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Who ordered all this nauseating cheer?
I’ve had Christmas up to here!
I’m mad and I’m not gonna take it anymore.
So here’s the little plot I’ve got in store:

Up on the roof with nails and saws,
I’ll build a trap for Santa Claus,
And when he lands in that hokey slay
I’ll make this Christmas crud go away.

Ho Ho Ho, you’d better know
I’ve got a way to make it so!
Up on the housetop click, click, click
Throw a big bag over old Saint Nick!

Down from the roof top out in back
Santa, Reindeer, sleigh and pack,
Watch his Yuletide spirits droop
With juggles locked in the chicken coop.

Ho Ho Ho, you’ve gotta know
Fatso’s tied up head to toe!
This little plan will work because
I’m gonna kidnap Santa Claus!

All of you kiddies are out of luck.
This year’s Christmas one dead duck.
Let all the little brats scream and shout
I ain’t never letting Fatso out!

Ho Ho Ho, won’t let him go.
Not for even tons of dough!
I can’t dream of a scene so nice
When I go and put Fuzzy Face on ice!

Bye bye to sleigh bells that gave me grief.
Bye bye to caroling what a relief.
Best of all that blasted cheer
Won’t be annoying me again next year!

Ho Ho Ho, now you know
Dear old Santa has to go!
Without Fatso it’s understood
Christmas is history and gone for good!

1 or 2 Quarts Rum
1 TSP Sugar
1 Cup Dried Fruit
1 TSP Baking Powder
1 TSP Baking Soda
1 Cup Butter
1 TSP Lemon Juice
2 Large Eggs
Nuts
Brown Sugar

Before you start, sample the rum to check for quality. Good, isn’t it?

Now go ahead. Select a large mixing bowl, measuring cup, etc. Check rum again. It must be just right. To be sure the rum is of the highest quality, pour one level cup of rum into a glass and drink it as fast as you can. Repeat.

With an electric mixer, beat 1 cup butter in a large fluffy bowl. Add 1 teaspoon of thugar and beat again.

Meanwhile, it’s important to make sure the rum is of the finest quality – try another cup. Open the second quart of rum, if necessary.

Add two arge leggs, two cups of fried druit and beat until high. If the druit gets stuck in the beaters, just pry it loose with a drewscriver.

Sample the rum again, checking for tonscisticity. Next, sift free cups of pepper or salt (it really doesn’t matter).

Sample the bum again.

Sift one pine of lemon juice. Add one babblespoon of brown thugar, or whatever color you can find. Mix mell. Grease oven and turn cake pan to 350 gredees. Now pour the whole mess into the coven and ake.

Check the thum again and go to bed.

10. You’ll know that your turkey is a Butterball rather than a Grade E yet semi-edible fur ball.

9. Your mother will not be serving your mashed potatoes and stuffing with an ice cream scooper.

8. Pumpkin pie is a great alternative to green jello.

7. After your eighth glass of cider, your emergency dash to the bathroom will not be delayed by having to line the seat with toilet paper.

6. Clean underwear, comfortable bed, access to a car, bedroom larger than a 12×14 cell… OK, even if it is for only four days.

5. To eat your meals, the only trek you’ll have to make is from the couch to the kitchen, rather than the dorm to the dining hall…in below freezing weather.

4. Instead of listening to “when I first started teaching here…” you can be entertained by “when your mother was your age…” and “during the Depression we weren’t lucky enough to have brussels sprouts. Hell, all we could afford was the sprout!”

3. You can eat your corn steamed with butter rather than popped in your microwave.

2. You’ll know the hair in the shower drain is your own.

1. You won’t be eating your Thanksgiving meal off a tray!

A young man at a New Year’s party turns to his friend and asks for a cigarette. “I thought you made a New Year’s resolution to quit smoking,” his friend says. “I’m in the process of quitting,” the man says. “Right now, I am in the middle of phase one.” – “What’s phase one?” – “I’ve quit buying.”

Millennia are fairly common things:
In a billion years are quite a few.
Long or short, their roundness pleasure brings:
Life needs some pretext to begin anew.
Each millennium’s a fresh, blank page:
No future ever stretched so fair and far.
Now we wait upon the empty stage
In hopes we’ll catch a glimpse of who we are.
Underneath is something vast and free:
Millennia are chains across a sea.



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