Snake Skinner AKA Motordromerider's blog: "JOKES #1"

POLITICALLY CORRECT CHRISTMAS STORY


'Twas the night before Christmas and Santa was a wreck ...
How to live in a world that's politically correct?

His workers no longer would answer to "Elves",
"Vertically Challenged" they were calling themselves.

And labor conditions at the north pole
Were alleged by the union to stifle the soul.

Four reindeer had vanished, without much propriety,
Released to the wilds by the Humane Society.

And equal employment had made it quite clear
That Santa had better not use just reindeer.

So Dancer and Donner, Comet and Cupid,
Were replaced with 4 pigs, and you KNOW that looked stupid!

The runners had been removed from his sleigh;
The ruts were termed dangerous by the E.P.A.

And people had started to call for the cops
When they heard sled noises on their roof-tops.

Second-hand smoke from his pipe had his workers quite frightened.
His fur trimmed red suit was called "Unenlightened."

And to show you the strangeness of life's ebbs and flows,
Rudolf was suing over unauthorized use of his nose

And had gone on the Ellen show, in front of the nation,
Demanding millions in over-due compensation.

So, half of the reindeer were gone; and his wife,
Who suddenly said she'd enough of this life,

Joined a self-help group, packed, and left in a whiz,
Demanding from now on her title was "Ms."
.
And as for the gifts, why, he'd ne'er had a notion
That making a choice could cause so much commotion.

Nothing of leather, nothing of fur,
Which meant nothing for him. And nothing for her.

Nothing that might be construed to pollute.
Nothing to aim. Nothing to shoot.

Nothing that clamored or made lots of noise.
Nothing for just girls. Or just for the boys.

Nothing that claimed to be gender specific.
Nothing that's warlike or non-pacific.

No candy or sweets...they were bad for the tooth.
Nothing that seemed to embellish a truth.

And fairy tales, while not yet forbidden,
Were like Ken and Barbie, better off hidden.

For they raised the hackles of those psychological
Who claimed the only good gift was one ecological.

No baseball, no football...someone could get hurt;
Besides, playing sports exposed kids to dirt.

Dolls were said to be sexist, and should be passe;
And Nintendo would rot your entire brain away.

So Santa just stood there, disheveled, perplexed;
He just could not figure out what to do next.

He tried to be merry, tried to be gay,
But you've got to be careful with THAT word these days.

His sack was quite empty, limp to the ground;
Nothing fully acceptable was to be found.

Something special was needed, a gift that he might
Give to all without angering the left or the right.

A gift that would satisfy, with no indecision,
Each group of people, every religion;

Every ethnicity, every hue,
Everyone, everywhere...even YOU!

So here is that gift, it's price beyond worth...
"May you and your loved ones enjoy Peace On Earth."

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TWAS THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS -- HIPPIE VERSION

'Twas the night before Christmas and all thru the pad, 
Not a hep cat was swinging - and that's nowhere, dad, 
The stove was hung up in that stocking routine, 
Like, maybe the fat man would soon make the scene. 

The kids that fell by had just made the street; 
I was ready for Snoresville, and man, was I beat; 
When there started a rumble that came on real frantic, 
So I opened the window to figure the panic. 

I saw a slick rod that was making fat tracks, 
Souped up by eight ponies, all wearing hat racks; 
And a funny old geezer was flipping his lid. 
He told them to make it, and man, like they did! 

They were out of the chute, making time like a bat, 
Turning the quarter in eight seconds flat. 
They parked by the smokestack in bunches and clusters, 
And Chubby slid down, coming on like gangbusters, 

His threads were from Cubesville and I had to chuckle, 
In front, not in back, was his Ivy league buckle! 
And the mop on his chin had a button-down collar, 
And with that red nose he looked like a baller. 

Like he was the squarest, the most absolute, 
But let's face it, who cares when he left all that loot? 
He laid the jazz on me and peeled from the gig, 
Wailing, "Have a cool Yule, Man!" and clutched off in his rig.