa’s helper see a therapist?
A. Because he had low elf esteem!
Q. How do elves greet each other?
A. “Small world, isn’t it?”
Vowing revenge on his English teacher for making him memorize Clement
Clarke Moore’s “T’was the night before Christmas,” Warren decided to pour sugar in her gas tank, but he inadvertently grabbed a sugar substitute so it was actually Splenda in the gas.
James Fenimore Cooper wrote about the life of Santa Claus. Naturally he titled it “The Deer Sleigher.”
I installed a skylight in my apartment and decorated it with flashing lights . . . the people who live above me are furious.
I remember how hard it was for me as a young child the night before Christmas when Mom would say, “Jimmy, time to go to sleep.” I would reply, “But I don’t know how.” She replied, “It’s easy. Just go down to the end of tired and turn left.” So I went down to the end of tired, and just out of curiosity I hung a right. My mother was there, and she said, “I thought I told you to go to sleep.”
Hello, you still there, or has all this mind-numbing nonsense caused you to nod off (take dese and doze)?
Even after this latest avalanche of awful anecdotes, Jim (Subordinate Claus) Bishop is still public information officer at Eastern Mennonite University (snow joke). Offer him some yuletide sneers, er, cheers, at [email protected].
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