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... hell, it’s Christmas time.
Eagerly, she strapped on her secular lexicon and her trusty spear of flexible tolerance, on her first day as a conscript in the War on Christmas.
’Tis the season to wear bathers Fa la la la la, la la la la, Mum said we’ll go swimming at hers, Fa la la la la, la la la la, Now we don our beach apparel, Fa la la, la la la, la la la, Check the waves for a good barrel, Fa la la la la, la la la la!
If I don’t start wrapping soon, all these presents will make for a very unpleasant xmas eve, that’s for damn sure.
I was going to raise the ante around here by posting something from my Jimmy Buffet Christmas album, but (you lucky devils) I couldn’t find it, so I’ll leave you with this gem [link removed] that my daddy used to sing to me.
Ohhhh, here comes Scrine-bird, Here comes Scrine-bird Right down Scrine-bird lane Jackie O and Goliard and all his Scriners, Writing on the net Bells are ringin’, ‘mouse is singin’ All is merry and bright Hang your stockings and say your Other Keiths ‘Cause Scrine-bird comes tonight! Here comes Scrine-bird Here comes Scrine-bird Right down Scrine-bird lane He’s got a post that’s filled with words For boot and e again Hear those Scrine-casts jingle jangle, Oh what a beautiful sight So jump in bed and cover your head ‘Cause Scrine-bird comes tonight!
it is christmas, the next-to-last day of my university career, and i have been given an unidentifiable fossilized shark part as a present from a librarian i barely know; all is meet in this part of the universe….hm hm hm, hm hm hm…....
He snuck around the house, drinking the beer (thank goodness these Australians knew not to leave out milk), nibbing on the biscuits and putting things under the tree, while outside the lads grazed happily on the carrots and guzzled the water in this damnably hot stopover.
My daughter was so completely frightened of someone who would come down the chimney that not only did we have to have the “mailman” bring the packages instead, but we had to shove the sofa in front of the fireplace for the entire week before Christmas to allow her to sleep more easily.
“How come you guys lock the doors every other night of the year, but it’s okay for Santa to come in, in the middle of the night, an’ do anything he wants, an’ maybe walk around here and look at us sleeping?”
Amidst the flurry that was Christmas Eve, she stopped and she remembered.
With my brother out of town, it falls on me to play Santa for his three mangy cats, who I imagine are this very second standing outside in the dark next to their food bowls, expecting nothing less than a miracle.
When you live alone, it takes a bit more effort to be surprised on Christmas morning; about a case and a half more effort, if you’re counting.
In case you were wondering, it is in fact possible for a dog to cram both a long-legged, squeaking lamb and a plush rainbow trout into his mouth at the same time.
By now the wise men were drunk enough that when all three staggered out of the manger to “see a man about a dog,” Mary gestured frantically for Joe to lock the barn door.
Next year I’m going to lock myself in a small dark cupboard.
Is it too early to hide all my husband’s insufferable Mannheim Steamroller holiday albums for another year?
Most people don’t remember the traditional morning-after carols because they’re sleeping the deep sleep of the over-wined.
Yes, that’s right Johnny, someone left us a parcel on the doorstep, but this time I don’t think it was the man in the red suit.
As she moved about and tried to get comfy on the slightly lumpy pillow, she realised that she hadn’t remembered the coffee.
Reality is for people who don’t have hot chocolate mix and a bottle of peppermint schnapps stashed at the office.
Reality is for people who don’t have a Smithfield ham sitting under their desks.
What’s the use of fighting with those cardboard Christmas wrap tubes when you’re a kid if you just grow up and there’s no one around to pick a sword fight with?
When she was three, her favorite toy was a car which I had made from two paper bags with handles (you’d have to see it to understand its construction); however, at age nine, odds are against me that she’d accept a paper bag Nintendo for Christmas.
I was decorating the Christmas tree the other day, bemused, as always, by the large number of snow related items I have, and the very next day I happened upon a book featuring the song Six White Boomers - a much more Australian Christmas.
Have a very Merry Christmas Meltdown.
This time the thermos is full and the laptop is charged.
with sincere and profuse apologies to irving berlin I’m dreaming of a burnt Christmas, just like the ones we always cheer, where the beach crowds mingle, and get Kris Kringles, while Santa downs another beer.
I gave you my heart (and many other songs).
I really thought I had made it to higher ground this year, but no - Christmas guilt is already knee-deep, and rising.
This photo made me laugh, for quite a while, quite loudly and for not any sort of a good reason.
It’s the first foggy morning of the season that always brings Christmas to my mind.
I’d like to start up a list of all the animals featured on Scrine, but I’m worried this would then obligate me to deliver annual presents to all of them.
“Think Green” ornaments for the White House Christmas tree.
Dr. Humboldt saw it as a good portent that the success of the holiday season was seen in terms of retail sales rather than trite things such as feeding the poor and clothing the naked, besides public nudity..in the good dr.‘s estimation, was highly underrated.
jingle, jingle, december?
humbug, she usually was forced to admit, but really only because she had no one for whom to shop, herself, but this year all was redeemed by her new school, which allowed the teachers to adopt some children for the season, anonymously buying them the things that they wanted in time for them to take them home at the break, where they might not have been able to get them; she chose two seven-year-old-boys who each wrote down that they wanted “art supplies” even though they didn’t even know she’d be reading it and, upon further investigation, discovered that yes, indeed, they were students in her very own classes! fa la la la la…oh and baseball stuff and a scooter, what does “a scooter” mean to a seven-year-old these days, could she swing it? (la la la la.)
If, like many folk from the UK and Australia you grew up with Doctor Who, you might appreciate this Christmas themed story ‘Mr. Dalek Discovers the True Meaning of Christmas’ - and even better Tony Gallichan (the narrator) advises me via my StumbleUpon mailbox that ‘theres more Mr Dalek stories - 3 more so far and one more this xmas (hopefully, lol)’. (see also whomix.trilete.net).
Rufus thought it was beginning to feel like Christmas at the house, but my friend Schuster only scoffed, pointing out that there wasn’t any rum.
Jan Van de Boer became a grocer because he loved calling for a “clean up in aisle 5” ever since that one Christmas when Santa Claus left him an intercom system in his stocking.
‘I’m just ringing to inform you that Christmas is cancelled this year’ said the yum-yum sister in rather happy tones; my smile broke free at the news, spewing out sunlight and happiness and causing birds to sing and nymphs to dance.
The things that shine seem to somehow make it all worthwhile.
I don’t go in for organized religion generally but during this time of the year I become a temporary and honorary member of the Kingdom Hall of Jehovah’s Witnesses - it allows me to avoid Christmas and my birthday with very little pain – I don’t mind Christmas that much but my birthday is a cursed day and if we had the time I could tell you stories that would make your jaw drop.
Never have the 12 days of Christmas been so fun or confusing.
My doctor, a Buddhist, assumes anyone who observes Christmas is a Christian, without regard for the vagaries of denomination or individual crises of faith; I don’t know whether to be offended or just go native and embrace my inner Presbyterian.
Three - count ‘em! - receptionists with eagle eyes and calorie calculators for brains are keeping me from sneaking more Christmas cookies this morning.
Bugger the snow and open fireplaces, give me a barbie, some beer, a trip to the beach, and Six White Boomers.
With all due respect to boomers, only flying reindeer can really croon!
If you hang your Christmas tree upside down you can fit more presents underneath it.
The Christmas holiday was in a neck-and-neck race with Mona’s cold, but she didn’t mind because she knew that no matter who won, there was a couch, a warm quilt and a Frank Capra film festival waiting at the finish line.
I really quite like a heck of a lot about this time of year.
Christmas comes but once a year, a good excuse to drink more beer.
A pile of presents under the tree, and all of them are for me.
Scriners, start your eggnog, the Christmas Eve O-Clock bell has tolled.
Merry Christmas my beautiful poppets - I hope you all find time to enjoy the company of friends, family and the people you love - have a great day
Rufus thought that Christmas was a good time to appreciate all your friends, and my friend Schuster agreed so much that he gave Rufus a big hug without once turning into a choke hold.
The great thing about getting socks for Christmas is that they are more reliable than a spouse and (pay attention this is important)you can always darn your socks if they get a hole in them unlike your spouse who you must damn.
I do love the heady rollout of roast potatoes, searing hot dishes, and delicious hot plum pudding, but most years I wish we’d all just give it up and go for a picnic and icecream.
Marty recklessly lit all the candles on the Christmas centerpiece, violating two government office rules - no open flames and no blatantly holiday-specific ornaments - in one fell swoop.
On Christmases and birthdays, Josie would gift her ex-husband with his own possessions, originally won by her in the divorce decree; the self-help books he gave her in return she threw out in the yard where the hounds would chew them.
Art historian Gabe Raddison believed the incident that led Van Gogh to cut off his ear was precipitated by his use of increasingly pure pigments, specifically yellow, while sweating out an abnormally high syphilitic fever Christmas eve 1888.
Having endured 44 Christmases, you’d think people would understand my deep desire to take the next one off.
Christmas in Summer has it’s own special flavour.
And, truly, this makes it all worthwhile.
A warm, summer day with a delightfully cool breeze, the birds are singing and the flowers are riotous; it’s Christmas.
Just one hint of gingerbread washes away all of my best efforts at bah-humbug-ery.
No, I can’t bring myself to do it - it must be the silver Christmas trees jingling on my ears.
Rufus thinks that next year for Christmas he’ll give my friend Schuster a night with his favorite prostitute, but Schuster told him to make sure and get a gift receipt because, “If she’s the woman I’m thinking of,” he added, “she’s too big and will need to be exchanged for a much smaller size.”
As June approached and the weather turned sweltering, Juan found himself singing “Six White Boomers” and struggling to understand what it was like for those wacky Australians who celebrated Christmas in the middle of summer.
Because of the poor economy, the narcissists decided that they’d put a $20 spending limit on this year’s Christmas party mirror exchange.
Henry prayed feverishly into the night, begging the gods of traffic safety to deliver unharmed all who traveled during the holiday season, particularly those who found themselves on I-5, just south of Portland, perhaps, who, just maybe, were delivering Christmas bonus checks to employees in Albany.
Rufus says that he’s never gotten a punch for Christmas before, but my friend Schuster told him to put all that behind him, because from now on, he’s getting one every year.
Neil Gaiman ruined my childhood.
The young duck slowly opened his Christmas present from Grandma, hoping desperately isn’t wasn’t another pair of socks.
The ‘magic’ of Christmas feels like a cruel joke, sometimes.
Undecorating for the holidays is almost as pointless as decorating for them, but twice as demoralizing for when you’re done, all you’ve achieved for your effort is a return to what went before, plus or minus a few stray pine needles and strands of tinsel.
Nothing says Christmas Miracle like the return of the rusty metal bird.
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