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On the 1st day of Christmas, my true love gave to me . . .

Windows 95 for my PC

On the 2nd day of Christmas, my true love gave to me . . .

2 GPFs
and Windows 95 for my PC

On the 3rd day of Christmas, my true love gave to me . . .

3 ports not responding
2 GPFs
and Windows 95 for my PC

On the 4th day of Christmas, my true love gave to me . . .

4 sectors bad
3 ports not responding
2 GPFs
and Windows 95 for my PC

On the 5th day of Christmas, my true love gave to me . . .

5 eighty six
4 sectors bad
3 ports not responding
2 GPFs
and Windows 95 for my PC

On the 6th day of Christmas, my true love gave to me . . .

6 ints conflictin’
5 eighty six
4 sectors bad
3 ports not responding
2 GPFs
and Windows 95 for my PC

On the 7th day of Christmas, my true love gave to me . . .

7 files missin’
6 ints conflictin’
5 eighty six
4 sectors bad
3 ports not responding
2 GPFs
and Windows 95 for my PC

On the 8th day of Christmas, my true love gave to me . . .

8 Megs overflowin’
7 files missin’
6 ints conflictin’
5 eighty six
4 sectors bad
3 ports not responding
2 GPFs
and Windows 95 for my PC

On the 9th day of Christmas, my true love gave to me . . .

9 apps a crashin’
8 megs overflowin’
7 files missin’
6 ints conflictin’
5 eighty six
4 sectors bad
3 ports not responding
2 GPFs
and Windows 95 for my PC

On the 10th day of Christmas, my true love gave to me . . .

10 modes not supported
9 apps a crashin’
8 Megs overflowin’
7 files missin’
6 ints conflictin’
5 eighty six
4 sectors bad
3 ports not responding
2 GPFs
and Windows 95 for my PC

On the 11th day of Christmas, my true love gave to me . . .

11 instructions faulty
10 modes not supported
9 apps a crashin’
8 Megs overflowin’
7 files missin’
6 ints conflictin’
5 eighty six
4 sectors bad
3 ports not responding
2 GPFs
and Windows 95 for my PC

On the 12th day of Christmas, my true love gave to me . . .

12 illegal operations
11 instructions faulty
10 modes not supported
9 apps a crashin’
8 Megs overflowin’
7 files missin’
6 ints conflictin’
5 eighty six
4 sectors bad
3 ports not responding
2 GPFs
and Windows 95 for my PC

If you threw a party, the worst thing you could have done was throw the kind of party where your guests, the next day, call you up to say they had a nice time. Now you’ll be expected to throw another great party next year.

What you should have done was throw the kind of party where your guests wake up several days from now and call their lawyers to find out if they’ve been indicted for anything. You want your guests to be so anxious to avoid a recurrence of your party that they immediately start planning parties of their own, a year in advance, just to prevent you from having another one.

So next time, make sure your party reaches the correct Festivity Level:

Festivity Level One:
Your guests are chatting amiably with each other, admiring your Christmas-tree ornaments, singing carols around the upright piano, sipping at their drinks and nibbling at hors d’oeuvres.

Festivity Level Two:
Your guests are talking loudly–sometimes to each other and sometimes to nobody at all, rearranging your Christmas-tree ornaments, singing “I Gotta Be Me” around the upright piano, gulping their drinks and wolfing down hors d’oeuvres.

Festivity Level Three:
Your guests are arguing violently with inanimate objects, singing “I Can’t Get No Satisfaction,” gulping other people’s drinks, wolfing down Christmas-tree ornaments, and placing hors d’oeuvres in the upright piano to see what happens when the little hammers strike them.

(You want to keep your party somewhere around Level Three, unless you rent your home and own firearms, in which case you can go to Level Four.)

Festivity Level Four:
Your guests have hors d’oeuvres smeared all over their bodies, are performing a ritual dance around the burning Christmas tree, and have consumed all ten gallons of alcohol at the party. The piano is missing.

The best way to get to Level Four is eggnog. To make eggnog, you’ll need rum, whiskey, wine, gin and, if they are in season, eggs. Combine all ingredients in a large, festive bowl. If you use enough alcohol you won’t have to worry about them getting salmonella poisoning–their alcohol toxicity level will eliminate that possibility. Then induce your guests to drink this potent mixture.

If your party is successful, the police will knock on your door. If your party is very successful, the police will then lob tear gas through your living-room window. As host, your job is to make sure they don’t arrest anybody. Or, if they’re dead set on arresting someone, your job is to make sure it isn’t you. The best way to do this is to show a lot of respect for their uniforms and assure them you’re not doing anything illegal. Here’s how to handle it:

Police: “Good evening. Are you the host?”

You: “No.”

Police: “We’ve been getting complaints about this party.”

You: “About the drugs?”

Police: “No.”

You: “About the guns, then? Is somebody complaining about the guns?”

Police: “No, the noise.”

You: “Oh, the noise. Well, that makes sense, because there are no guns or drugs here. (An enormous explosion is heard in the background.) Or fireworks. Who’s complaining about the noise? The neighbors?”

Police: “No, the neighbors fled inland hours ago. Most of the recent complaints have come from several miles away. Do you think you could ask the host to quiet things down?”

You: “No problem. (At this point, a Volkswagen bug with primitive religious symbols drawn on the doors emerges from the living room and roars down the hall, past the police and out the front door onto the lawn, where it smashes into a tree. Eight guests tumble out onto the grass, moaning.) See? Things are starting to wind down.”

On the 12th day of the Eurocentrically imposed midwinter festival, my Significant Other in a consenting adult, monogamous relationship gave to me:

TWELVE males reclaiming their inner warrior through ritual drumming,

ELEVEN pipers piping (plus the 18-member pit orchestra made up of members in good standing of the Musicians Equity Union as called for in their union contract even though they will not be asked to play a note),

TEN melanin deprived testosterone-poisoned scions of the patriarchal ruling class system leaping,

NINE persons engaged in rhythmic self-expression,

EIGHT economically disadvantaged female persons stealing milk-products from enslaved Bovine-Americans,

SEVEN endangered swans swimming on federally protected wetlands,

SIX enslaved Fowl-Americans producing stolen non-human animal products,

FIVE golden symbols of culturally sanctioned enforced domestic incarceration,

(NOTE: after members of the Animal Liberation Front threatened to throw red paint at my computer, the calling birds, French hens and partridge have been reintroduced to their native habitat. To avoid further Animal-American enslavement, the remaining gift package has been revised.)

FOUR hours of recorded whale songs

THREE deconstructionist poets

TWO Sierra Club calendars printed on recycled processed tree carcasses and…

ONE Spotted Owl activist chained to an old-growth pear tree.

Merry Christmas Happy Chanukah. Good Kwanzaa. Blessed Yule. Happy Holidays! (unless otherwise prohibited by law)*

*Unless, of course, you are suffering from Seasonally Affected Disorder (SAD). If this be the case, please substitute this gratuitous call for celebration with suggestion that you have a thoroughly adequate day.

With the number of airline disasters lately, the FAA now sends an inspector to the North Pole to check out Santa Claus’s sleigh before allowing him to fly on Christmas eve.

The inspector arrives and checks the reindeer and they look good, he checks the harness and it looks okay, he checks the sleigh and it is also okay. Then he says, “Santa, lets take it up for a check ride and if everything looks good I’ll certify you to fly.”

Santa hitches the reindeer up and taxis onto the runway and just as he’s starting his takeoff roll he looks over and notices the inspector has a pump shotgun on his lap. “Hey! Whats the shotgun for!?” Santa yells.

The inspector says, “Well, Santa, I’m really not supposed to tell you this, but there is going to be an engine failure on takeoff.”

After being away on business for a week before Christmas, Tom thought it would be nice to bring his wife a little gift.

“How about some perfume?” he asked the cosmetics clerk. She showed him a bottle costing $50.

“That’s a bit much,” said Tom, so she returned with a smaller bottle for $30.

“Thats still quite a bit,” Tom groused.

Growing disgusted, the clerk brought out a tiny $15 bottle.

Tom grew agitated, “What I mean,” he said, “is I’d like to see something real cheap.”

So the clerk handed him a mirror.