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Q: What’s Christmas called in England?
A: Yule Britannia!

Dear Santa,

You must be surprised that I’m writing to you today, the 26th of December. Well, I would very much like to clear up certain things that have occurred since the beginning of the month, when, filled with illusion, I wrote you my letter. I asked for a bicycle, an electric train set, a pair of roller blades, and a football uniform.

I destroyed my brain studying the whole year. Not only was I the first in my class, but I had the best grades in the whole school. I’m not going to lie to you, there was no one in my entire neighborhood that behaved better than me, with my parents, my brothers, my friends, and with my neighbors. I would go on errands, and even help the elderly cross the street. There was virtually nothing within reach that I would not do for humanity.

What balls do you have leaving me a fucking yo-yo, a stupid whistle and a pair of socks. What the fuck were you thinking, you fat son of a bitch, that you’ve taken me for a sucker the whole fucking year to come out with some shit like this under the tree. As if you hadn’t fucked me enough, you gave that little faggot across the street so many toys that he can’t even walk into his house.

Please don’t let me see you trying to fit your big fat ass down my chimney next year. I’ll fuck you up. I’ll throw rocks at those stupid reindeer and scare them away so you’ll have to walk back to the fucking North Pole, just like what I have to do now since you didn’t get me that fucking bike. Fuck you, Santa. Next year you’ll find out how bad I can be, you fat son-of-a-bitch!

Sincerely,

Little Johnny

Q: Why was the shy ghost frightened of going to the opticians’ party?

A: Because he thought he might make a spooktacle of himself.

Roses are red and Violets are blue,
I didn’t buy you anything
’cause to be honest,
I really don’t like you.

You used to give me,
candy and sweets,
you used to dress sexy,
as a special treat.

Now all I get is a complaint
or some gripe.
I liked you much better
before you were my wife.

I once cared about who you were
and about what you thought
but now I know better
and I’ll just screw your sister until I get caught.

You say I don’t love you, I don’t care anymore.
Well guess what? You are right….
now get outta my bed bitch,
you can sleep on the floor.

So here it is, your present this day.
It may not be special, it may not be sweet,
but it’s all you’re getting..
for your mother I must meet.

She e-mailed me this morn’,
with something on her mind.
Then said for a dollar,
her G-spot I could find.

I hope you don’t think,
I did this to be mean.
I just wanted to show you
how little you mean.

So happy V-day and all of that crap.
Have a nice life
and get to the doctor before anyone else
get’s your case of the clap.

Q: What does the papa ghost say to his family when driving?
A: Fasten your sheet belts…



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