A Christmas Theme to all our Amusements this week. Have a wonderfully happy time.
Three men died on Christmas Eve and were met by Saint Peter at the pearly gates.
“In honor of this holy season,” Saint Peter said, “You must each possess something that symbolizes Christmas to get into heaven.”
The first man fumbled through his pockets and pulled out a lighter. He flicked it on.
“It represents a candle,” he said.
“You may pass through the pearly gates,” Saint Peter said.
The second man reached into his pocket and pulled out a set of keys. He shook them and said, “They’re bells.”
Saint Peter said, “You may pass through the pearly gates.”
The third man started searching desperately through his pockets and finally pulled out a pair of women’s panties.
St. Peter looked at the man with a raised eyebrow and asked, “And just what do those symbolize?”
The man replied, “They’re Carol’s.”
Santa Claus, like any pilot, gets regular visits from Federal Aviation Administration inspectors. And sure enough, an inspector arrived right on Christmas Eve, just as Santa was about to take off for his around-the-world flight!
Santa made sure his logbook and all his paperwork were in order. The elf mechanics made double sure all the required inspections and Airworthiness Directives for the sleigh were up to date and properly logged.
The inspector checked Santa’s pilot logbook, determining he was qualified and current. He checked the maintenance logs, and found them to be in perfect order. Then he walked slowly around the sleigh. He checked the reindeer harnesses, the landing gear, and Rudolf’s nose. He especially painstakingly reviewed Santa’s weight and balance calculations for the sleigh’s enormous payload. The payload was a primary concern on the visit, since no other operators fly with anywhere near as much cargo on a single flight. And Santa operates with a special FAA waiver to fly the craft with only one pilot. So they keep an eye on him.
Finally, they were ready for the flight check. Santa got in, fastened his seat belt and shoulder harness, got out the checklist and powered up the shiny new GPS navigation system. Then the inspector hopped in — carrying to Santa’s surprise, a shotgun.
“What’s that for?” asked Santa incredulously.
“I’m not supposed to tell you this ahead of time,” the inspector said, after leaning over to whisper to Santa, “but you’re gonna lose an engine on takeoff.”
Santa was very cross. It was Christmas Eve and nothing was going right.
The elves were complaining about not getting paid overtime. The reindeer had been drinking all afternoon and the sleigh was broken.
Santa was furious. ‘I can’t believe it!’ he yells. ‘I’ve got to deliver millions of presents all over the world in just a few hours – all of my reindeer are drunk, the elves are on strike and I don’t even have a Christmas tree! I sent that stupid little angel to find one hours ago! What am I going to do?’
Just then, the little angel opens the front door and steps in from the snowy night, dragging a Christmas tree. ‘Oi fatty!’ she says. ‘Where d’you want me to stick this?’
And thus the tradition of angels atop the Christmas trees came to pass.
And finally, in what could (and probably should) become a Christmas tradition, the Lovable Louise story once again!
Lovable Louise — a Christmas Story
As a joke, my brother used to hang a pair of panty hose over his fireplace before Christmas. He said all he wanted was for Santa to fill them. What they say about Santa checking the list twice must be true because every Christmas morning, although Jay’s kids’ stockings were overflowed, his poor pantyhose hung sadly empty and grew increasingly threadbare.
One year I decided to make his dream come true.
I put on sunglasses and a fake beard and went in search of an inflatable love doll. Of course, they don’t sell those things at Walmart. I had to go to an adult bookstore downtown. If you’ve never been in such a store, don’t go. You’ll only confuse yourself. I was there almost three hours saying things like, “What does this do?” “You’re kidding me!” “Who owns that?” and “Do you have their phone number?”
Finally, I made it to the inflatable doll section. I wanted to buy a standard, uncomplicated doll suitable for a night of romance that could also substitute as a passenger in my truck so I could use the car pool lane during rush hour. I’m not sure what a complicated doll is. Perhaps one that is subject to wild mood shifts and using a French accent for no reason at all. (That also describes a few ex-girlfriends.) Finding what I wanted was difficult. Love dolls come in many different models. The top of the line, according to the side of the box, could do things I’d only seen in a book on animal husbandry. I figured the “vibro-motion” was a feature Jay could live without, so I settled for Lovable Louise. She was at the bottom of the price scale. To call Louise a “doll” took a huge leap of imagination.
On Christmas Eve, with the help of an old bicycle pump, Louise came to life.
My sister-in-law was in on the plan and cleverly left the front door key hidden under the mat. In the wee morning hours, long after Santa had come and gone, I snuck into the house and filled the dangling pantyhose with Louise’s pliant legs and bottom. I also ate some cookies and drank what remained of a glass of milk on a nearby tray.
Then I let myself out, went home, and giggled for a couple of hours.
The next morning my brother called to say that Santa had been to his house and left a present that had made him very happy but had left the dog confused. He would bark, start to walk away, then come back and bark some more. I suggested he purchase an inflatable Lassie to set Rover straight.
We also agreed that Louise should remain in her pantyhose so the rest of the family could admire her when they came over for the traditional Christmas dinner. It seemed like a great idea, except that we forgot that Grandma and Grandpa would be there.
My grandmother noticed Louise the moment she walked in the door. “What the hell is that?” she asked. My brother quickly explained.
It’s a doll.
“Who would play with something like that?” Granny snapped. I had several candidates in mind, but kept my mouth shut. “Where are her clothes?” Granny continued. I hadn’t seen any in the box, but I kept this information to myself.
“Boy, that turkey sure smells nice, Gran,” Jay said, trying to steer her into the dining room. But Granny was relentless.
“Why doesn’t she have any teeth?”
Again, I could have answered, but why would I? It was Christmas and no one wanted to ride in the back of the ambulance saying, “Hang on Granny, Hang on!”
My grandfather, a delightful old man with poor eyesight, sidled up to me and said, “Hey, who’s the naked gal by the fireplace?” I told him she was Jay’s friend. A few minutes later I noticed Grandpa by the mantel, talking to Louise. Not just talking, but actually flirting. It was then that we realized this might be Grandpa’s last Christmas at home.
The dinner went well. We made the usual small talk about who had died, who was dying, and who should be killed, when suddenly Louise made a noise that sounded a lot like my father in the bathroom in the morning. Then she lurched from the pantyhose, flew around the room twice, and fell in a heap in front of the sofa.
The cat screamed, I passed cranberry sauce through my nose, and Grandpa ran across the room, fell to his knees, and began administering mouth to mouth resuscitation. My brother wet his pants and Granny threw down her napkin, stomped out of the room, and sat in the car. It was indeed a Christmas to treasure and remember.
Later in my brother’s garage, we conducted a thorough examination to decide the cause of Louise’s collapse.
We discovered that Louise had suffered from a hot fireplace ember to the back of her right thigh. Fortunately, thanks to a wonder drug called duct tape, we restored her to perfect health. Louise went on to star in several bachelor party movies. I think Grandpa still calls her whenever he can get out of the house.