If you find that your house is built upon or near a cemetary, was once a church used for black masses, had previous inhabitants who went mad or committed suicide or died in some horrible fashion, or had inhabitants who performed satanic practices in your house move away immediately.
When it appears that you have killed the monster, nevercheck to see if it’s really dead.
Never read a book of demon summoning aloud, even as a joke.
Do not search the basement, especially if the power has gone out.
When you have the benefit of numbers, neverpair off and go it alone.
As a general rule, don’t solve puzzles that open portals to Hell.
If appliances start operating by themselves, move out.
Never stand in, on, above, below, beside, or anywhere near a grave, tomb, crypt, mausoleum, or other house of the dead.
If you’re searching for something which caused a noise and find out that it’s just the cat, leave the room immediately if you value your life.
If you find a town which looks deserted, it’s probably for a reason. Take the hint and stay away.
If you’re running from the monster, expect to trip or fall down at least twice, more if you are of the female persuasion. Also note that, despite the fact that you are running and the monster is merely shambling along, it’s still moving fast enough to catch up with you.
Don’t fool with recombinant DNA technology unless you’re sure you know what you’re doing.
If your companions suddenly begin to exhibit uncharacteristic behavior such as hissing, fascination for blood, glowing eyes, increasing hairiness, and so on, get away from them as fast as possible.
Do not take anythingfrom the dead.
Stay away from certain geographical locations, some of which are listed here: Amityville, Elm Street, Transylvania, Nilbog (you’re in trouble if you recognize this one), the Bermuda Triangle, or any small town in Maine.
If your car runs out of gas at night, do not go to the nearby deserted-looking house to phone for help.
Beware of strangers bearing tools such as chainsaws, staple guns, hedge trimmers, electric carving knives, combines, lawnmowers, butane torches, soldering irons, band saws, or any devices made from deceased companions.
‘Twas the night before Christmas all through the White House,
Al Gore was eyeing Hillary, peering into her blouse.
The Secret Service were guarding the premises with care,
for a whole host of Democrats were vacationing there.
As Chelsea was nestled all snug in her bed,
dirty thoughts swam around Mr. Kennedy’s head.
And Bill in his sportcoat; a heavy gray tweed,
had just fried his brain with some Mexican weed.
When out in the garden came a plethora of noise,
all drunken and rowdy ’twas Newt and the boys!
Bill jumped to the window, and tore open the sash,
“It’s a raid boys!” he cried, “Quick, go hide my stash!”
The pot in his blood and the moon on the snow,
gave a psychedelic haze to the objects below.
When what to Bill’s frantic eyes should appear,
but a slew of Republicans and a keg of ice beer.
With a big House leader, all lively and fat:
He knew it was Newt, the proponent of GATT!
As viscous as vipers, the Republicans came, and Bill
recognized them and called them by name.
“Hey Helms, Hey Thurmond! Hey Packwood and Hatch!
Hey Dole and Pataki, it’s time for a bash!”
A collective cheer rose out from the crowd,
“Let’s listen to Nugent, and turn it up loud!”
Together Dems and Republicans danced and sang out in cheer,
“Screw health care and Haiti, it’s time to drink beer!”
When from the chimney, came a big black cloud of soot,
as Limbaugh danced from the fireplace in a red Santa suit.
He moved through the crowd, then held up his hand,
and when all was silent, he did a keg stand.
And the crowd raised their cups, as Newt bowed down in prayer,
and champagne flowed freely, just like welfare.
As Kennedy and Reno romped in the Green Room,
the rest of the crooks outlined their plan of doom.
“We’ll pray in the schools, shove it down their throats!
More welfare, more taxes, we’ll still get the votes!”
And they drank, hugged and danced, they crossed party lines.
They cheered, “It doesn’t matter, we’re all bastard swines!”
So they threw out allegiance and partisan crap,
and they took turns sitting on the President’s lap.
And Gephardt and Dole passed out on the lawn,
and awoke in the morning without their pants on.
And Packwood gave Tipper a pat on the rear.
While Judge Thomas and Miss Hill went out for more beer.
Then the partiers discovered a sight so touching and cute,
President Clinton fast asleep, snuggled up next to Newt.
Santa Limbaugh smiled and threw up on his boots,
“A merry Clinton to all, and to all a good Newt!”
