Santa was not having a good Christmas. It was snowing hard and Rudolph was hitting the bottle again, but the rest of the reindeer were refusing to fly without him; the elves were staging a work slowdown and Mrs. Claus had told him to go make his own @^&*%#! dinner because she was fed up with him working every Christmas Eve. Santa was wiping reindeer vomit off the floor when the littlest angel barged through the door, dragging the huge North Pole Christmas tree behind him.
"Yo, Fat Boy!" he yelled. "Where do you want me to stick this?"
And so began the beloved Christmas tradition of an angel perched atop our Christmas tree.
10 comments:
HAHAHAHAHA!
I got nothin to add ...
... cept Merry Christmas, Colonel, to you & yours (four-leggrs included).
All right sodomy joke for Xmas!
With the exception of the Elves staging a work slowdown, that sounds a lot like Christmas around my house.
Joey: And Merry Christmas to everyone in Joeyland!
Malach: This is a full-service blog, this is.
Mike: We must live in the same neighborhood.
The work slow down serves Santa right for outsourcing to China. Damn lead painted toys.
Talk about your angels we have heard on high!
Hope it was a wonderful day for you, Amy, the pids and all your loved ones!
Merry Christmas Mr. Colonel!
I now know that the angels weren't singing as once believed.Instead they were screaming and with good reason.
mwaaaaaaaaahahahahaaaaaaa...
just a note- i do not do christmas trees!
I always felt dirty making the angel ride the peg.
It is as good a story as the made up truth!! Only I think yours is better.
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