| Go to top of page On the 12th day of the Eurocentrically imposed midwinter festival, my Significant Other in a consenting adult, monogamous relationshipgave 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 treecarcasses and... ONE Spotted Owl activist chained to an old-growth pear tree. |
| Go to top of page 12 days of Crissmas in de Bayou Day 1: Dear Boudreaux, Thanks for de bird in de Pear tree. I fix it las' night with dirty rice. I doan tink de pear tree will grow in de swamp, so I swap it for a Satsuma. Day 2: Dear Boudreaux, You letter say you sent two turtle doves, but all I got was two scrawny pigeons. Anyway, I mixed dem with andouille an made some gumbo out of dem. Day 3: Dear Boudreaux, Why doan you sent some crawfish? I'm tired of eating dem darn birds. I gave two of dose prissy French chickens to Marie Trahan over at Grans Bayou an fed the tird one to my dog Phideaux. Marie needed some sparing partners for her fighting rooster. Day 4: Dear Boudreaux, Mon Dieux! I tol you no more friggin birds. Deez four, what you call dem "calling birds", dey so noisy you could hear dem all de way to Napoleonville. I used dere necks for my crab traps, an fed de rest of dem to de gators. Day 5: Dear Boudreaux, You finally sen' somethin useful. I like dem golden rings, me. I hocked dem at da pawn shop in Thibodeaux and got enuf money to fix da shaft on my shrimp boat an buy a round for da boys at de Raisin' Cane Lounge. Merci Beaucoup! Day 6: Dear Boudreaux, Couchon! Back to da birds, you coonass turkey! Poor egg suckin' Phideaux is scared to death at dem six geases. He tried to eat dems eggs and dey peck de heck out ah his snout. Dey good at eating cockroaches, though. I may stuff one of dem wit erster dressing on Christmas day. Day 7: Dear Boudreaux, I'm gonna wring your fool neck next time I see you. Thibeau, da mailman, is ready to kill ya. The merde from all dem birds is stinkin' up his mailboat. He afraid someone will slip on dat stuff and sue him good. I let those seven swans loose to swim on de bayou and some duck hunters from Mississippi blasted dem out of de water. Talk to you tomorrow. Day 8: Dear Boudreaux, poor ole Thibeau, he had to make tree trips on his mailboat to deliver dem 8 maids a milkin and dem cows. One of dem cows got spooked by da alligators and almost tipped over da boat. I doan like dem shiftless maids, me no. I tolt dem to get to work guttin fish and sweepinq the shack but dey say it wasn't in dair contract. Dey probably think dey too good ta skin nutrias I caught las night. Day 9: Dear Boudreaux, What you trying to do huh? Thibeau had to borrow the Lutcher ferry to carry dem jumpin twits you call Lords-a-Leaping across the bayou. As soon as dey gots here dey wanted a tea break with crumpets. I doan know what dat means but I says, "Well La Di Da. You get Chicory coffee or nuttin." Mon Dieu, Emile. What I'm gonna feed all dese bozos? Dey too snooty for fried nutria, and de cows done eat up all my turnip greens. Day 10: Dear Boudreaux, You got to be outs you mind! If de mailman doan kill you, I will fo sure. Today he deliver 10 half nekid floozies from Bourbon Street. Dey said dey be "Ladies Dancin" but dey doan act like ladies in front of dose Limey twits. Dey almos left after one of dem got bit by a water moccasin over by dat out-house. I had to butcher 2 cows to feed toute le monde an had to get toilet paper; The Sears catalog wasn't good enuf fer dose hoity toity Lords' royal behin. Day 11: Dear Boudreaux, where y'at? Cheerio an pip pip. Your 11 pipers piping arrives today from the House of Blues, second lining as dey got off de boat. We fixed stuffed goose and beef jambalaya, finished da whiskey and we having a fais-do-do. Da new mailman he drink a bottle of Jack Daniel an he having a good time yeah dancing with de floozies. Thibeau, he jump off de Sunshine Bridge yesterday, screaming your name. If you get a mysterious, ticking package in de mail, doan open it. Day 12: Dear Boudreaux, I sorry to tell ya but I not your true love no more, me. After da fais-do-do, I spent de night with Jacque, de head piper. We decide to open a restaurant and gentleman's club on de bayou. The floozies, pardon me, Ladies dancing can make $20 for a table dance, and de Lords can be waiters an valet park de boats. Since de maids doan have no more cows ta milk, I trained dem ta set my crab traps, watch my trotlines, an run my shrimping business. We will probably gross a million clams nex year. |
| Go to top of page December 13 Dear Love, How sweet of you to send the partridge! What a darling you are. I love you, my precious one. And the pear tree-how thoughtful! Love, Karen December 14 Dear Tommy, Those two turtle doves are absolutely the sweetest little birds I have ever seen! Cooing in their golden cage, they're a perfect complement to the partridge. You're a darling, sweet man. Love, Karen December 15 Dearest Tom, You really were sweet to send me still another gift, and you are such a kidder. Three more birds! Who else would have thought to send someone three French hens to go with her two turtle doves and a partridge. They will be a bit of trouble to clean up after, but since they're from you, I guess they're worth it. Love, Karen December 16 Dear Tom, What a sense of humor, ha, ha! Four calling birds, giving me a total of ten birds in a studio apartment here I wasn't supposed to have pets at all. The racket really is too much. They don't call them calling birds" for nothing, you know. They set off the French hens, and now the turtle doves are cooing round the clock. The partridge looks sick. Thanks again, I guess. Love, Karen December 17 Dearest Tommy, Now I see what all this has been leading up to: five golden rings! I had no idea you cared so much and I am overwhelmed by your lovely gift. I hardly care about the feathers and the seeds on my carpet or the mess the French hens are making. Naturally you won't want to send me any more gifts. But I shall always treasure your thoughtfulness and your love in giving me the rings. All my love, Karen December 18 Dear Tom, Not funny, Tom. Your six geese a-laying have nearly ruined my bathroom, and I don't even eat eggs. Now that you've had your little joke, I hope you'll come and take them off my hands before the neighbors complain. Love, Karen December 19 Tom, Come and get these seven swans out of my bathtub or we're finished. It was bad enough to have 16 birds in the apartment, but the swans are splashing water all over the bathroom and it's turning the goose shit into a stinking lake. The carpet is badly stained. I can't call Animal Control because I'm embarrassed about the mess. Get over here and help me out of this immediately. Karen December 20 Thomas, I can hardly write this because of the uproar from your eight maids a-milking and their 'damned cows. All your lovely birds are covered with cow shit. The maids are quarreling among themselves and I barely have enough money to buy hay. I don't know where you got these women, but if they aren't gone by tomorrow, I'm calling the police. I'd be evicted if my landlord weren't out of town. What are you trying to prove anyway? Karen December 21 Tom, you bastard, Nine ladies dancing would be bad enough, but these so-called ladies are STRANGE. When they're not dancing and breaking things, they're fighting with the milkmaids, putting on airs, and eating everything in the place. You can call it dancing if you want, but they'd get arrested in most nightclubs. It's disgusting. Three of them have been hurt slipping in the cow shit and one of them is chasing the French hens with a hatchet. I can't stand it another day; the chaos is driving me crazy. Karen December 22 You son of a bitch, You've gone too far. Ten lords a-leaping are now jumping all over the milkmaids. Two of the milkmaids have locked themselves in the bathroom in spite of the geese and swans and the racket and their slimy droppings. Have you ever seen lords a-leaping? They're gross! If you have any heart at all, you'll get the perverted bastards out of here. The partridge, I might add, is dead. I've lost the damned rings in the muck. I called the police but they laughed at me. I don't know where to turn. You know who! December 23 Mr. Thomas Furley: I suppose you'll be happy to know that eleven pipers piped their way into my apartment today and all hell broke loose. The noise stampeded the cows. They ran into the parking lot, injuring several neighbors who had come out to see what the noise was all about. Bird shit and bath water finally broke through the floor of the apartment and flooded the apartment downstairs. An Animal Control officer went after the cows but accidentally shot a leaping lord with his tranquilizer gun. One of the dancing ladies thinks she is pregnant. The milkmaids have taken over. One of them runs naked through the apartment complex. The geese and swans are in the swimming pool and the boys are throwing rocks at them. I was attacked by a leaping lord. The calling birds have pulled out most of my hair for nests, which they are building in the chandelier. I am so upset that I strangled the turtle doves. They were sweet, but I just couldn't take any more! The stench is unbearable. The air is filled with feathers. The pipers won't stop piping. All is lost, LOST, LOST! Your avowed enemy, Karen December 24 Mr. Furley: I am writing this on behalf of my client, Miss Karen Gudge, who is now under psychiatric care at Sunny Hills Hospital. Apparently your gift of twelve drummers drumming proved to be more than she could bear. A suit has been filed charging you with $400,000 in damages to an apartment complex and 37 persons, including an Animal Control officer who alleges that six vicious geese have deprived him of his virility. Joseph Monk, Attorney at Law PS...Have a Merry Christmas! |
| Go to top of page Memo to all elves: Effective immediately, the following economizing measures are being implemented in the "Twelve Days of Christmas" subsidiary: 1) The partridge will be retained, but the pear tree, which never produced the cash crop forecasted, will be replaced by a plastic hanging plant, providing considerable savings in maintenance; 2) Two turtle doves represent a redundancy that is simply not cost effective. In addition, their romance during working hours could not be condoned. The positions are, therefore, eliminated; 3) The three French hens will remain intact. After all, everyone loves the French; 4) The four calling birds will be replaced by an automated voice mail system, with a call waiting option. An analysis is underway to determine who the birds have been calling, how often and how long they talked; 5) The five golden rings have been put on hold by the Board of Directors. Maintaining a portfolio based on one commodity could have negative implications for institutional investors. Diversification into other precious metals, as well as a mix of T-Bills and high technology stocks, appear to be in order; 6) The six geese-a-laying constitutes a luxury which can no longer be afforded. It has long been felt that the production rate of one egg per goose per day was an example of the general decline in productivity. Three geese will be let go, and an upgrading in the selection procedure by personnel will assure management that, from now on, every goose it gets will be a good one; 7) The seven swans-a-swimming is obviously a number chosen in better times. The function is primarily decorative. Mechanical swans are on order. The current swans will be retrained to learn some new strokes, thereby enhancing their outplacement; 8) As you know, the eight maids-a-milking concept has been under heavy scrutiny by the EEOC. A male/female balance in the workforce is being sought. The more militant maids consider this a dead-end job with no upward mobility. Automation of the process may permit the maids to try a-mending, a-mentoring or a-mulching; 9) Nine ladies dancing has always been an odd number. This function will be phased out as these individuals grow older and can no longer do the steps; 10) Ten Lords-a-leaping is overkill. The high cost of Lords, plus the expense of international air travel, prompted the Compensation Committee to suggest replacing this group with ten out-of-work congressmen. While leaping ability may be somewhat sacrificed, the savings are significant as we expect an oversupply of unemployed congressmen this year; 11) Eleven pipers piping and twelve drummers drumming is a simple case of the band getting too big. A substitution with a string quartet, a cutback on new music, and no uniforms, will produce savings which will drop right to the bottom line; Overall we can expect a substantial reduction in assorted people, fowl, animals and related expenses. Though incomplete, studies indicate that stretching deliveries over twelve days is inefficient. If we can drop ship in one day, service levels will be improved. Regarding the lawsuit filed by the attorney's association seeking expansion to include the legal profession ("thirteen lawyers-a-suing"), a decision is pending. Deeper cuts may be necessary in the future to remain competitive. Should that happen, the Board will request management to scrutinize the Snow White Division to see if seven dwarfs is the right number. |
| Go to top of page The 12 "Bugs" of Christmas At the first bug of Christmas, my tech lead said to me See if they can do it again. At the second bug of Christmas, my tech lead said to me Ask them how they did it ... and See if they can do it again. At the third bug of Christmas, my tech lead said to me Try to reproduce it Ask them how they did it ... and See if they can do it again. At the fourth bug of Christmas, my tech lead said to me Run with the debugger Try to reproduce it Ask them how they did it ... and See if they can do it again. At the fifth bug of Christmas, my tech lead said to me *** ASK FOR A DUMP *** Run with the debugger Try to reproduce it Ask them how they did it ... and See if they can do it again. At the sixth bug of Christmas, my tech lead said to me Reinstall the software *** ASK FOR A DUMP *** Run with the debugger Try to reproduce it Ask them how they did it ... and See if they can do it again. At the seventh bug of Christmas, my tech lead said to me Say they need an upgrade Reinstall the software *** ASK FOR A DUMP *** Run with the debugger Try to reproduce it Ask them how they did it ... and See if they can do it again. At the eighth bug of Christmas, my tech lead said to me Find a way around it Say they need an upgrade Reinstall the software *** ASK FOR A DUMP *** Run with the debugger Try to reproduce it Ask them how they did it ... and See if they can do it again. At the ninth bug of Christmas, my tech lead said to me Blame it on the hardware Find a way around it Say they need an upgrade Reinstall the software *** ASK FOR A DUMP *** Run with the debugger Try to reproduce it Ask them how they did it ... and See if they can do it again. At the tenth bug of Christmas, my tech lead said to me Change the documentation Blame it on the hardware Find a way around it Say they need an upgrade Reinstall the software *** ASK FOR A DUMP *** Run with the debugger Try to reproduce it Ask them how they did it ... and See if they can do it again. At the eleventh bug of Christmas, my tech lead said to me Say it's not supported Change the documentation Blame it on the hardware Find a way around it Say they need an upgrade Reinstall the software *** ASK FOR A DUMP *** Run with the debugger Try to reproduce it Ask them how they did it ... and See if they can do it again. At the twelfth bug of Christmas, my tech lead said to me Tell them it's a feature Say it's not supported Change the documentation Blame it on the hardware Find a way around it Say they need an upgrade Reinstall the software *** ASK FOR A DUMP *** Run with the debugger Try to reproduce it Ask them how they did it ... and See if they can do it again. |
| Go to top of page Twas the night before crisis and all through the house, Not a program was working, not even a browse. The programmers were wrung out too mindless to care, Knowing chances of cutover hadn't a prayer. The users were nestled all snug in their beds, While visions of inquiries danced in their heads. When out in the lobby there arose such a clatter, I sprang from my tube to see what was the matter. And what to my wondering eyes should appear, But a super programmer, oblivious to fear. More rapid than eagles, his programs they came, And he whistled and shouted and called them by name. On Update! On Add! On Inquiry! On Delete! On Batch Jobs! On Closing! On Functions Complete! His eyes were glazed over, his fingers were lean, >From weekends and nights in front of a screen. A wink of his eye and a twist of his head, Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread. He spoke not a word, but went straight to work, Turning specs into code, then turned with a jerk. And laying his finger on the 'Enter' key, The system came up and worked perfectly. The updates updated, the deletes they deleted, The inquiries inquired, and the closing completed. He tested each whistle, and he tested each bell, With nary an abend and all had gone well. The system was finished, the tests were concluded, The client's last changes were even included. And the client exclaimed with a snarl and a taunt, It's just what we asked for, but it's not what we want. |
| Go to top of page 'Twas the Day AFTER Christmas 'Twas the day after Christmas, and all through the house, Every creature was hurtin,' even the mouse. The toys were all broken, their batteries dead; Santa passed out, with some ice on his head. Wrapping and ribbons just covered the floor, while Upstairs the family continued to snore. And I in my T-shirt, new Reeboks and jeans, I went into the kitchen and started to clean. When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter, I sprang from the sink to see what was the matter. Away to the window I flew like a flash, Tore open the curtains, and threw up the sash. When what to my wondering eyes should appear, But a little white truck, with an oversized mirror. The driver was smiling, so lively and grand; The patch on his jacket said "U.S. POSTMAN." With a handful of bills, he grinned like a fox Then quickly he stuffed them into our mailbox. Bill after bill, after bill, they still came. Whistling and shouting he called them by name: "Now Dillard's, now Broadway's, now Penney's and Sears' Here's Robinson's, Macys' and Target's and Mervyn's. To the tip of your limit, every store, every mall, Now charge away--charge away--charge away all!" He whooped and he whistled as he finished his work. He filled up the box, and then turned with a jerk. He sprang to his truck and he drove down the road, Driving much faster with just half a load. Then I heard him exclaim with great holiday cheer, "Enjoy what you got. . . . . .you'll be paying all year!" |
| Go to top of page Christmas......Mom Style Twas the night before Christmas, when all thru the abode Only one creature was stirring, & she was cleaning the commode. The children were finally sleeping, all snug in their beds, while visions of Nintendo 64 & Barbie, flipped through their heads. The dad was snoring in front of the TV, with a half-constructed bicycle propped on his knee. So only the mom heard the reindeer hooves clatter, which made her sigh, "Now what is the matter?" With toilet bowl brush still clutched in her hand, She descended the stairs, & saw the old man. He was covered with ashes & soot, which fell with a shrug, "Oh great," muttered the mom, "Now I have to clean the rug." "Ho Ho Ho!" cried Santa, "I'm glad you're awake." "Your gift was especially difficult to make." "Thanks, Santa, but all I want is time alone." "Exactly!" he chuckled, "So, I've made you a clone." "A clone?" she muttered, "What good is that?" "Run along, Santa, I've no time for chit chat." Then out walked the clone - The mother's twin, Same hair, same eyes, same double chin. "She'll cook, she'll dust, she'll mop every mess. You'll relax, take it easy, watch The Young & The Restless." "Fantastic!" the mom cheered. "My dream has come true!" "I'll shop, I'll read, I'll sleep a night through!" From the room above, the youngest did fret. "Mommy?! Come quickly, I'm scared & I'm wet." The clone replied, "I'm coming, sweetheart." "Hey," the mom smiled, "She sure knows her part." The clone changed the small one & hummed her tune, as she bundled the child in a blanket cocoon. "You're the best mommy ever. I really love you." The clone smiled & sighed, "And I love you, too." The mom frowned & said, "Sorry, Santa, no deal." That's my child's LOVE she is trying to steal." Smiling wisely Santa said, "To me it is clear, Only one loving mother is needed here." The mom kissed her child & tucked her in bed. "Thank You, Santa, for clearing my head. I sometimes forget, it won't be very long, when they'll be too old for my cradle & song." The clock on the mantle began to chime. Santa whispered to the clone, "It works every time." With the clone by his side Santa said "Goodnight. Merry Christmas, dear Mom, You will be all right." |
| Go to top of page 'Twas the night before Christmas and Santa's a wreck. How to live in a world that's politically correct? His workers no longer would answer to Elves, Vertically Challenged they were calling themselves. And labor conditions at the north pole Were alleged by the union to stifle the soul. Four reindeer had vanished, without much propriety, Released to the wilds by the Humane Society. And equal employment had made it quite clear That Santa had better not use just reindeer. So Dancer and Donner, Comet and Cupid, Were replaced with 4 pigs, and you know that looked stupid! The runners had been removed from his sleigh; The ruts were termed dangerous by the E. P. A. And people had started to call for the cops When they heard sled noises on their rooftops. Secondhand smoke from his pipe had his workers quite frightened. His fur trimmed red suit was called Unenlightened. And to show you the strangeness of life's ebbs and flows, Rudolf was suing over unauthorized use of his nose. He had gone on Geraldo, in front of the nation, Demanding millions in overdue compensation. So, half of the reindeer were gone; and his wife, Who suddenly said she'd enough of this life, Joined a self-help group, packed, and left in a whiz, Demanding from now on her title was Ms. And as for the gifts, why, he'd ne'er had a notion That making a choice could cause so much commotion. Nothing of leather, nothing of fur, Which meant nothing for him. And nothing for her. Nothing that might be construed to pollute. Nothing to aim. Nothing to shoot. Nothing that clamored or made lots of noise. Nothing for just girls. Or just for the boys. Nothing that claimed to be gender specific. Nothing that's warlike or non-pacific. No candy or sweets, they were bad for the tooth. Nothing that seemed to embellish a truth. And fairy tales, while not yet forbidden, Were like Ken and Barbie, better off hidden. For they raised the hackles of those psychological Who claimed the only good gift was one ecological. No baseball, no football; someone could get hurt; Besides, playing sports exposed kids to dirt. Dolls were said to be sexist, and should be passe; And Nintendo would rot your entire brain away. So Santa just stood there, disheveled, perplexed; He just could not figure out what to do next. He tried to be merry, tried to be gay, But you've got to be careful with that word today. His sack was quite empty, limp to the ground; Nothing fully acceptable was to be found. Something special was needed, a gift that he might Give to all without angering the left or the right. A gift that would satisfy, with no indecision, Each group of people, every religion; Every ethnicity, every hue, Everyone, everywhere, even you. So here is that gift, it's priced beyond worth. May you and your loved ones enjoy peace on earth. |
| Go to top of page 'Twas the month after Christmas, and all through the house Not a garment would fit me, not even a blouse. The cookies I'd nibble, the eggnog I'd taste At those holiday parties went straight to my waist. When I got on the scales there arose such a number! I walked to the store (less a walk than a lumber) And thought of 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 that I'd never said, "No thank you, please." When I put on my extra-large husband's old shirt And prepared once again to do batle with dirt-- I said to myself, as only I can, "You can't spend the winter disguised as a man!" So--away with the last of the sour cream dip! Go, fruitcake! Go, cookies! Go, cracker and chip! Each last bit of food that I like must be banished 'Till all the additional ounces have vanished. I won't have that ice cream, not even a lick; I'll chew only on a long celery stick. I won't have hot biscuits, or cornbread, 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! |
| Go to top of page MEMO FROM; Pat Lewis, Human Resources Director TO: Everyone RE: Christmas Party DATE: December 1 I'm happy to inform you that the company Christmas Party will take place on December 23, starting at noon in the banquet room at Luigi's Open Pit Barbecue. No-host bar, but plenty of eggnog! We'll have a small band playing traditional carols...feel free to sing along. And don't be surprised if our CEO shows up dressed as Santa Claus! FROM; Pat Lewis, Human Resources Director DATE: December 2 RE: Christmas Party In no way was yesterday's memo intended to exclude our Jewish employees. We recognize that Chanukah is an important holiday which often coincides with Christmas, though unfortunately not this year. However, from now on, we're calling it our "Holiday Party". FROM; Pat Lewis, Human Resources Director DATE: December 3 RE: Holiday Party Regarding the note I received from a member of Alcoholics Anonymous requesting a non-drinking table...you didn't sign your name. I'm happy to accommodate this request, but I can't put a sign on a table that reads, "AA Only"; you wouldn't be anonymous anymore. How am I supposed to handle this? Somebody? FROM; Pat Lewis, Human Resources Director DATE: December 7 RE: Holiday Party What a diverse company we are! I had no idea that December 20 begins the Muslim holy month of Ramadan, which forbids eating, drinking and sex during daylight hours. There goes the party! Seriously, we can appreciate how a luncheon this time of year does not accommodate our Muslim employees' beliefs. Perhaps Luigi's can hold off on serving your meal until the end of the party...the days are so short this time of year...or else package everything for take-home in little foil swans. Will that work? Meanwhile, I've arranged for members of Overeaters Anonymous to sit furthest from the dessert buffet and pregnant women will get the table closest to the restrooms. FROM; Pat Lewis, Human Resources Director DATE: December 8 RE: Holiday Party So December 22 marks the Winter Solstice...what do you expect me to do, a tap-dance on your heads? Fire regulations at Luigi's prohibit the burning of sage by our earth-based, Goddess-worshipping employees, but we'll try to accommodate your shamanic drumming circle during the band's breaks. Okay??? FROM; Pat Lewis, Human Resources Director Date: December 9 RE: Holiday Party People, people, nothing sinister was intended by having our CEO dress up like Santa Claus! Even if the anagram of "Santa" does happen to be "Satan", there is no evil connotation to our own "little man in a red suit". It's a tradition, folks, like sugar shock at Halloween or family feuds over the Thanksgiving turkey or broken hearts on Valentine's Day. Could we lighten up? FROM; Pat Lewis, Human Resources Director DATE: December 10 RE: Holiday Party Vegetarians!?!?!? I've had it with you people!!! We're going to keep this party at Luigi's Open Pit Barbecue whether you like it or not, so you can sit quietly at the table farthest from the "grill of death", as you so quaintly put it, and you'll get your #$%^&*! salad bar, including hydroponic tomatoes...but you know, tomatoes have feelings, too. Tomatoes scream when you slice them...I've heard them scream, I'm hearing them scream right now...! FROM: Teri Bishops, Acting Human Resources Director DATE: December 14 RE: Pat Lewis and Holiday Party I'm sure I speak for all of us in wishing Pat Lewis a speedy recovery from her stress-related illness and I'll continue to forward your cards to her at the sanatarium. In the meantime, management has decided to cancel the Holiday party and give everyone the afternoon of the 23rd off with full pay. Happy Chanue-Kwanzaa-Solsti-Rama-Mas! |
| Go to top of page I think Santa Claus is a woman.... I hate to be the one to defy sacred myth, but I believe he's a she. Think about it. Christmas is a big, organized, warm, fuzzy, nurturing social deal, and I have a tough time believing a guy could possibly pull it all off! For starters, the vast majority of men don't even think about selecting gifts until Christmas Eve. It's as if they are all frozen in some kind of Ebenezerian Time Warp until 3 p.m. on Dec. 24th, when they - with amazing calm - call other errant men and plan for a last-minute shopping spree. Once at the mall, they always seem surprised to find only Ronco products, socket wrench sets, and mood rings left on the shelves. (You might think this would send them into a fit of panic and guilt, but my husband tells me it's an enormous relief because it lessens the 11th hour decision-making burden.) On this count alone, I'm convinced Santa is a woman. Surely, if he were a man, everyone in the universe would wake up Christmas morning to find a rotating musical Chia Pet under the tree, still in the bag. Another problem for a he-Santa would be getting there. First of all, there would be no reindeer because they would all be dead, gutted and strapped on to the rear bumper of the sleigh amid wide-eyed, desperate claims that buck season had been extended. Blitzen's rack would already be on the way to the taxidermist. Even if the male Santa DID have reindeer, he'd still have transportation problems because he would inevitably get lost up there in the snow and clouds and then refuse to stop and ask for directions. Add to this the fact that there would be unavoidable delays in the chimney, where the Bob Vila-like Santa would stop to inspect and repoint bricks in the flue. He would also need to check for carbon monoxide fumes in every gas fireplace, and get under every Christmas tree that is crooked to straighten it to a perfectly upright 90-degree angle. Other reasons why Santa can't possibly be a man: * Men can't pack a bag. * Men would rather be dead than caught wearing red velvet. * Men would feel their masculinity is threatened...having to be seen with all those elves. * Men don't answer their mail. * Men would refuse to allow their physique to be described even in jest as anything remotely resembling a "bowlful of jelly." * Men aren't interested in stockings unless somebody's wearing them. * Having to do the Ho Ho Ho thing would seriously inhibit their ability to pick up women. * Finally, being responsible for Christmas would require a commitment. I can buy the fact that other mythical holiday characters are men.... Father Time shows up once a year unshaven and looking ominous. Definite guy. Cupid flies around carrying weapons. Uncle Sam is a politician who likes to point fingers. Any one of these individuals could pass the testosterone screening test. But not St. Nick. Not a chance. As long as we have each other, good will, peace on earth, faith and Nat King Cole's version of "The Christmas Song," it probably makes little difference what gender Santa is. I just wish she'd quit dressing like a guy!!! |
| Go to top of page Dear Darling Son and That Person You Married: Merry Christmas to you and please don't worry. I'm just fine considering that I can't breathe or eat. The important thing is that you have a nice holiday, thousands of miles away from your ailing mother. I've sent along my last ten dollars in this card, which I hope you'll spend on my grandchildren. God knows their mother never buys them anything nice. They look so thin in their pictures, poor babies. Thank you so much for the Christmas flowers, dear boy. I put them in the freezer so they'll stay fresh for my grave. Which reminds me -- we buried Grandma last week. I know she died years ago, but I got to yearning for a good funeral so Aunt Viola and I dug her up and had the services all over again. I would have invited you but I know that woman you live with would have never let you come. I bet she's never even watched that videotape of my hemorrhoid surgery, has she? Well son, it's time for me to crawl off to bed now. I lost my cane beating off muggers last week, but don't you worry about me. I'm also getting used to the cold since they turned my heat off and am grateful because the frost on my bed numbs the constant pain. Now don't you even think about sending any more money because I know you need it for those expensive family vacations you take every year. Give my love to my darling grandbabies and my regards to whatever-her-name-is -- the one with the black roots who stole you screaming from my bosom. Merry Christmas. Love, Mom |
| Go to top of page A minister of a city church enjoyed a few drinks, but his special passion was for peach brandy. One of his congregants would make him a bottle each Christmas. One year, when the minister went to visit his friend, hoping for his usual Christmas present, he was not disappointed, but his friend told him that he had to thank him for the peach brandy from the pulpit the next Sunday. In his haste to get the bottle, the minister hurriedly agreed and left. So the next Sunday the minister suddenly remembered that he had to make a public announcement that he was being supplied alcohol from a member of the church. That morning, his friend sat in the church with a grin on his face, waiting to see the minister's embarrassment. The minister climbed into the pulpit and said, "Before we begin, I have an announcement. I would very much like to thank my friend, Joe, for his kind gift of peaches... and for the spirit in which they were given!" |
| Go to top of page Please accept with no obligation, implied or implicit, our best wishes for an environmentally conscious, socially responsible, low stress, non-addictive, gender neutral celebration of the winter solstice holiday, practiced within the most enjoyable traditions of the religious persuasion of your choice, or secular practices of your choice, with respect for the religious/secular persuasions and/or traditions of others, or their choice not to practice religious or secular traditions at all. May you have a fiscally successful, personally fulfilling, and medically uncomplicated recognition of the onset of the generally accepted calendar year 2000, but not without due respect for the calendars of choice of other cultures whose contributions to society have helped make America great, (not to imply that America is necessarily greater than any other country or is the only 'AMERICA" in the western hemisphere), and without regard to the race, creed, color, age, physical ability, religious faith, choice of computer platform, or sexual orientation of the wishee. By accepting this greeting, you are accepting these terms. This greeting is subject to clarification or withdrawal. It is freely transferable with no alteration to the original greeting. It implies no promise by the wisher to actually implement any of the wishes for her/himself or others, and is void where prohibited by law, and is revocable at the sole discretion of the wisher. This wish is warranted to perform as expected within the usual application of good tidings for a period of one year, or until the issuance of a subsequent holiday greeting, whichever comes first, and warranty is limited to replacement of this wish or issuance of a new wish at the sole discretion of the wisher. Respectfully: HERNANDEZ, BERNSTEIN, O'BANNON, KOWALSKY, LUMUMBA |