View Full Version : Holiday Cartoons!
12-21-2001, 05:22 PM
12-21-2001, 05:23 PM
12-21-2001, 05:25 PM
Twas the night before Christmas and all through the kitchen;
I was cooking and baking and moanin and bitchin.
I've been here for hours, I can't stop to rest.
This rooms a disaster, just look at this mess!
Tomorrow I've got thirty people to feed.
They expect all the trimmings. Who cares what I need!
My feet are both blistered, I've got cramps in my legs.
The cat just knocked over a bowl full of eggs.
There's a knock at the door and the telephone's ringing;
Frosting drips on the counter as the microwave's dinging.
Two pies in the oven, desserts almost done;
My cookbook is soiled with butter and crumbs.
I've had alI I can stand, I can't take anymore;
Then in walks my husband, spilling rum on the floor.
He weaves and he wobbles, his balance unsteady;
Then grins as he chuckles "The eggnog is ready!"
He looks all around and with total regret,
says "What's taking so long....aren't you through in here yet?"
As quick as a flash I reach for a knife;
He loses an earlobe; I wanted his life!
He flees from the room in terror and pain
and screams "MY GOD WOMAN, YOU'RE GOING INSANE!"
Now what was I doing, and what is that smell?
Oh drat it's the pies !! They're burned all to hell!
I hate to admit when I make a mistake,
but I put them on BROIL instead of on BAKE.
What else can go wrong? Is there still more ahead?
If this is good living, I'd rather be dead.
Lord, don't get me wrong, I love holidays;
It just leaves me exhausted, all shaky and dazed.
But I promise you one thing, If I live till next year,
you won't find me pulling my hair out in here.
I'll hire a maid, a cook, and a waiter;
and if that doesn't work, I'LL HAVE IT ALL CATERED!
12-21-2001, 05:26 PM
Dog tags ring, are you listenin'?
In the lane, snow is glistenin'.
It's yellow, NOT white - I've been there tonight,
Marking up my winter wonderland.
Smell that tree? That's my fragrance.
It's a sign for wand'ring vagrants;
"Avoid where I pee, it's MY pro-per-ty!
Marked up as my winter wonderland."
In the meadow dad will build a snowman,
following the classical design.
Then I'll lift my leg and let it go Man,
So all the world will know it's
Straight from me to the fencepost,
flows my natural incense boast;
Stay off of my TURF, this small piece of earth,
mark it as my winter wonderland.
12-21-2001, 05:28 PM
There are approximately two billion children (persons under 18) in the world. However, since Santa does not visit children of Muslim, Hindu, Jewish or Buddhist (except maybe in Japan) religions, this reduces the workload for Christmas night to 15% of the total, or 378 million (according to the Population Reference Bureau). At an average (census) rate of 3.5 children per household, that comes to 108 million homes, presuming that there is at least one good child in each.
Santa has about 31 hours of Christmas to work with, thanks to the different time zones and the rotation of the earth, assuming he travels east to west (which seems logical). This works out to 967.7 visits per second. This is to say that for each Christian household with a good child, Santa has around 1/1000th of a second to park the sleigh, hop out, jump down the chimney, fill the stockings, distribute the remaining presents under the tree, eat whatever snacks have been left for him, get back up the chimney, jump into the sleigh and get on to the next house.
Assuming that each of these 108 million stops is evenly distributed around the earth (which, of course, we now to be false, but will accept for the purposes of our calculations), we are now talking about 0.78 miles per household; a total trip of 75.5 million miles, not counting bathroom stops or breaks. This means Santa's sleigh is moving at 650 miles per second--3,000 times the speed of sound. For purposes of comparison, the fastest man-made vehicle, the Ulysses space probe, moves at a poky 27.4 miles per second, and a conventional reindeer can run (at best) 15 miles per hour.
The payload of the sleigh adds another interesting element. Assuming that each child gets nothing more than a medium sized Lego set (two pounds), the sleigh is carrying over 500 thousand tons, not counting Santa himself. On land, a conventional reindeer can pull no more than 300 pounds. Even granting that the "flying" reindeer could pull ten times the normal amount, the job can't be done with eight or even nine of them--Santa would need 360,000 of them. This increases the payload, not counting the weight of the sleigh, another 54,000 tons, or roughly seven times the weight of the Queen Elizabeth (the ship, not the monarch).
600,000 tons traveling at 650 miles per second creates enormous air resistance--this would heat up the reindeer in the same fashion as a spacecraft re-entering the earth's atmosphere. The lead pair of reindeer would absorb 14.3 quintillion joules of energy per second each. In short, they would burst into flames almost instantaneously, exposing the reindeer behind them and creating deafening sonic booms in their wake. The entire reindeer team would be vaporized within 4.26 thousandths of a second, or right about the time Santa reached the fifth house on his trip.
Not that it matters, however, since Santa, as a result of accelerating from a dead stop to 650 m.p.s. in 0.001 seconds, would be subjected to acceleration forces of 17,500 g's. A 250 pound Santa (which seems ludicrously slim) would be pinned to the back of the sleigh by 4,315,015 pounds of force, instantly crushing his bones and organs and reducing him to a quivering blob of pink goo.
Therefore, if Santa did exist, he's dead now. Merry Christmas!
12-21-2001, 05:28 PM
Twas the night before Christmas and all round my hips
were Fannie May candies that sneaked past my lips.
Fudge brownies were stored in the freezer with care
in hopes that my thighs would forget they were there.
While Mama in her my girdle and I in chin straps
had just settled down to sugar-borne naps.
When out in the pantry there arose such a clatter
I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the kitchen I flew like a flash
tore open the icebox then threw up the sash.
The marshmallow look of the new-fallen snow
sent thoughts of a binge to my body below.
When what to my wandering eyes should appear:
a marzipan Santa with eight chocolate reindeer!
That huge chunk of candy so luscious and slick
I knew in a second that I'd wind up sick.
The sweet-coated santa, those sugared reindeer
I closed my eyes tightly but still I could hear
On Pritzker, on Stillman, on weak one, on TOPS
a Weight Watcher dropout from sugar detox.
From the top of the scales to the top of the hall
now dash away pounds now dash away all.
Dressed up in Lane Bryant from my head to nightdress
my clothes were all bulging from too much excess.
My droll little mouth and my round little belly
they shook when I laughed like a bowl full of jelly.
I spoke not a word but went straight to my work
ate all of the candy then turned with a jerk.
And laying a finger beside my heartburn
I gave a quick nod toward the bedroom I turned.
I eased into bed, to the heavens I cry
if temptation's removed I'll get thin by and by.
And I mumbled again as I turned for the night
in the morning I'll starve...'til I take that first bite!
12-21-2001, 05:30 PM
Deck the Halls with Buddy Holly
We three kings of porridge and tar
On the first day of Christmas my tulip gave to me
Later on we'll perspire, as we dream by the fire.
He's makin a list, chicken and rice.
Noel. Noel, Barney's the king of Israel.
With the jelly toast proclaim
Olive, the other reindeer.
Frosty the Snowman is a ferret elf, I say
Sleep in heavenly peas
In the meadow we can build a snowman,
Then pretend that he is sparse and brown
You'll go down in listerine
Oh, what fun it is to ride with one horse, soap and hay
O come, froggy faithful
You'll tell Carol, "Be a skunk, I require"
Good tidings we bring to you and your kid
12-21-2001, 05:31 PM
Re: Martha Stewart
I rarely ask for much. This year is no exception. I donít need diamond earrings, handy slicer-dicers or comfy slippers. I only want one little thing, and I want it deeply. I want to slap Martha Stewart.
Now, hear me out, Santa. I wonít scar her or draw blood or anything. Just one good smack, right across her smug little cheek. I get all cozy inside just thinking about it. Donít grant this wish just for me, do it for thousands of women across the country. Through sheer vicarious satisfaction, youíll be giving a gift to us all.
Those of us leading average, garden variety lives arenít concerned with gracious living. We feel pretty good about ourselves if our paper plates match when we stack them on the counter, buffet-style for dinner.
Weíre tired of Martha showing us how to make centerpieces from hollyhock dipped in 18 carat gold. Weíre plumb out of liquid gold. Unless itís of the furniture polish variety. We canít whip up Marthaís creamy holiday sauce, spiced with turmeric. Most of us canít even say turmeric, let alone figure out what to do with it.
OK, Santa, maybe you think Iím being a little harsh. But Iíll bet with all the holiday rush you didnít catch that interview with Martha in last weekís USA Weekend. Iím surprised there was enough room on the page for her ego.
We discovered that not only does Martha avoid take-out pizza (sheís only ordered it once), she refuses to eat it cold (No cold pizza? Is Martha Stewart Living?) When it was pointed out that she could microwave it, she replied, "I donít have a microwave." The reporter, Jeffrey Zaslow, noted that she said this "in a tone that suggests you shouldnít either."
Imagine that, Santa. That lovely microwave you brought me years ago, in which Iíve learned to make complicated dishes like popcorn and hot chocolate, has been declared undesirable by Queen Martha.
What next? The coffee maker?
In the article, we learned that Martha has 40 sets of dishes adorning an entire wall in her home. Forty sets. Can you spell "overkill"? And neatly put way, no less. If my dishes make it to the dishwasher, that qualifies as "put away" in my house.
Martha tells us sheís already making homemade holiday gifts for friends. "Last year, I made amazing silk-lined scarves for everyone," she boasts. Not just scarves, mind you. Amazing scarves. Marthaís obviously not shy about giving herself a little pat on the back. In fact, she does so with such frequency that one has to wonder if her back is black and blue.
She goes on to tell us that "homemaking is glamour for the 90's" and says her most glamorous friends are "interested in stain removal, how to iron a monogram, how to fold a towel." I have one piece of advice, Martha: get new friends.
Glamorous friends fly to Paris on a whim. They drift past the Greek Islands on yachts, sipping champagne from crystal goblets. They step out for the evening in shimmering satin gowns, whisked away by tuxedoed chauffeurs. They do not spend their days pondering the finer art of toilet bowl sanitation.
Zaslow notes that Martha was named one of Americaís 25 most influential people by Time magazine (nosing out Mother Thersa, Madeline Allbright and Maya Angelou, no doubt) The proof of Marthaís infuence: after she bought white-fleshed peaches in the supermarket, Martha says, "People saw me buy them. In an instant, they were all gone."
I hope Martha never decides to jump off a bridge.
A guest in Marthaís home told Zaslow how Martha gets up early to rollerblade with her dogs to pick fresh wild blackberries for breakfast. This confirms what Iíve suspected about Martha all along: Sheís obviously got too much time on her hands. Teaching the dogs to rollerblade! What a show off. If you think the dogs are spoiled, listen to how Martha treats her friends: She gave one friend all 272 books from the Knopf Everyman Library. It didnít cost much. Pocket change, really. Just $5,000. But what price a friendship, right?
When asked if others should envy her, Martha replies, "Donít envy me. Iím doing this because Iím a natural teacher. You shouldnít envy teachers. You should listen to them."
Zaslow must have slit a seam in Marthaís ego at this point, because once the hot air came hissing out, it couldnít be held back. "Being an overachiever is nothing despicable. It is only admirable. Never lower your standards," says Martha.
And of her Web Page on the Internet, Martha declares herself an "important presence" as she graciously helps people organize their sad, tacky little lives.
There you have it, Santa. If there was ever someone who deserved a good smack, itís Martha Stewart. But I bet I wonít get my gift this year. You probably want to smack her yourself.
12-21-2001, 05:32 PM
It was the night before Christmas When all through the tralier park
Not a pop-top was popping, Not even Ol' Blue barked.
Our stocking's was hung over the space heater with care,
In hopes that Santy will fill 'em with Viennas and beer.
The kids was asleep in their NASCARS pj's,
Dreamin' of Goo-Goo Clusters, Moon Pies and RC's.
And Earlene in her curlers and me in my John Deere cap
Had just settled into our La-Z-Boys for a game of Wheel of Fortune and a nap.
Then out in the vacant lot I heard such a commotion
I thought it was neighbor Clyde, finally got his T'bird in motion.
I heaved out of my recliner and to the window I flew,
Busted out the screen and hollered for Blue.
The moon was shinin' down on my old wrecked cars
So bright they was sparklin' like rusty old stars.
And I couldn't believe my own hardworkin' eyes
When I saw a jacked up Ford pickup come flyin' through the sky!
Faster'n ole Ironhead his possums they came
And he whooped and hollered and called them by name:
Git up Sooner! Hi Duke! Move yer tails Yaller and Spud!
On Blackie! On Queenie! You mind me Dutchess and Bud!
To the top of the satellite dish! To the top of the shed!
Now move it! Step on it! Ya'll get out the lead!
You know how, on our dirt road, when a car goes by,
There's all this dirt flies up into the sky?
That's how this crew went straight on up to my roof
With that pickup full of toys, a real nice gun rack, and Redneck Santa too.
Then 'fore I could pop my teeth in I heard up on the tin
The scramblin' around of them flying possums of his'n.
I yanked my head back in the trailer and hitched up my shorts.
Down the dryer vent Redneck Santa came with a grunt and a snort!
He was dressed in red-and-green camo from his neck to his feet
And I had to give him credit-he still had most of his teeth.
Looked like stuff from Earlene's yard sale slung over his back-
There was flyswatters an' Tupperware an' 8-tracks stickin' out of his pack.
His eyes took in our humble home:
The furniture we bought on lawaway in town...
Earlene's pride, that Elvis on velvet...
My collections of barbed wire...and license plates made by relatives.
I coulda' swore I even saw a glistening tear
When his eye fell on sweet Earlene, a snorin' in her chair.
He kindly favored Hank, Jr. with a big round belly
That shook when he laughed like a blob of K-Y jelly.
Yep, he was fat all right, blocked out our whole large screen TV,
And I had to laugh when I saw him, 'cause he looked just like me!
When he winked his eye I knew fer sure he'd treat us right-
Why-he might even leave me some ammo tonight!
I stood there dreamin' of of whiltetail while I watched him work,
Then he stopped and, like a real man, let out a fart and a burp.
He topped off our stockin's with Moon Pies and bottle rockets,
Then squoze up that dryer like spam in your pocket.
He jumped in his pickup, laid down on the horn- And I'm not lyin'!
And they took off like white lightnin' with their possum tails flyin'.
But I heard him holler as he headed for the 7-11...
"MERRY CHRISTMAS TO ALL, AND MAY ALL REDNECKS
12-21-2001, 05:33 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. Once at the mall, they always seem surprised to find only Ronco products, socket wrench sets, and mood rings left on the shelves. 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 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 to ask for directions.
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 injest, 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 and carries 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.
12-21-2001, 06:00 PM
Originally posted by chrissy
Omitted for space sake
Oh my gosh, I laughed til I nearly wet my pants. That was hysterical! I loved all of them, but this was one for posterity. hahahahahahah
12-22-2001, 02:45 AM
some funny stuff chrissy
12-22-2001, 09:09 AM
I thought this was a holiday cartoon thread. :( it turned into a joke thread :bawl:
12-22-2001, 12:07 PM
Originally posted by revil
I thought this was a holiday cartoon thread. :( it turned into a joke thread :bawl:
Sorry, I ran out of cartoons :(
If I find more I will post them just for you Revil :)
12-22-2001, 06:57 PM
"Twas the night before Christmas and all through the kitchen;
I was cooking and baking and moaning..."
Hummmmmm.... are you wondering what i'm wondering? OMG not on the kitchen table! :naughty:
12-23-2001, 06:03 PM
LOL, that bird one is awesome.
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