WTF 2020?! (Funny Christmas Song for an Awful Year)
A Present From Deep Inside of You (Original Music) – SOUTH PARK
Department Store Santa Peeves
8. Kids who refuse to believe that it’s fruitcake on your breath and not gin.
7. When the last guy to use the beard leaves bits of his lunch in it.
6. Even with the costume, people recognizing you from “America’s Most Wanted”
5. Parents who get all uptight when you offer their kids a swig from your hip flask
4. Enduring the taunts of your old buddies from Drama School
3. Those dorks in the Power Rangers costumes get all the babes
2. Kids who don’t understand that Santa’s been a little jittery since he got back from ‘Nam
1. Two words: lap rash
Be Careful What You Ask Kids To Do
The woman had been away for two days visiting a sick friend in another city.
When she returned, her little boy greeted her by saying, “Mommy, guess what! Yesterday I was playing in the closet in your bedroom and daddy came into the room with the lady next door and they got undressed and got into your bed and then daddy got on top of her…”
Sonny’s mother held up her hand. “Not another word. Wait till your father comes home and then I want you to tell him exactly what you’ve just told me.”
The father came home. As he walked into the house, his wife said, “I’m leaving you. I’m packing now and I’m leaving you.” “But why–” asked the startled father. “Go ahead, Sonny. Tell daddy just what you told me.”
“Well,” Sonny said, “I was playing in your bedroom closet and daddy came upstairs with the lady next door and they got undressed and got into bed and daddy got on top of her and then they did just what you did with uncle John when daddy was away last summer.”
How To Know That Santa Hates Your Kid
8. Kid’s letter to north pole comes back stamped, “Dream on, Chester!”
7. Kid asks for new bike, gets pack of smokes
6. Along with presents, Santa leaves hefty bill for shipping and handling.
5. By the time he gets to your house, all he has left is foam packing.
4. Christmas day, your kid wakes up with a Reindeer head in his bed.
3. Instead of “Naughty” or “Nice”, Santa has him on the stupid list
2. Labels on all your kid’s toys read “Straight from Craptown.”
1. Four words: “Off my lap, Tubby!”
Christmas In Arkansas
‘Twas the Night before Christmas, and all through the shack
Not a creature was stirrin’, cept the lice on muh back.
The skoal cans wuz nailed to the screen door with care,
With hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there.
The children were sleepin’, all snug in their beds,
While visions of tractor pulls danced in their heads.
And Ma in her nightgown all stained with pound cake.
Had just settled down to watch Ricki Lake.
When out in the driveway, a loud noise I heard,
I opened the winder to check muh T-bird.
I ran to the door, like I’s on a mission,
But I tripped on some parts from muh granny’s transmission.
The moon shone outside, the hound dog wuz barkin’.
Muh daughter weren’t home yet, she wuz still out parkin’.
When what to muh whiskey blind eyes should I see
But a Chevy S-10, pulled by eight flyin’ sheep.
With a fat nasty driver, so disgustin’ and sick
I said “Shoot Fire!” That must be St. Nick!
More rapid than X-lax his wooly sheep came
And he belched and he hollered, and he called ‘em by name.
Now CLIFFORD! Now VERNON! Now LESTER and ENUS!
On FESTUS! On ELMER! On ROSCOE and CLETUS!
From the top of the shack to them there garbage bins
Now Dash Away! Dash Away! Dash Away youins!
I heard a loud sound on the roof of muh shack.
Pud down muh beer and went fer muh gun rack.
He fell through the roof, plum killed my dog,
I swear that ole’ Santa looked just like Boss Hog.
He wore a T-shirt, rebel flag on the front,
And his jeans were all bloody from that morning’s hunt.
A big nekkid lady tattooed on his arm,
And he wore black boots that he’d picked up in ‘Nam.
His eyes, how they glazed from too much Wild Turkey.
From the side of his mouth hung a stick of beef jerky.
A scar on his cheek from a fight with the cops.
The veins on his face looked ready to pop.
The butt of a Marlboro clung to his lip
He wore a hip pack full of B-B-Q chips.
He had a fat face and a hairy beer belly.
I ain’t seen one that big since muh ex-wife Shelly.
He was gap-toothed and dumb with an I.Q. of three
And I laughed cause that redneck was smarter than me.
A wink of his eye, a fierce shake of his head,
From his hair came a rat that ran under the bed.
He reached in his sack, sipped his gin and tonic,
Then filled the kid’s stockings with Hooked on Phonics.
His toys came from Big Lots and they weren’t very nice
But he had lots of them and yuh can’t beat the price.
He gave us a tape of them hound dogs that sing Jingle Bells.
Some Crisco, some Spam, some Oatmeal Cream pies,
And a Nascar T-shirt in Double X size.
When the presents were gone and he had no more,
He staggered and stumbled right through muh screen door.
He hopped in his truck, to his sheep gave an order
“Hurry up youins! To the Tennessee border!”
And I heard him cry out, with a strong southern drawl,
“MERRY CHRISTMAS YOU REDNECKS! MERRY CHRISTMAS Y’ALL!”
Recalled Christmas Toys
• Broken Bag-O-Glass
• Dr. Kevorkian First Aid Kit
• Jeffrey Domhers Easy Bake oven and cookbook
• Timothy McVays home Chemistry set
• Switchblade Barney
• Pork-n-Beany Babies
• Make your own moonshine kit
• Mike Tyson Doll (with ear biting action)
Christmas Tree Angel
One Christmas long ago, Santa was preparing for his annual trip, but there were problems everywhere. Five of his elves had become ill and the trainee elves weren’t making the toys as quickly as the regular ones, so Santa was beginning to feel the pressure of being behind schedule. Then, Mrs. Claus informed him that her mother was coming to visit which added to his stress.
When he went out to harness the reindeer, he found that three of them were about to give birth and two had jumped the fence and were out, heaven knows where. More stress for Santa to deal with. Then, when he went to load the sleigh, one of the boards cracked and the toy bag fell to the ground, scattering the toys.
Frustrated, Santa went back into the house for a cup of coffee and a shot of whiskey, only to discover that the elves had gotten to the liquor bottle and consumed all of it. Frustrated even more, he dropped the coffee pot and it broke into hundreds of little pieces all over the kitchen floor. He went to get the broom to clean up the mess and found the mice had eaten it.
Just then the doorbell rang and Santa went to the door, cussing all the way. He opened the door and there stood an angel with a large Christmas tree. The angel looked up at Santa and cheerfully said, “I have a beautiful tree for you, Santa. Where would you like me to stick it?”
And that, friends, is how the tradition of the angel on top of the Christmas tree began.
Signs You Bought A Lousy Tree
8. Two feet tall, forty feet wide
7. Salesman’s opening line: “You’re not a cop, are you?”
6. It looks suspiciously like a broom handle with a lot of coat hangers
5. While you sleep, it gets liquored up and takes the family caravan for a joy ride.
4. Each branch has “Duraflame” printed on it.
3. It’s very small and says “air freshener” on it.
2. Rabbis have better Christmas trees than yours.
1. Constantly bragging about its “trunk size”
‘Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the skies,
Air defenses were up, with electronic eyes.
Combat pilots were nestled in ready-room beds,
As enemy silhouettes danced in their heads.
Every jet on the apron, each SAM in its tube,
Was triply-redundant, linked to the Blue Cube,
And ELINT and AWACS gave coverage so dense
That nothing that flew could slip through our defense.
When out of the klaxon arose such a clatter
I dashed to the screen to see what was the matter;
I increased the gain and then, quick as a flash,
Fine-adjusted the filters to damp out the hash.
And there found the source of the warning we’d heeded:
An incoming blip, by eight escorts preceded.
“Alert status red!” went the word down the wire,
As we gave every system the codes that meant “FIRE!”
On Aegis! Up Patriot, Phalanx and Hawk,
And scramble our fighters–let’s send the whole flock.
Launch decoys and missiles, use chaff by the yard!
Get the kitchen sink up! Call the National Guard!
They turned toward the target, moved toward it, converged.
Till the tracks on the radar all finally merged,
And the sky was lit up with a demonic light,
As the foe met his fate in the high arctic night.
So we sent out some recon to look for debris,
Yet all that they found, both on land and on sea
Were some toys, a red hat, a charred left leather boot,
Broken sleigh bells, white hair, and a deer’s parachute.
Now it isn’t quite Christmas, with Saint Nick shot down.
There are unhappy kids in each village and town.
For the Spirit of Christmas can’t hope to evade
All the web of defenses we’ve carefully made.
But a crash program’s on: Working hard, night and day,
All the elves are constructing a radar-proof sleigh.
So let’s wait for next Christmas, in cheer and in health,
For the future has hope: Santa’s coming by stealth!
If Men Ruled The World…
Any fake phone number a girl gave you would automatically forward your call to her real number.
Nodding and looking at your watch would be deemed an acceptable response to “I love you.”
Hallmark would make “Sorry, what was your name again?” cards.
When your girlfriend really needed to talk to you during the match, she’d appear in a little box in the corner of the screen during half-time.
Breaking up would be a lot easier. A smack on the ass and a “Good effort, you’ll get ‘em next time” would pretty much do it.
Birth control would come in beer.
Each year, your raise would be pegged to the fortunes of the football team of your choice.
The funniest guy in the office would get to be chief executive.
“Sorry I’m late, but I got really wasted last night” would be an acceptable excuse for tardiness.
At the end of the workday, a whistle would blow and you’d jump out your window and slide down the tail of a brontosaurus and right into your car like Fred Flintstone.
It’d be considered harmless fun to gather 30 friends, put on horned helmets, and go pillage other towns.
Lifeguards could remove citizens from beaches for violating the “public ugliness” ordinance.
Tanks would be far easier to rent.
The trash would take itself out.
Instead of beer belly, you’d get “beer biceps.”
Instead of an expensive engagement ring, you could present your wife-to-be with a giant foam hand that said, “You’re number 1!”
Valentine’s Day would be moved to February 29th so it would only occur in leap years.
St. Patrick’s Day, however, would remain exactly the same. But it would be celebrated every month.
Crime Stoppers would be broadcast live, and you could phone in advice to the pursuing cops. Or to the crooks.
It would be perfectly legal to steal a sports car, as long as you returned it the following day with a full tank of gas.
Every man would get four real Get Out of Jail Free cards per year.
When a cop gave you a ticket, every smart-aleck answer you responded with would actually reduce your fine. As in:
Policeman: “You know how fast you were going?”
You: “All I know is, I was spilling my beer all over the place.”
Policeman: “Nice one. That’s 10 bucks off.”
Taps would run “Hot,” “Cold,” and “100 per cent proof.”
People would never talk about how fresh they felt.
Telephones would automatically cut off after 30 seconds of conversation.
Traditional Fruit Cake Recipe
You will need the following :
1 cup of water
1 cup of sugar
2 cups of dried chopped fruit
1 teaspoon baking soda
2-1/2 cups flour
1 cup brown sugar
1-1/2 teaspoon vanilla
1 cup chopped nuts
1 cup lemon juice
Bottle of your favorite whiskey
Sample the whiskey to check for quality.
Take a large mixing bowl.
Check the whiskey again. To be sure it is the highest quality, pour one level cup and drink. Repeat.
Turn on the electric mixer, beat one cup of butter in a large fluffy bowl. Add one teaspoon of sugar and beat again.
Make sure the whiskey is still okay. Try another cup.
Turn off the mixer. Break eggs and add to the bowl. Mix on the turner. If the fried druit gets stuck in the beaterers, pry it loose with a drewscriver.
Sample the whiskey to check for tonisticity.
Next, sift two cups of salt…or something….anything….who cares.
Check the whishkey. Repeat.
Now sift the lemon juice and strain the nuts. Add one tablespoon of sugar or something, whatever’s available.
Grease the oven. Turn pake can to 350 degrees. Remember to beat off the turner. Open window, throw bowl out.
Check whishkey one more time and go to bed.