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Q: How do you get milk from a polar bear?

A: Rob its fridge and run like mad!

Q: What amphibian do we hang in doorways at Christmas?

A: Mistletoad.

‘Twas the night before Christmas
And all through the cells,
The convicts were locked up
All madder than hell!

Except for the lifers
Kicked back in their bunks,
Heads filled with visions
Of fat little punks.

When suddenly from the roof top
There arose such a roar,
That the bulls thought it was
A riot for sure!

The goon squad ran in
And stood ready to hit.
A big guard yelled out,
“Who started this shit?”

“It came from the roof top,”
Sniveled a snitch.
“It must be a breakout.
Oh, son of a bitch!”

They climbed to the roof
By way of the stairs,
Found a fat little freak
In red underwear.

“No, No!” yelled the dude.
“I bring you good cheer!”
“Damn!” said the Captain.
“We found us a queer.”

“Alright mother fucker,
Get your hands on the wall!”
They shook him down good,
Asshole and all.

They beat him and threw him
Into the hole with a kick.
Well so much for Christmas,
They locked up St. Nick!

‘Twas the night before Christmas, and we, being Jews,
My girlfriend and me, we had nothing to do.
The Gentiles were home, hanging stockings with care,
Secure in the knowledge St. Nick would be there.

But for us, once the Hanukkah candles burned down,
There was nothing but boredom all over our town.
The malls and the theaters were all closed up tight;
There weren’t any concerts to go to that night.

A dance would have saved us, some ballroom or swing,
But we searched through the papers; there wasn’t a thing.
Outside the window sat two feet of snow;
With the wind-chill, they said it was fifteen below.

And while all I could do was sit there and brood,
My girl saved the night and called out “CHINESE FOOD!”
So we ran to the closet, grabbed hats, mitts and boots
To cover out heads, our hands, and our foots.

We pulled on our jackets, all puffy with down.
And boarded the “L,” bound for old Chinatown.
In search of a restaurant: “Which one? Lets decide!”
We chose “Hunan Chozer,” and ventured inside.

Around us sat other Jews, their platters piled high
With the finest of foods their money could buy:
There was roast duck and squid, sweet, sour and spiced,
Dried beef and mixed veggies, lo mein and fried rice,

Whole fish and moo shu and “shrimp” chow mee foon,
And General Gaus chicken and ma po tofu….
When at last we decided, and the waiter did call,
We said: “Skip the menu!” and ordered it all.

And when in due time the food was all made,
It came to the table in a sort of parade.
Before us sat dim sum, spare ribs and egg rolls,
And four different soups, in four great, huge bowls.

The courses kept coming, from spicy to mild,
And higher and higher toward the ceiling were piled.
So much piled up, one dish after the other,
My girlfriend and I couldn’t see one another!

Now we sat there, we two, without proper utensils,
While they handed us something that looked like two pencils.
We ate till we couldn’t and drank down our teas
And barely had room for our fortune cookies.

But my fortune was perfect; it summed up the mood
When it said: “Even if it was kosher, it was still Chinese food!.”
And my girlfriend-well … she got a real winner;
Hers said: “Your companion will pay for the dinner.”

Our bellies were full and at last it was time
To travel back home and write some bad rhyme
Of our Chinatown trek, and to privately speak
About trying to refine our chopstick technique.

The MSG spun round and round in our heads,
As we tripped and we laughed and gaily we said,
As we carried our leftovers home through the night;
“Good Yom Tov to all-and to all a Good Night!”

Twas the night before Christmas and one thing was clear…
that old Yuletide spirit no longer was here.
Inflation was rising; the crime rate was tripling;
the fuel bills were up, and our mortgage was crippling.

I opened a beer as I watched TV,
where Donny sang “O Holy Night” to Marie.
The kids were in bed, getting sleep like they should
or else they were stoned, which was almost as good.

While Ma with her ball-point was making a fuss,
’bout folks we’d send cards to who’d sent none to us.
“Those ingrates,” she thundered, and pounded her fist.
“Next year you can bet they’ll be crossed off our list!”

When out in the yard came a deafening blare.
‘Twas our burglar alarm, and I hollered, “Who’s there?”
I turned on the searchlight, which lit up the night,
and armed with my handgun, beheld a strange sight.

Some red-suited clown with a white beard immense
was caught in our eight foot electrified fence.
He called out, “I’m Santa! I bring you no malice!”
Said I, “If you’re Santa, I’m Telly Savalas!”

But, lo, as his presence grew clear to me,
I saw in the glare that it just might be he!
Called off our Doberman clawing his sleigh
and frisking him twice, said, “I think he’s ok.”

I led him inside where he slumped in a chair,
and he poured out the following tale of despair;
“On Christmas eves past I was jolly and chuckling,
but now ‘neath the pressures, I fear I am buckling.”

“You’ll note I’ve arrived with no reindeer this year,
and without them, my sleigh is much harder to steer.
Although I would like to continue to use them,
the wildlife officials believe I abuse them.”

“To add to my problem, Ralph Nader dropped by
and told me my sleigh was unsafe in the sky.
I now must wear seatbelts, despite my objections,
and bring in the sleigh twice a year for inspections.”

“Last April, my workers came forth with demands,
and I soon had a general strike on my hands.
I couldn’t afford to pay unionized elves,
so the misses and I did the work ourselves.”

“And then, later on, came additional trouble…
an avalanche left my fine workshop in rubble.
My Allstate insurance was worthless, because
they had shrewdly slipped in a ‘no avalanche’ clause.”

“And after that came an I.R.S audit;
the government claimed I was out to defraud it.
They finally nailed me for 65 grand,
which I paid through the sale of my house and my land.”

“And yet I persist, though it gives me a scare,
flying blind through the blanket of smog in the air.
Not to mention the hunters who fill me with dread,
taking shots at my sleigh as I pass overhead.”

“My torn-up red suit, and these bruises and swellings,
I got fighting muggers in multiple dwellings.
And if you should ask why I’m glowing tonight,
it’s from flying too close to a nuclear site.”

He rose from his chair and he heaved a great sigh,
and I couldn’t help notice a tear in his eye.
“I’ve tried,” he declared, “to reverse each defeat,
but I fear that today I’ve become obsolete.”

He slumped out the door and returned to his sleigh,
and these last words he spoke as he went on his way;
“No longer can I do the job that’s required;
if anyone asks, just say, ‘Santa’s retired!'”



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