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Tue 29 Nov, 2005 06:09 pm
There was a man who worked for the Post Office
whose job it was to process all the mail that had
illegible addresses. One day just before
Christmas, a letter landed on his desk, simply
addressed in shaky handwriting to "God". With no
other clue on the envelope, he opened the letter
and read, "Dear God, I am an 83 year old widow
living on the State pension. Yesterday someone
stole my purse. It had £100 in it, which was all
the money I had in the world and no pension due
until after Christmas. Next week is Christmas and
I had invited two of my friends over for Xmas
dinner. Without that money, I have nothing to buy
food with. I have no family to turn to, and you
are my only hope. God, can you please help me?"
The postal worker was really touched, and put a
copy of the letter up on the Staff Notice board,
at the main sorting office where he worked. The
letter touched the other postmen and they all dug
into their pockets and had a whip round. Between them they raised £96.
Using an official franked Post Office envelope,
they sent the cash on to the old lady, and for
the rest of the day, all the workers felt a warm
glow thinking of the nice thing they had done.
Christmas came and went. A few days later,
another letter simply addressed to "God" landed
in the Sorting Office. Many of the postmen
gathered around while the letter was opened. It
read, "Dear God, How can I ever thank you enough
for what you did for me? Because of your
generosity, I was able to provide a lovely dinner
for my friends. We had a very nice day, and I
told my friends of your wonderful gift - in fact
we haven't gotten over it and our Vicar is beside
himself with joy. By the way, there was £4
missing. I think it must have been those thieving bastards at the Post
Office."
Santa was getting ready for his annual trip ... but there were problems everywhere. Four of his elves got sick with the flu, and the trainee elves could not produce the toys as fast as the other ones, so Santa was beginning to quickly feel the pressure of getting behind of schedule.
Then, Mrs. Claus told Santa at the last minute that her mom was coming to stay for the holidays. This stressed Santa even more. When he went 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.
Then when he began to load the sleigh one of the boards cracked and the toy bag fell to the ground and out scattered all the toys. So frustrated Santa went into the house for a cup of coffee and a shot of whiskey. When he went to the cupboard, he discovered that "those bloody elves" had hid the liquor and there was nothing to drink.
In his frustration, he accidentally dropped the coffee pot and broke it into hundreds of little pieces all over the kitchen floor. He went to get the broom and found that the "fricken" mice had eaten off all the straw, it was made from.
Just then the doorbell rang and Santa cussed all the through the house to the front door. He opened the door and there was the little Christmas Fairy with a great big Christmas tree.
The fairy said, very cheerfully, "Merry Christmas Santa, Isn't it just a lovely evening? I have this beautiful tree for you!
Isn't it just a lovely tree? Where would you like me to stick it?"
Thus began the tradition of the little Christmas Fairy on top of the Christmas tree.
It wasn't until the punch line that I remembered this favored classic.
I like this for the ladies...
Twas the month after Christmas,
and all through the house
Nothing would fit me,
not even a blouse.
The cookies I'd nibbled,
the eggnog I'd taste
At the holiday parties
had gone to my waist.
When I got on the scales
there arose such a number!
When I walked to the store
(less a walk than a lumber).
I'd remember the marvelous meals I'd prepared;
The gravies and sauces and beef nicely rared.
The wine and the rum balls,
the bread and the cheese
And the way I'd never said,
"No thank you, please."
As I dressed myself in my husband's old shirt
And prepared once again to do battle with dirt---
I said to myself, as I only can
"You can't spend a winter disguised as a man!"
So--away with the last of the sour cream dip,
Get rid of the fruit cake, every cracker and chip
Every last bit of food that I like must be banished
"Till all the additional ounces have vanished.
I won't have a cookie--not even a lick.
I'll want only to chew on a long celery stick.
I won't have hot biscuits, or cornbread, or pie,
I'll munch on a carrot and quietly cry.
I'm hungry, I'm lonesome, and life is a bore---
But isn't that what January is for?
Unable to giggle, no longer a riot.
Happy New Year to all and to all a good diet!
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