CafeOutdoors.com The way it was...the way it always will be!!!

Miscellaneous Stuff >> Swampfox's Joke Section

Pages: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | >> (show all)
SwampFoxModerator
member
***

Reged: 12/13/05
Posts: 7970
Loc: Mid Mo

Re: Christmas Jokes [Re: SwampFox]
      #74814 - 12/24/06 07:52 PM


Audio: The 12 Days Of Kawanza

--------------------
"Being deeply learned and skilled, being well trained and using well spoken words; this is good luck."


Post Extras: Print Post   Remind Me!   Notify Moderator  
SwampFoxModerator
member
***

Reged: 12/13/05
Posts: 7970
Loc: Mid Mo

Re: Christmas Jokes [Re: SwampFox]
      #74875 - 12/25/06 06:32 PM

Test

--------------------
"Being deeply learned and skilled, being well trained and using well spoken words; this is good luck."


Post Extras: Print Post   Remind Me!   Notify Moderator  
SwampFoxModerator
member
***

Reged: 12/13/05
Posts: 7970
Loc: Mid Mo

Re: Christmas Jokes [Re: SwampFox]
      #75299 - 12/28/06 09:12 AM


Rare Exports

--------------------
"Being deeply learned and skilled, being well trained and using well spoken words; this is good luck."


Post Extras: Print Post   Remind Me!   Notify Moderator  
SwampFoxModerator
member
***

Reged: 12/13/05
Posts: 7970
Loc: Mid Mo

Re: Christmas Jokes [Re: SwampFox]
      #77097 - 01/04/07 07:04 PM

ONIONS AND CHRISTMAS TREES

A family is at the dinner table.The son asks his father, "Dad, how many kinds of boobs are >there?
The father, surprised, answers, "Well, son, there are three kinds of breasts.
In her 20s, a woman's breasts are like melons, round and firm. In her 30s to 40s, they are like >pears, still nice but hanging a bit.
After 50, they are like onions".
"Onions?"
"Yes, you see them and they make you cry."
This infuriated his wife and daughter so the daughter said, "Mum, how many kinds of 'willies' >are there?
"The mother, surprised, smiles and answers, "Well dear, a man goes through three phases.
In his 20s, his willy is like an oak tree, mighty and hard. In his 30s and 40s, it is like a birch, >flexible but reliable.
After his 50s, it is like a Christmas tree". "A Christmas tree?"
"Yes - dead from the root up and the balls are just for decoration."

--------------------
"Being deeply learned and skilled, being well trained and using well spoken words; this is good luck."


Post Extras: Print Post   Remind Me!   Notify Moderator  
SwampFoxModerator
member
***

Reged: 12/13/05
Posts: 7970
Loc: Mid Mo

Re: Christmas Jokes [Re: SwampFox]
      #89999 - 03/25/07 05:29 AM


Full Metal Christmas

--------------------
"Being deeply learned and skilled, being well trained and using well spoken words; this is good luck."


Post Extras: Print Post   Remind Me!   Notify Moderator  
SwampFoxModerator
member
***

Reged: 12/13/05
Posts: 7970
Loc: Mid Mo

Re: Christmas Jokes [Re: SwampFox]
      #107803 - 08/06/07 01:55 PM

I heard of a girl with a Christmas wreath tatooed around here right thigh and "Happy New Year" tatooed around her left thigh.
Friendly sort too. Always inviting people over to visit between the holidays.

--------------------
"Being deeply learned and skilled, being well trained and using well spoken words; this is good luck."


Post Extras: Print Post   Remind Me!   Notify Moderator  
Mel
member
**

Reged: 12/14/05
Posts: 6896
Loc: Excelsior Springs, MO

Re: Christmas Jokes [Re: SwampFox]
      #107808 - 08/06/07 02:36 PM

And, I suppose that more than a few fellows got a present that penicillin wouldn't cure?

--------------------
Member DU, Delta

Forgive your enemies, but never forget their names - John Kennedy


Post Extras: Print Post   Remind Me!   Notify Moderator  
SwampFoxModerator
member
***

Reged: 12/13/05
Posts: 7970
Loc: Mid Mo

Re: Christmas Jokes [Re: Mel]
      #107830 - 08/06/07 04:24 PM

I think she insisted that all presents be wraped.

--------------------
"Being deeply learned and skilled, being well trained and using well spoken words; this is good luck."


Post Extras: Print Post   Remind Me!   Notify Moderator  
SwampFoxModerator
member
***

Reged: 12/13/05
Posts: 7970
Loc: Mid Mo

Re: Christmas Jokes [Re: SwampFox]
      #132409 - 12/22/07 04:04 PM

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 characters are men ...



* Father Time shows up once a year unshaven and looking ominous.
Definite guy.



* Cupid flies around carrying weapons.
Guy



* Uncle Sam is a politician who likes to point fingers.
Ditto



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.

--------------------
"Being deeply learned and skilled, being well trained and using well spoken words; this is good luck."


Post Extras: Print Post   Remind Me!   Notify Moderator  
SwampFoxModerator
member
***

Reged: 12/13/05
Posts: 7970
Loc: Mid Mo

Re: Christmas Jokes [Re: SwampFox]
      #132464 - 12/23/07 01:24 PM

Italina Christmas Eve---Now this is funny...

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I thought it would be a nice idea to bring a date to my parents' house on Christmas Eve.

I thought it would be interesting for a non-Italian girl to see how an Italian family spends the holidays.

I thought my mother and my date would hit it off like partridges and pear trees.....I was wrong!

I had only known Karen for three weeks when I extended the invitation.

"I know these family things can be a little weird," I told her, "but my folks are great, and we always have a lot of fun on Christmas Eve."

"Sounds fine to me," Karen said.

I told my mother I'd be bringing Karen with me.

"She's a very nice girl and she's really looking forward to meeting all of you."

"Sounds fine to me," my mother said.

And that was that.

Two telephone calls. Two sounds-fine-to-me.

What more could I want?

I should point out, I suppose, that in Italian households, Christmas Eve is the social event of the season -- an Italian woman's reason for living. She cleans. She cooks. She bakes. She orchestrates every minute of the entire evening. Christmas Eve is what Italian women live for.

I should also point out, I suppose, that when it comes to the kind of women that make Italian men go nuts, Karen is it. She doesn't clean. She doesn't cook. She doesn't bake. And she has the largest breasts I have ever seen on a human being!

I brought her anyway.

7 p.m. -- we arrive.

Karen and I walk in and putter around for half an hour waiting for the other guests to show up.

During that half hour, my mother grills Karen like cheeseburger on the barbecue determines that Karen does not clean, cook, or bake.

My father is equally observant.

He pulls me into the living room and notes, "She has the largest breasts I have ever seen on a human being!"

7:30 p.m. - Others arrive.

Zio Giovanni walks in with my Zia Maria, assorted kids, assorted gifts.

We sit around the dining room table for antipasto, a symmetrically composed platter of lettuce, roasted peppers, black olives, anchovies and cheese....no meat of course.

When I offer to make Karen's plate she says, "No Thank you." She points to the anchovies with a look of disgust....

"You don't like anchovies?" I ask.

"I don't like fish, Karen announces to one and all as 67 other varieties of seafood are baking, broiling and simmering in the next room.

My mother makes the sign of the cross.

Things are getting uncomfortable.

Zia Maria asks Karen what her family eats on Christmas Eve.

Karen says, "Knockwurst."

My father, who is still staring in a daze, at Karen's chest, temporarily snaps out of it to murmur, "Knockers?"

My mother kicks him so hard he gets a blood clot.

None of this is turning out the way I'd hoped.

8:00 p.m. - Second course.

The spaghetti and crab sauce is on the way to the table.

Karen declines the crab sauce and says she'll make her own with butter and ketchup.

My mother asks me to join her in the kitchen.

I take my "Merry Christmas" napkin from my lap, place it on the "Merry Christmas" tablecloth and walk into the kitchen.

"I don't want to start any trouble," my mother sa ys calmly, clutching a bottle of ketchup in her hands. "But if she pours this on my pasta, I'm going to throw acid in her face."

"Come on," I tell her.

"It's Christmas. Let her eat what she wants."

My mother considers the situation, then nods.

As I turn to walk back into the dining room, she grabs my shoulder. "Tell me the truth," she says, "are you serious with this tramp?"

"She's not a tramp," I reply. "And I've only known her for three weeks." "Well, it's your life," she tells me, "but if you marry her, she'll poison you."

8:30 p.m. - More fish.

My stomach is knotted like one of those macrame plant hangers that are always three times larger than the plants they hold.

All the women get up to clear away the spaghetti dishes, except for Karen, who, instead, lights a cigarette.

"Why don't you give them a little hand?" I politely suggest. Karen makes a face and walks into the kitchen carrying three forks. "Dear, you don't have to do that," my mother tells her, smiling painfully. "Oh, okay," Karen says, putting the forks on the sink. As she reenters the dining room, a wine glass flies over her head, and smashes against the wall. >From the kitchen, my mother says, "Whoops."

More fish comes out. After some goading, Karen tries a piece of scungilli, which she describes as "slimy, like worms." My mother winces, bites her hand and pounds her chest like one of those old women you always see in the sixth row of a funeral home.

Zia Maria does the same. Karen, believing that this is something that all Italian women do on Christmas Eve, bites her hand and pounds her chest. My Zio Giovanni doesn't know what to make of it. My father's dentures fall out and chew a six-inch gash in the tablecloth.

10:00 pm. - Coffee, dessert.

Espresso all around . A little anisette. A curl of lemon peel. When Karen asks for milk, my mother finally slaps her in the face with a cannoli. I guess it had to happen sooner or later.

Karen, believing that this is something that all Italian women do on Christmas Eve, picks up a cannoli and slaps my mother with it.

"This is fun," Karen says.

Time passes and believe it or not, everyone is laughing and smiling and filled with good cheer -- even my mother, who grabs me by the shoulder, laughs and says,

"Get this biatch out of my house."

Sounds fine to me.

THE END

--------------------
"Being deeply learned and skilled, being well trained and using well spoken words; this is good luck."


Post Extras: Print Post   Remind Me!   Notify Moderator  
SwampFoxModerator
member
***

Reged: 12/13/05
Posts: 7970
Loc: Mid Mo

Re: Christmas Jokes [Re: SwampFox]
      #132465 - 12/23/07 01:33 PM


The Christmas Hatchet

Patrick F McManus

The best evidence I've been able to come up with that the human race is increasing in intelligence is that parents no longer give their kids hatchets for Christmas.
When I was a boy the hatchet was a Christmas gift commonly bestowed upon male children. In an attempt to cover up their lapse of sanity, parents would tell their offspring, "Now don't chop anything."
By the time this warning was out of mouths, the kid would have already whacked two branches off the Christmas tree and be adding a second set of notches to one of his new Lincoln logs.
It was not that the kid harbored a gene compelling him to be destructive. The problem was with the hatchet, which had a will of its own. As soon as the kid activated it by grasping the handle, the hatchet took charge of his mental processes and pretty much ran the show from then on.
Shortly after Christmas the kid would be making frequent trips to the woodshed with his father, and not to chop wood either.
"The hatchet did it!" the kid would yell as he was being dragged toward the woodshed by his shirt collar. I was just walking through the gate and my hatchet leaped out and chopped the post!"
Some kids were gullible enough to try the old George Washington cherry tree ploy. "I did it with my own little hatchet," they would confess.
"I know," their father would say. "Now haul your rear end out to the woodshed!"
The moral most of my friends and I drew from the cherry tree story wasn't that George Washington was so honest but that his father was a bit slow. This showed that even a kid with a dumb father could grow up to be President.
The average length of time a kid was allowed to remain in possession of his hatchet was forty-eight hours. By then the hatchet would have produced approximately sixty bushels of wood chips, eight hundred hack marks, and a bad case of hysteria for the kid's mother. The youngster would be unceremoniously stripped of his hatchet, even as its blade fell hungrily on a clothesline post or utility pole, and be told that he could have it back when he was "older" by which was meant age twenty-seven.
Kids now probably wouldn't understand the appeal hatchets held for youngsters of my generation. If a kid today received a hatchet for Christmas, he would ask, "Where do you put the batteries?" He would have no inkling of the romance of the hatchet and what it symbolized to boys of an earlier time, presumably all the way back to George Washington.
In the time and place of my childhood, woodcraft still loomed large in the scheme of a man's life. A man sawed and split firewood for the home, of course, but more important, he could take care of himself in the woods. He could build log cabins and lean-tos and foot-bridges, chop up a log to feed a campfire, fell poles to pitch a tent on or to hoist up a deer or to make a stretcher to haul out of the woods the person who wasn't that good with his ax.
One of the best things you could say about a man back then was that he was a good woodsman. Being good woodsman seemed to erase a lot of other character flaws.
"Shorty may have some faults," one man might say, "but I'll tell you this-he's a good woodsman!"
"Yep," someone else would observe. "Shorty is a fine woodsman, all right. If he made it to the mountains, I reckon it'll take the posse a month to root him out."
The ax was the primary tool of the woodsman. If he wished, a woodsman could go off into the woods with an ax and provide heat and shelter for himself and live a life of freedom and independence and dignity and not be at anyone's beck and call or have to comb his hair or take baths. Not that I recall anyone ever fleeing to the woods, not even Shorty, who was nabbed sitting on a barstool at Beaky's Tavern, still a long way from the mountains. But it was the idea! If you were good with an ax and a gun, of course, and a knife, you could always fall back to the mountains. What it was all about, underneath, was the potential for freedom, not the jived-up freedom of patriotic speeches but real freedom, one-to-one-ratio freedom, where man plucks his living directly from Nature. Of course, sometimes Nature plucks back, but that's not part of this dream, this vision, as symbolized by the Christmas hatchet.
I first realized I needed a hatchet when I was five years old and my mother read me stories about the pioneers chopping out little clearings in the great forests of the land. Ah, I thought, how satisfying it would be to chop out a clearing, to chop anything, for that matter. My campaign for a hatchet began immediately and achieved fruition on my eighth Christmas. Although I wasn't allowed to touch any of the presents before Christmas Eve, I had spotted one package that bore the general shape of a hatchet. Still, I couldn't be sure, because my mother was a clever and deceptive woman, once wrapping a new pair of longjohns to look like an electric train. Was she pulling a fast one on me this time or had she truly lost her senses and bought me a hatchet?
It turned out to be a hatchet, a little red job with a hefty handle and a cutting edge dull as a licorice stick. Even as I unwrapped it, I could feel all the thousands of little chops throbbing about inside, pleading to be turned loose on the world.
"Now don't chop anything," my mother said.
Within minutes, I had honed a razor edge onto the hatchet and was overcome with a terrible compulsion to chop. Forty-eight hours later, the hatchet was wrenched from my grasp and hidden away, presumably to be returned to me sometime after I had children of my own.
A few days after Christmas I learned that my friend Crazy Eddie Muldoon, who lived on the farm next to ours, had also received a Christmas hatchet.
"Where is it?" I asked. "Let's go chop something."
"Uh, I got it put away," Crazy Eddie said. "Let's use yours."
"Uh, I loaned mine to my cousin for a while," I replied. "He said, 'You don't have a hatchet I can borrow, do you?' and I said, 'Sure."'
"Sure," said Crazy Eddie, who was only crazy part of the time.
As good luck would have it, an epidemic of permissiveness swept the county the following summer and both Eddie and I regained possession of our respective hatchets. There were still plenty of chops left in the hatchets and the two of us wandered off down to our woodlot in search of a suitable recipient.
A large tamarack soared up uselessly on the edge of the woodlot, and Crazy Eddie said maybe it would be a good idea if we built an empty space in the sky where it was standing. As it happened, I had long nourished desire to yell "Timberrrrrr! " at the very moment I sent a mammoth of the forest crashing to the ground.
"Your folks can use it for firewood," Crazy Eddie said, in an attempt to explain his motive for felling the tamarack. But I knew he too yearned to hear the thunder of a great tree dashed to earth; he, as much as I, was into chopping for the pure aesthetics of the thing.
We spent all day chopping away at the tamarack, with Eddie on one side, me on the other, our hatchets sounding like slow but determined woodpeckers. At noon I went home for lunch.
"What are you boys up to?" my mother asked, with no great show of interest.
"Chopping down a big tree."
"That's nice," Mom said. "Don't fight."
After lunch, Crazy Eddie and I were back at the tree again, chipping out a huge U-shaped gouge all the way around its circumference. We were both exhausted, sweating, standing in chips up to our knees, but we could see now it was possible to accomplish the task we had set for ourselves. The tree began to moan and creak ominously as the hatchets bit into its heartwood. By late afternoon the huge tamarack stood precariously balanced on a gnawed core of wood slightly thicker than a hatchet handle.
Neither Crazy Eddie nor I had the slightest clue as to the direction in which the tree might fall, which heightened our anticipation with the added element of suspense. We took turns charging up to the tree, whacking out a quick chip, and then dashing back to relative safety.
Suddenly we heard it: the faint, soft sigh that signaled the tree's unconditional surrender to our Christmas hatchets. A silence fell upon the land. High above us the boughs of the tamarack rustled. Crazy Eddie and I shivered happily. We had accomplished something momentous!
Crrrrrraaa ... went the tree, beginning a slow tilt. We were now able to determine the direction of its fall, which wasn't particularly good. Eddie's father, a short while before, had built a fence between our woodlot and theirs and now, even though I had not yet studied plane geometry, I was able to calculate with considerable accuracy that the tree would neatly intersect the fence at right angles.
"You better yell 'timber,"' Crazy Eddie said, his voice trembling.
"Timmmm . . . " I started to cry. Then we heard another cry. It was that of Eddie's father, who had come down to the woodlot to call him to supper.
"Eddieeeee!" his father called. "Crazy Eddieee! It's time for supperrrrr!"
Cr-r-r-r-a-a-a-a-A-A-A-A-ACK! went the tree.
"Eddieee!" went Eddie's father. "EddieeEEEEEE!"
The monstrous tamarack smote the earth with a thunderous roar, rising above which was the twanging hum of barbwire. Fence posts shot into the air fifty yards away. Eddie's father shot into the air fifty feet away.
"Bleeping bleep of a bleep! screamed Eddie's father, introducing me to that quaint expression for the first time.
There is an old saying that cutting firewood warms you twice: once when you chop it and once when you burn it. Well, chopping down that tamarack warmed Eddie and me three times, and one of those warmings was a good deal hotter than when the wood burned.
I learned a good many things from felling that tamarack with my Christmas hatchet, perhaps the most interesting of which is that a barbwire fence is regarded by its builder as merely a barbwire fence until a tree falls on it. Afterward it is looked back upon as a priceless work of art, surpassed in beauty and grandeur only by the Taj Mahal.
My Christmas hatchet disappeared immediately after the great tree-felling but surfaced again a few years later when I was old enough to conduct my own camping trips. Much to my surprise, I discovered the hatchet was almost useless for cutting wood. It was as if Excalibur had been reduced to a putty knife.
The very next Christmas, I gave my little cousin Delbert the hatchet as a present.
"Wow!" he said. A real hatchet of my own! Thanks a lot!"
"You're welcome!" I shouted after him as he raced away, homing in on a stand of shrubs in his backyard. "But don't chop anything!"

--------------------
"Being deeply learned and skilled, being well trained and using well spoken words; this is good luck."


Post Extras: Print Post   Remind Me!   Notify Moderator  
SwampFoxModerator
member
***

Reged: 12/13/05
Posts: 7970
Loc: Mid Mo

Re: Christmas Jokes [Re: SwampFox]
      #133291 - 12/28/07 09:25 PM

A little musical christmas humor...

Straight No Chaser - 12 Days

--------------------
"Being deeply learned and skilled, being well trained and using well spoken words; this is good luck."


Post Extras: Print Post   Remind Me!   Notify Moderator  
SwampFoxModerator
member
***

Reged: 12/13/05
Posts: 7970
Loc: Mid Mo

Re: Christmas Jokes [Re: SwampFox]
      #133330 - 12/29/07 01:05 PM

From the LawDog files...


Friday, December 28, 2007
Holiday cheer
By way of e-mail, my friend Peter sends some news to warm the cockroaches of our hearts:

Tactical advice for those intending to rob the Santa-Claus-outfit-wearing Salvation Army volunteers at shopping malls.

1. In this part of the country, those Santa's are rednecks. Large rednecks. With an attitude to match.

2. When you and your homie stick a gun in Santa's face and demand, "Gimme the bucket!" he might take you precisely and exactly at your word. Literally.

3. As you watch your homie lying on the ground, bucket over his head and Santa stomping it flat onto his (unlovely) features, it's not a good idea to forget that you're within grabbing range of Santa - or to let your gun hand sag to your side.

4. Failure to observe #3 above will result in an infuriated Santa holding your head in an armlock under his left arm while, with his right hand, he beats you heavily over the bonce with his festive Christmas bell. This musical accompaniment, whilst no carol, is nevertheless pleasing to the bystanders' ears. The same might be said about your screams.

5. When passing shoppers stop, gather around and start applauding Santa's actions, it's not a good idea to yell at them that they're mother[deleted] [deleted] and beg them to make this [deleted] stop hitting you. This may - nay, gentle reader, this WILL - encourage some of them to offer to help Santa with the hitting . . . and encourage him to accept their offer.

6. When responding cops arrive, rush up to the scene with guns drawn, and promptly sag to the ground in hysterics while ignoring your pleas for help, it's not a good idea to swear at them in words of distinctly non-festive hue. This will result in their handling the rest of your interaction in a less than sympathetic manner (drawing further cheers from the by now numerous onlookers).

7. As you languish (with your battered homie) in the back of an ambulance, both of you being treated by the medics for bleeding from the head, it's particularly galling to see Santa's now somewhat battered bucket being filled to overflowing by cheering shoppers and the responding police officers, all of whom seem rather in a rather more more festive and cheerful mood now than they did before you made your move.

8. And a merry Redneck Christmas to both of you, idiots. Ho-ho-ho.

*gigglesnort*

LawDog

--------------------
"Being deeply learned and skilled, being well trained and using well spoken words; this is good luck."


Post Extras: Print Post   Remind Me!   Notify Moderator  
SwampFoxModerator
member
***

Reged: 12/13/05
Posts: 7970
Loc: Mid Mo

Re: Christmas Jokes [Re: SwampFox]
      #156710 - 07/23/08 04:14 PM

Alvin and the Chipmunks

--------------------
"Being deeply learned and skilled, being well trained and using well spoken words; this is good luck."


Post Extras: Print Post   Remind Me!   Notify Moderator  
SwampFoxModerator
member
***

Reged: 12/13/05
Posts: 7970
Loc: Mid Mo

Re: Christmas Jokes [Re: SwampFox]
      #169086 - 12/01/08 02:29 AM



--------------------
"Being deeply learned and skilled, being well trained and using well spoken words; this is good luck."


Post Extras: Print Post   Remind Me!   Notify Moderator  
SwampFoxModerator
member
***

Reged: 12/13/05
Posts: 7970
Loc: Mid Mo

Re: Christmas Jokes [Re: SwampFox]
      #169377 - 12/04/08 06:23 AM

Seasons greetings fron the Democratic Party

On the 12th day of 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 an 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.(After members of the Animal Liberation Front threatened to throw red paint at my computer, the calling birds, 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, and Happy Holidays*

*unless you are suffering from seasonally affected disorder(SAD). If this is the case, please substitute this gratuitous call for celebration with the suggestion that you have a thoroughly adequate day.

--------------------
"Being deeply learned and skilled, being well trained and using well spoken words; this is good luck."


Post Extras: Print Post   Remind Me!   Notify Moderator  
crossbar
member
*

Reged: 12/25/05
Posts: 67
Loc: Jackson Mo.

Re: Christmas Jokes [Re: SwampFox]
      #169389 - 12/04/08 10:49 AM

What in ell did he just say!?

Post Extras: Print Post   Remind Me!   Notify Moderator  
Scout 1
New order Amish - not be confused with Meninite!
***

Reged: 12/14/05
Posts: 6778
Loc: Where there are no ducks

Re: Christmas Jokes [Re: crossbar]
      #169393 - 12/04/08 11:12 AM

He said, "Happy Non-Specific Midwinter Holiday" to you, Crossbar.

Post Extras: Print Post   Remind Me!   Notify Moderator  
crossbar
member
*

Reged: 12/25/05
Posts: 67
Loc: Jackson Mo.

Re: Christmas Jokes [Re: Scout 1]
      #169394 - 12/04/08 11:33 AM

You'll have to understand I grew up in Minnesota. Ole and lena are about I can handle

Post Extras: Print Post   Remind Me!   Notify Moderator  
SwampFoxModerator
member
***

Reged: 12/13/05
Posts: 7970
Loc: Mid Mo

Re: Christmas Jokes [Re: crossbar]
      #169402 - 12/04/08 01:16 PM

Ole and lena?

Ya damned racist!!!

--------------------
"Being deeply learned and skilled, being well trained and using well spoken words; this is good luck."


Post Extras: Print Post   Remind Me!   Notify Moderator  
SwampFoxModerator
member
***

Reged: 12/13/05
Posts: 7970
Loc: Mid Mo

Re: Christmas Jokes [Re: SwampFox]
      #169404 - 12/04/08 01:28 PM

Twas the week before Christmas and those sly little elves,
Our congressmen, labored to better themselves.
They cared not a whit what the public might think
"Let them eat cake," some said with a wink.

And putting their thumbs to the tip of their nose,
they waved as they shouted "Anything goes!"

They scoffed at the thought that we might object,
to a tax cut for the wealthy of a posh percent.
They've got prerequisites-franking, per diem, and more --
bargain-priced haircuts and gyms (three or four!)

Paid speaking engagements and meals on the cuff,
celebrity status -- (they've sure got it tough!),

Yet they claim they're in touch with the man on the street,
as John Q. Public struggles to make both ends meet.
If all workers decided what they were due,
they'd be getting those fat paychecks too!

But while we take cutbacks or raises quite small,
and one out of 20 has no job at all,
our millionaire Congress decides on the budget
land trimming Medicare and Medicaid will do it, they say.

In this season for giving, our Congress is taking.
We've had it with them and our backs are breaking.
With hard times, disasters, and layoffs on our dockets,
we bit the bullet and they fill their pockets!

Oh jobless, oh homeless, oh desperate and needy -
dare anyone say our Congress is greedy?

If in this feeling I'm not alone,
take up your pen or pick up your phone.
As dry leaves before the wild hurricane fly,
let the road of your anger mount to the sky.

Indignant, outraged, appalled and beset
let your congressman know that you won't forget!
When election times comes -- and certain it will --
you're voting him out for passing that bill.

More rapid than eagles, their elections assured
they toasted each other and laughed at the herd.
And I heard them exclaim with adjournment at hand,

"Merry Christmas to us, and the public be damned!

--------------------
"Being deeply learned and skilled, being well trained and using well spoken words; this is good luck."


Post Extras: Print Post   Remind Me!   Notify Moderator  
SwampFoxModerator
member
***

Reged: 12/13/05
Posts: 7970
Loc: Mid Mo

Re: Christmas Jokes [Re: SwampFox]
      #169451 - 12/05/08 04:04 AM



--------------------
"Being deeply learned and skilled, being well trained and using well spoken words; this is good luck."


Post Extras: Print Post   Remind Me!   Notify Moderator  
SwampFoxModerator
member
***

Reged: 12/13/05
Posts: 7970
Loc: Mid Mo

Re: Christmas Jokes [Re: SwampFox]
      #169839 - 12/10/08 05:31 AM



--------------------
"Being deeply learned and skilled, being well trained and using well spoken words; this is good luck."


Post Extras: Print Post   Remind Me!   Notify Moderator  
Hellbender
member
**

Reged: 12/14/05
Posts: 3416
Loc: Taney County

Re: Christmas Jokes [Re: SwampFox]
      #169896 - 12/10/08 12:51 PM

Ballon Dance

--------------------
A government survey has shown that 91% of illegal immigrants come to this country so that they can see their own doctor.


Post Extras: Print Post   Remind Me!   Notify Moderator  
old lodge skins
member
*

Reged: 12/14/05
Posts: 381
Loc: Porche's Prairie, MO

Re: Balloon dance [Re: Hellbender]
      #169927 - 12/10/08 09:23 PM

shouldn't this have been in Bubba's thread?

Post Extras: Print Post   Remind Me!   Notify Moderator  
Pages: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | >> (show all)



Extra information
0 registered and 591 anonymous users are browsing this forum.

Moderator:  SwampFox, JimDog 

Print Topic

Forum Permissions
      You cannot start new topics
      You cannot reply to topics
      HTML is disabled
      UBBCode is enabled

Rating:
Topic views: 45348

Rate this topic

Jump to

Contact Us Return to Main Page

*
UBB.threads™ 6.5