Subj:     Christmas-Supp Jokes (Gz)                  (Includes 2 jokes and articles)

Santa Waving from WebDeveloper.com

 I thought it would be a nice idea to bring a date to my
 parents' house on Christmas Eve.  I thought it would be
 interesting for a non-Italian girl to see how an Italian
 family spends the holidays.

 I thought my mother and my date would hit it off like
 partridges and pear trees.....I was wrong!  I had only
 known Karen for three weeks when I extended the invitation.
 "I know these family things can be a little weird," I told
 her, "but my folks are great, and we always have a lot of
 fun on Christmas Eve."

 "Sounds fine to me," Karen said.

 I told my mother I'd be bringing Karen with me.  "She's a
 very nice girl and she's really looking forward to meeting
 all of you."

 "Sounds fine to me," my mother said.

 And that was that.

 Two telephone calls.  Two sounds-fine-to-me.  What more could
 I want?  I should point out, I suppose, that in Italian
 households, Christmas Eve is the social event of the season
 -- an Italian woman's reason for living.  She cleans.  She
 cooks.  She bakes.  She orchestrates every minute of the
 entire evening.  Christmas Eve is what Italian women live for.
 I should also point out, I suppose, that when it comes to the
 kind of women that make Italian men go nuts, Karen is it.
 She doesn't clean. She doesn't cook.  She doesn't bake.  And
 she has the largest breasts I have ever seen on a human being!
 I brought her anyway.

 7 p.m. - We arrive.

 Karen and I walk in and putter around for half an hour waiting
 for the other guests to show up.  During that half hour, my
 mother grills Karen like cheeseburger on the barbecue
 determines that Karen does not clean, cook, or bake.

 My father is equally observant.  He pulls me into the living
 room and notes, "She has the largest breasts I have ever seen
 on a human being!"

 7:30 p.m. - Others arrive.

 Zio Giovanni walks in with my Zia Maria, assorted kids,
 assorted gifts.  We sit around the dining room table for
 antipasto, a symmetrically composed platter of lettuce,
 roasted peppers, black olives, anchovies and cheese....no
 meat of course.  When I offer to make Karen's plate she says,
 "No Thank you."  She points to the anchovies with a look of
 disgust.... "You don't like anchovies?" I ask.  "I don't like
 fish, Karen announces to one and all as 67 other varieties of
 seafood are baking, broiling and simmering in the next room.
 My mother makes the sign of the cross.
 
 Things are getting uncomfortable.  Zia Maria asks Karen what
 her family eats on Christmas Eve. Karen says, "Knockwurst."
 
 My father, who is still staring in a daze, at Karen's chest,
 temporarily snaps out of it to murmur, "Knockers?"

 My mother kicks him so hard he gets a blood clot.
 
 None of this is turning out the way I'd hoped.

 8:00 p.m. - Second course. The spaghetti and crab sauce is
 on the way to the table.  Karen declines the crab sauce and
 says she'll make her own with butter and ketchup.  My mother
 asks me to join her in the kitchen.  I take my "Merry
 Christmas" napkin from my lap, place it on the "Merry
 Christmas" tablecloth and walk into the kitchen.

 "I don't want to start any trouble," my mother says calmly,
 clutching a bottle of ketchup in her hands.  "But if she
 pours this on my pasta, I'm going to throw acid in her face."

 "Come on," I tell her. "It's Christmas.  Let her eat what
 she wants."

 My mother considers the situation, then nods.

 As I turn to walk back into the dining room, she grabs my
 shoulder.  "Tell me the truth," she says, "are you serious
 with this tramp?"

 "She's not a tramp," I reply.  "And I've only known her for
 three weeks."  "Well, it's your life," she tells me, "but
 if you marry her, she'll poison you."

 8:30 p.m. - More fish.

 My stomach is knotted like one of those macrame' plant
 hangers that are always three times larger than the plants
 they hold.  All the women get up to clear away the spaghetti
 dishes, except for Karen, who, instead, lights a cigarette.
 "Why don't you give them a little hand?"  I politely suggest.
 Karen makes a face and walks into the kitchen carrying three
 forks.
 
 "Dear, you don't have to do that," my mother tells her,
 smiling painfully. "Oh, okay," Karen says, putting the forks
 on the sink.  As she reenters the dining room, a wine glass
 flies over her head, and smashes against the wall.  From the
 kitchen, my mother says, "Whoops."

 More fish comes out.  After some goading, Karen tries a piece
 of scungilli, which she describes as "slimy, like worms."
 My mother winces, bites her hand and pounds her chest like
 one of those old women you always see in the sixth row of a
 funeral home.

 Zia Maria does the same.  Karen, believing that this is
 something that all Italian women do on Christmas Eve, bites
 her hand and pounds her chest.  My Zio Giovanni doesn't
 know what to make of it.  My father's dentures fall out and
 chew a six-inch gash in the tablecloth.

 10:00 pm. - Coffee, dessert.

 Espresso all around.  A little anisette.  A curl of lemon
 peel.  When Karen asks for milk, my mother finally slaps her
 in the face with a cannoli.  I guess it had to happen sooner
 or later.  Karen, believing that this is something that all
 Italian women do on Christmas Eve, picks up a cannoli and
 slaps my mother with it.

 "This is fun," Karen says.

 Time passes and believe it or not, everyone is laughing and
 smiling and filled with good cheer - even my mother, who
 grabs me by the shoulder, laughs and says, "Get this bitch
 out of my house."

 Sounds fine to me.

 THE END---- If you aren't in stitches by now, you don't
 know Italians!!

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Subj:     Boy Steals Baby Jesus (S570b)
          From: darrellvip on 12/26/2007

 It was the day AFTER Christmas at a church in San Francisco.
 The Pastor of the church was looking at the manger scene,
 when he noticed that the baby Jesus figure was missing from
 the cradle.  He immediately went outside and saw a little
 boy with a red wagon walking down the Street, and in the
 wagon, was the figure of the infant Jesus.

 So he walked up to the boy and said, "Son, where did you
 get that little baby Jesus that’s in your wagon?"

 The little boy replied, "I got him from the church.".

 "And why did you take him?" asked the pastor.

 The little boy replied, "Well, about a week before Christmas,
 I prayed and I told Jesus if he would bring me a red wagon
 for Christmas, I would give him a ride in it!"

 “Merry Christmas To All"

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Subj:     Short Christmas Jokes (S151)
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