Encyclopedia of Humor

As a little boy climbed onto Santa’s lap, Santa asked the usual, “And what would you like for Christmas?”

The child stared at him open mouthed and horrified for a minute, then gasped, “Didn’t you get my E-mail?”

A lady walks into a tattoo parlor and asks the artist if she can get two tattoos.

The artist says, “Sure.”

She tells him that on her left inner thigh she would like a turkey, and beneath it she would like it to say “Happy Thanksgiving.” On her right inner thigh, she says that she wants a picture of Santa Claus, and beneath that she would like it to say, “Merry Christmas.”

Obliging his customer, the artist gives her the two tattoos, and after he is finished, he asks her why she wanted them. She told him that she was sick of her husband saying there was nothing to eat between Thanksgiving and Christmas.

Twas the night before Christmas and throughout the White House,

Al Gore was eyeing Hillary, peering into her blouse.

The Secret Service were guarding the premises with care,

for a whole host of Democrats were vacationing there.

Chelsea was nestled all snug in her bed,

Dirty thoughts swam around Mr. Kennedy’s head.

And Bill in his sportcoat; a heavy gray tweed,

Had just fried his brain with some Mexican weed.

When out in the garden came a plethora of noise,

All drunken and rowdy: ’twas Newt and the boys!

Bill jumped to the window, and tore open the sash,

It’s a raid boys! he cried, Quick go hide my stash!

The pot in his blood and the moon on the snow,

Gave a psychedelic haze to the the objects below.

When what to Bill’s frantic eyes should appear,

But a slew of Republicans and a keg of beer.

With a big House leader, all lively and fat:

He knew it was Newt, the proponent of GATT!

A viscous as vipers, the Republicans came.

And Bill recognized them and called them by name.

Hey Helms, hey Thurmond! hey Packwood and Hatch!

Hey Dole and Pataki, it’s time for a bash!

A collective cheer rose out from the crowd,

Let’s listen to Nugent, and turn it up loud!

Together Dems and Republicans danced and sang out in cheer.

Screw health care and Haiti, it’s time to drink beer!

When from the chimney, came a big black cloud of soot,

As Limbaugh danced from the fireplace in a red Santa suit.

He moved through the crowd, then held up his hand.

And when all was silent, he did a keg stand.

And the crowd raised their cups, as Newt bowed down it prayer,

And champagne flowed freely, just like welfare.

As Kennedy and Reno romped in the Green Room,

The rest of the crooks outlined their plan of doom.

We’ll pray in the schools, shove it down their throats!

More welfare, more taxes, we’ll still get the votes!

And they drank, hugged and danced, and they crossed party lines.

They cheered, It doesn’t matter, we’re all bastard swines!

So they threw out allegiance and partisan crap.

And they took turns sitting on the Presidnet’s lap.

And Gephardt and Dole passed out on the lawn,

And awoke in the morning without their pants on.

And Packwood gave Tipper a pat on the rear,

While Judge Thomas and Miss Hill went out for more beer.

Then the party-ers discovered a sight so touching and cute,

President Clinton fast asleep, snuggled up to Newt.

Santa Limbaugh smiled and threw up on his boots,

A merry Clinton to all, and to a good Newt!

Sheep don’t have a gag reflex, or upper teeth.

You can get a better grip on a sheep’s ear.

Sheep don’t shy away from boots and leather.

Cottonmouth is easier to get rid of than a social disease.

Nuttin’ beats mutton.

Sheep won’t argue about whose turn it is to go get a towel.

Sheep won’t drink your liquor, smoke your weed, snort your coke, and then tell you they have to be home early.

Sheep never ask if you’re ready to settle down.

Sheep never ask about you former lovers and then get pissed off when you tell them.

We can get rid of leg hair without pretending that we do a lot of cycling/swimming or any other sport that would require aerodynamic legs.

We absently hum tunes from musicals without anyone being suspect of our sexuality.

When we buy a vibrator it is glamorous. When men buy a blow up doll it’s pathetic.

Should we wake up looking like something the cat dragged in, we can fix it with cosmetics.

We can have partners that are years younger than us without being called dirty old perverts.

We can scare male bosses with mysterious gynecological disorder excuses.

Our boyfriend’s clothes make us look elfin and gorgeous. They look like complete dorks in our clothes.

We have total control over our eyebrows.

It’s cool to be a daddy’s girl. It’s sad to be a mommy’s boy.

We can cry to get out of speeding fines.

The thrill of surprising people by being good at darts… and pool… and football.

We live longer, so we can be cantankerous old biddies wearing inappropriate clothes and shouting at strangers… men die earlier so we get to cash in on the life insurance.

We know that games are fun, but don’t believe there’s a direct correlation between the size of our scores and the size of our… womanhood.

Taxis stop for us.

We get drunk quicker and cheaper.

We have no desire to arrange our possessions in alphabetical order. Ever.

We’ve never fancied a cartoon character or the central figure in a computer game.

It does not enhance our social standing to understand the inner workings of a ‘ruck’ (or any other football thing). But we look incredibly cool if we do.