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Sally's Sillies

Christmas Jokes & Inspiration

Joke Index

I Think Santa Claus is a Woman

I hate to be the one to defy sacred myth, but I believe he's a she. Think about it. Christmas is a big, organized, warm, fuzzy, nurturing social deal, and I have a tough time believing a guy could possibly pull it all off!

For starters, the vast majority of men don't even think about selecting gifts until Christmas Eve. It's as if they are all frozen in some kind of Ebenezerian Time Warp until 3 p.m. on Dec. 24th, when they - with amazing calm - call other errant men and plan for a last-minute shopping spree. Once at the store, they always seem surprised to find only extra-small sweaters, Ronco products, socket wrench sets, and mood rings left on the shelves. (You might think this would send them into a fit of panic and guilt, but my husband tells me it's an enormous relief because it lessens the 11th hour decision-making burden.) On this count alone, I'm convinced Santa is a woman. Surely, if he were a man, everyone in the universe would wake up Christmas morning to find a rotating musical Chia Pet under the tree, still in the bag.

Another problem for a he-Santa would be getting there. First of all, there would be no reindeer because they would all be dead, gutted and strapped on to the rear bumper of the sleigh. Blitzen's rack would already be on the way to the taxidermist. Even if the male Santa DID have reindeer, he'd still have transportation problems because he would inevitably get lost up there in the snow and clouds and then refuse to stop and ask for directions. Add to this the fact that there would be unavoidable delays in the chimney, where the Bob Vila-like Santa would stop to inspect and repoint bricks in the flue. He would also need to check for carbon monoxide fumes in every gas fireplace, and get under every Christmas tree that is crooked to straighten it to a perfectly upright 90-degree angle.

Other reasons why Santa can't possibly be a man:

  • Men can't pack a bag.
  • Men would rather be dead than caught wearing red velvet.
  • Men would feel their masculinity is threatened...having to be seen with all those elves.
  • Men don't answer their mail.
  • Men would refuse to allow their physique to be described even in jest as anything remotely resembling a "bowlful of jelly."
  • Men aren't interested in stockings unless somebody's wearing them.
  • Having to do the "Ho Ho Ho" thing would seriously inhibit their ability to pick up women.
  • Finally, being responsible for Christmas would require a commitment.

I can buy the fact that other mythical holiday characters are men... Father Time shows up once a year unshaven and looking ominous. Definite guy. Cupid flies around carrying weapons. Uncle Sam is a politician who likes to point fingers. Any one of these individuals could pass the testosterone screening test. But not St. Nick. Not a chance. But as long as we have each other, good will, peace on earth, faith and Nat King Cole's version of "The Christmas Song," it probably makes little difference what gender Santa is. I just wish she'd quit dressing like a guy!!!

Cheri S. 1998

There's No Place Like Home

This guy goes into a restaurant for a Christmas breakfast while in his home town for the holidays. After looking over the menu he says, "I'll just have the eggs Benedict." His order comes a while later and it's served on a big, shiny hubcap. He asks the waiter, "What's with the hubcap?" The waiter sings, "Oh, there's no plate like chrome for the Hollandaise!"

Cheri S. November 11, 1998

Chessnuts Roasting

A group of chess enthusiasts checked into a hotel and were standing in the lobby discussing their recent tournament victories. After about an hour, the manager came out of the office and asked them to disperse. "But why?" they asked, as they moved off. "Because," he said, "I can't stand chess nuts boasting in an open foyer."

Cheri S. November 11, 1998

A Christmas Bike 

On Christmas morning a cop on horseback is sitting at a traffic light, and next to him is a kid on his shiny new bike. The cop says to the kid, "Nice bike you got there. Did Santa bring that to you?" The Kid says, "Yeah." The cop says, "Well, next year tell Santa to put a tail-light on that bike." The cop then proceeds to issue the kid a $20.00 bicycle safety violation ticket.

The kid takes the ticket and before he rides off says, "By the way, that's a nice horse you got there. Did Santa bring that to you?" Humoring the kid, the cop says, "Yeah, he sure did." The kid says, "Well, next year tell Santa to put the dick underneath the horse, instead of on top."

Cheri S. 1998

Why Angels are On the top of Christmas trees

One particular Christmas season a long time ago, Santa was getting ready for his annual trip ... but there were problems everywhere. Four of his elves got sick, and the trainee elves did not produce the toys as fast as the regular ones so Santa was beginning to feel the pressure of being behind schedule.

Then Mrs. Claus told Santa that her mom was coming to visit. 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 scattered 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 the elves had hid the liquor and there was nothing to drink. In his frustration, he accidentally dropped the coffee pot and it broke into hundreds of little pieces all over the kitchen floor. He went to get the broom and found that mice had eaten the straw it was made from.

Just then the doorbell rang and Santa cussed on his way to the door. He opened the door and there was a little angel with a great big Christmas tree. The angel said, very cheerfully, "Merry Christmas Santa. Isn't it just a lovely day? I have a 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 angel on top of the Christmas tree.

D.A. Kerr, December 11, 1998

Christmas Parrot

A few days before Christmas, a man enters a pet store searching for a unique gift for his wife. The store manager tells him he has just what he is looking for! A beautiful parrot named Chet that sings Christmas carols. He brings the husband over to a colorful but quiet bird. The man agrees that Chet certainly is pretty, but he doesn't seem to be much for singing. The manager tells him to watch as he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a lighter. The manager clicks the lighter and holds it under Chet's left foot. Immediately Chet starts singing, "Silent Night." The husband is very impressed with Chet's singing abilities and watches as the manager moves the lighter underneath Chet's right foot. Chet now starts to sing "Jingle Bells."

The husband says Chet is perfect and that he'll take him. He rushes home to his wife and insists upon giving her this wonderful gift immediately. He presents Chet and starts to explain the parrot's special talent. Demonstrating, he holds the lighter under Chet's left foot and the bird sings "Silent Night." He then moves the lighter under his right foot and Chet lets loose with a round of "Jingle Bells."

The wife is absolutely impressed, and with a mischievous grin asks her husband what happens if he holds the lighter between Chet's legs instead. Curious, the husband moves the lighter between the bird's legs and Chet at once begins to sing his version of "Mel Torme's Christmas Song": "Chet's nuts roasting .........."

Lisa H. December 14, 1998

Where Icicles Come From

Stacy H. December 17, 1998

Nativity Scene

In a small Southern town there was a "Nativity Scene" that showed great skill and talent had gone into creating it. One small feature bothered me. The three wise men were wearing firemen's helmets. Totally unable to come up with a reason or explanation, I left.

At a "Quik Stop" on the edge of town, I asked the lady behind the counter about the helmets. She exploded into a rage, yelling at me, "You darn Yankees never do read the Bible!" I assured her that I did, but simply couldn't recall anything about firemen in the Bible.

She jerked her Bible from behind the counter and ruffled thru some pages, and finally jabbed her finger at a passage. Sticking it in my face she said "See, it says right here, 'The three wise men came from afar.'"

Lisa H. December 11, 1998

The Night Before Christmas

'Twas the night before Christmas,
and God it as neat.
The kids were both gone,
and my wife was in heat

The doors were all bolted,
and the phone off the hook.
It was time for some nooky,
by hook or by crook.,

Momma in her teddy,
and I in the nude.
Had just hit the bedroom
and reached for the lube

When out on the lawn
there arose such a cry,
That I lost my boner
and poor momma went dry

Up to the window
I sprang like an elf,
Tore back the shade
while she played with herself.

The moon on the crest
of the snowman we'd built,
Showed a broom up his ass,
clean up to the hilt.

When what to my wondering
eyes should appear,
But a rusty old sleigh
and eight mangy reindeer.

With a fat little driver,
half out of his sled,
A sock in his ear,
and a bra on his head.

Sure as I'm speaking,
he was as high as a kite.
And he yelled to his team,
but it didn't sound right.

Whoa Shithead, whoa Asshole,
whoa Stupid, whoa Putz,
Either slow down this rig
or I'll cut off your nuts.

Look out for the lamp post,
and don't hit the tree,
Quit shaking the sleigh,
'cause I gotta go pee.

They cleared the old lamp post,
the tree got a rub,
Just as Santa leaned out
and threw up on my shrub.

And then from the roof
we heard such a clatter,
As each little reindeer
now emptied his bladder.

I was donning my jacket
to cover my ass,
When down the chimney
Santa came with a crash.

His suit was all smelly
with perfume galore,
He lookd like a bum
and he smelled like a whore.

"That was some brothel,"
he said with a smile,
"The reindeer are pooped,
and I'll just stay here awhile.

He walked to the kitchen,
himself poured a drink,
Then whipped out his pecker
and pissed in the sink.

I started to laugh,
my wife smiled with glee,
The old boy was hung
nearly down to his knee.

Back in the den,
Santa reached in his sack,
But his toys were all gone,
and some new things were packed.

The first thing he found
was a pair of false tits,
The next was a handgun
with a penis that spits.

A box filled with condoms
was Santa's next find,
And a six pair of panties,
the edible kind.

A bra without nipples,
a penis extension,
And several other things
that I shouldn't even mention.

A cock ring, a G-string,
and all types of oil,
A dildo so long,
it lay in a coil.

"This suff ain't for kids,
Mrs. Santa will shit,
So I'll leave 'em here,
and then I'll just split."

He filled every stocking
and then took his leave,
With one tiny butt plug
tucked under his sleeve.

He sprang to his sleigh,
but his feet were like lead,
Thus he fell on his ass
and broke wind instead.

In time he was seated,
took the reins of his hitch,
Saying, "Take me home Rudolph,
this night's been a bitch!"

The sleigh was near gone
when we heard Santa shout,
"The best thing about sex
is that it never wears out!"

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Lisa H. October 19, 1998

Christmas is for Love

Christmas is for love. It is for joy, for giving and sharing, for laughter, for reuniting with family and friends, for tinsel and brightly decorated packages. But mostly, Christmas is for love. I had not believed this until a small elf-like student with wide-eyed innocent eyes and soft rosy cheeks gave me a wondrous gift one Christmas.

Mark was an 11 year old orphan who lived with his aunt, a bitter middle aged woman greatly annoyed with the burden of caring for her dead sister's son. She never failed to remind young Mark, if it hadn't been for her generosity, he would be a vagrant, homeless waif. Still, with all the scolding and chilliness at home, he was a sweet and gentle child. I had not noticed Mark particularly until he began staying after class each day (at the risk of arousing his aunt's anger, I later found) to help me straighten up the room. We did this quietly and comfortably, not speaking much, but enjoying the solitude of that hour of the day. When we did talk, Mark spoke mostly of his mother. Though he was quite small when she died, he remembered a kind, gentle, loving woman, who always spent much time with him.

As Christmas drew near however, Mark failed to stay after school each day. I looked forward to his coming, and when the days passed and he continued to scamper hurriedly from the room after class, I stopped him one afternoon and asked why he no longer helped me in the room. I told him how I had missed him, and his large gray eyes lit up eagerly as he replied, "Did you really miss me?" I explained how he had been my best helper. "I was making you a surprise," he whispered confidentially. "It's for Christmas." With that, he became embarrassed and dashed from the room. He didn't stay after school any more after that.

Finally came the last school day before Christmas. Mark crept slowly into the room late that afternoon with his hands concealing something behind his back. "I have your present," he said timidly when I looked up. "I hope you like it." He held out his hands, and there lying in his small palms was a tiny wooden box. "Its beautiful, Mark. Is there something in it?" I asked opening the top to look inside. " "Oh you can't see what's in it," He replied, "and you can't touch it, or taste it or feel it, but mother always said it makes you feel good all the time, warm on cold nights, and safe when you're all alone." I gazed into the empty box. "What is it Mark," I asked gently, "that will make me feel so good?" "It's love," he whispered softly, "and mother always said it's best when you give it away." And he turned and quietly left the room.

So now I keep a small box crudely made of scraps of wood on the piano in my living room and only smile as inquiring friends raise quizzical eyebrows when I explain to them that there is love in it. Yes, Christmas is for gaiety, mirth and song, for good and wondrous gifts. But mostly, Christmas is for love.

Lisa H. December 23, 1998

Letters to Santa Claus

Letters to Santa from a conformation exhibitor:

Dear Santa, Heres a Christmas wish
To make my Christmas glow
All I'd like for Christmas
Is simply Best In Show

If that's too much, dear Santa,
Then my heart would loop-de-loop,
If you'd see fit
to give me a placing in the Group.

In fact, I'd be quite satisfied,
And not show too much greed
If you'd be kind and generous,
And give me Best of Breed

Dear Santa, I'd be merry
and really feel quite rich
If you'd arrange a gift for me
Winner's Dog or Bitch!

But I'd be joyful, Santa,
and I'd dance the Highland Fling
If Pup would just be happy
and BEHAVE right in the ring!!!!

Letter to Santa from an Obedience Exhibitor:

Dear Santa will you bring me
A gift to make me smile?
Santa will you bring me
Just one high in Trial?

Dear Santa, will you bring me
Just one 200 score?
Just once in my lifetime
and I'd never ask for more.

Of course I know, Dear Santa,
Its a lesson that I've learned
A win does not come gift wrapped,
First they must be earned.

What I'd really like, dear Santa
Is a happy "man's best friend"
When an exercise is finished,
He wags his whole rear end

He struts along so proudly,
His head is held up high
You can tell he loves it
By the twinkle in his eye

The gift I'd like, dear Santa,
Is the most important one
My dog and I just want to have
The gift of having fun!!

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Lisa H. December 29, 1998

Walkn' in a Doggie Wonderland

Dogs tags ring, are you listening'?
In the lane, snow is glistening'.
It's yellow, NOT white - I've been there tonight,
Marking up my winter wonderland.

Smell that tree? That's my fragrance.
It's a sign for wand'ring vagrants;
"Avoid where I pee, it's MY property!
Marked up as my winter wonderland."

In the meadow dad will build a snowman,
following the classical design.
Then I'll lift my leg and let it go Man,
So all the world will know it's mine-mine-mine!

Straight from me to the fencepost,
flows my natural incense boast;
"Stay off of my TURF, this small piece of earth,
I mark it as my winter wonderland."

The Spirit of Christmas

Author Unknown

I hope this story will let you remember what the true spirit of Christmas is about.

It's just a small, white envelope stuck among the branches of our Christmas tree. No name, no identification, no inscription. It has peeked through the branches of our tree for the past 10 years or so. It all began because my husband Mike hated Christmas---oh, not the true meaning of Christmas, but the commercial aspects of it-overspending...the frantic running around at the last minute to get a tie for Uncle Harry and the dusting powder for Grandma---the gifts given in desperation because you couldn't think of anything else. Knowing he felt this way, I decided one year to bypass the usual shirts, sweaters, ties and so forth. I reached for something special just for Mike. The inspiration came in an unusual way.

Our son Kevin, who was 12 that year, was wrestling at the junior level at the school he attended; and shortly before Christmas, there was a non-league match against a team sponsored by an inner-city church. These youngsters, dressed in sneakers so ragged that shoestrings seemed to be the only thing holding them together, presented a sharp contrast to our boys in their spiffy blue and gold uniforms and sparkling new wrestling shoes. As the match began, I was alarmed to see that the other team was wrestling without headgear, a kind of light helmet designed to protect a wrestler's ears. It was a luxury the ragtag team obviously could not afford. Well, we ended up walloping them. We took every weight class. And as each of their boys got up from the mat, he swaggered around in his tatters with false bravado, a kind of street pride that couldn't acknowledge defeat. Mike, seated beside me, shook his head sadly, "I wish just one of them could have won," he said. "They have a lot of potential, but losing like this could take the heart right out of them."

Mike loved kids--all kids--and he knew them, having coached little league football, baseball and lacrosse. That's when the idea for his present came. That afternoon, I went to a local sporting goods store and bought an assortment of wrestling headgear and shoes and sent them anonymously to the inner-city church. On Christmas Eve, I placed the envelope on the tree, the note inside telling Mike what I had done and that this was his gift from me. His smile was the brightest thing about Christmas that year and in succeeding years.

For each Christmas, I followed the tradition---one year sending a group of mentally handicapped youngsters to a hockey game, another year a check to a pair of elderly brothers whose home had burned to the ground the week before Christmas, and on and on. The envelope became the highlight of our Christmas. It was always the last thing opened on Christmas morning and our children, ignoring their new toys, would stand with wide-eyed anticipation as their dad lifted the envelope from the tree to reveal its contents. As the children grew, the toys gave way to more practical presents, but the envelope never lost its allure.

The story doesn't end there. You see, we lost Mike last year due to dreaded cancer. When Christmas rolled around, I was still so wrapped in grief that I barely got the tree up. But Christmas Eve found me placing an envelope on the tree, and in the morning, it was joined by three more. Each of our children, unbeknownst to the others, had placed an envelope on the tree for their dad. The tradition has grown and someday will expand even further with our grandchildren standing around the tree with wide-eyed anticipation watching as their fathers take down the envelope.

Mike's spirit, like the Christmas spirit, will always be with us. May we all remember Christ, who is the reason for the season, and the true Christmas spirit this year and always. God bless---pass this along to your friends and loved ones.

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Aleceia C. December 16, 1998
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