Text 3189, 95 rader
Skriven 2005-12-05 00:03:18 av Greg Sears (3:633/104)
     Kommentar till en text av George Pope
Ärende: Re: Seafood
===================
            -=> George Pope wrote to all <=-

 GP> In biology class the teacher asks, "Can anyone tell me why a

 Dear Stocking Hanger,

 I have been watching you very closely to see if you have been good this
year, and if you have, I will have some special treats for you this year
at XMAS.

 I cannot promise you all the gifts from the twelve days of XMAS this year
as the twelve fiddlers have all come down with the clap from fiddling with
the ten ladies dancing. The eleven lords a-leaping have knocked up the
eight maids a-milking, and the nine pipers piping have been arrested for
doing weird things with the seven swans a-swiming. The six geese alaying,
four calling birds, three french hens, two turtle doves, and that damn
partridge in the pear tree have me up to my ass in bird shit.

 On top of that, Mrs. Claus is going through menopause, eight of my
reindeer are in heat, the elves have joined the Gay Liberation Front, and
those stupid polacks have scheduled Xmas for 5 February.


SANTA


> OBX-mas for our Moderator and all-round friend/servant

 YOU KNOW YOU'VE HAD TOO MUCH HOLIDAY CHEER WHEN...

 You notice your tie sticking out of your fly.
 Someone uses your tongue for a coaster.
 You start kissing the portraits on the wall.
 You see your underwear hanging from the chandelier.
 You have to hold on to the floor to keep from sliding off.
 You strike a match and light your nose.
 You take off your shoes and wade in the potato salad.
 You hear some one say, "Call a priest!"
 You hear a duck quacking and it's you.
 You complain about the small bathroom after emerging from the closet.
 You refill your glass from the fish bowl.
 You tell everone you have to go home... and the party's at your place.
 You ask for another ice cube and put it in your pocket.
 You yawn at the biggest bore in the room... and realize you're in front
    of the hall mirror.
 You pick up a roll, and butter your watch.
 You suggest everyone stand and sing the national budget.
 You're at the dinner table and you ask the hostess to pass a bedpan.
 You take out your handkerchief and blow your ear.
 You tell your best joke to the rubber plant.
 You realize you're the only one under the coffee table.


> OBX-mas for Mr. <+]::-) ("Cyberpope")

The Bill Gates Song
-------------------
(to the tune of "The Christmas Song")

Netscape roasting on an open fire,
Apple begging on its knees,
Photo popping up on Time magazine,
Yes, Bill Gates dreams of days like these!
Everybody knows he's never fully satisfied,
Throws himself behind each task,
World dominion is his company's goal.
Well, hey, is that so much to ask?
He knows the world is in his sway,
We'll buy whatever software he might toss our way,
We'll surf his Internet, watch his TV,
He'll take us anywhere we ask him--for a fee.

And so we're offering this simple prayer,
To Bill and all his MS grunts:
Since we all follow any standard you write,
Make it good, please,
Make it good, please,
Make it good, please, just once!


Gil Amelio's Coming to Town!



        -=-                          -=-
     (\  _  /)                    (\  _  /)
     ( \( )/ )     I C E-man      ( \( )/ )
     (       )    Wishes You      (       )
      `>   <'  Seasons Greetings   `>   <'
      /     \    09 December 05    /     \
      `-._.-'                      `-._.-'
 

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