The 2nd Annual JGT Bad Writing Contest: Christmas Edition

The wrestlers arrived at the recording studio, one by one. Koko B Ware brought hot cocoa. Big John Studd dressed like Santa. Hillibilly Jim even brought his Irish Setter dressed as a reindeer. Some of the biggest names in WWF history were going to record “Jingle Bell Rock” and donate the proceeds to charity. However, George “the Animal” Steele had different plans. VERY different plans.

Father Christmas, Sinter Klaus, and Papa Noel were only a few of his many names worldwide. But it was clear that with each passing Christmas his generous legacy was being lost and his jolly deeds forgotten. Santa knew he had to adapt. To reinvint himself. It is with this solemn understanding that he reluctantly unbuckled his suit and prepared for his ticket back to relevance. This sex tape simply had to work.

Rudolf was drunk again. It had been three years since the accident and he hadn’t been sober since. Oh sure, elf internal affairs cleared him of any wrong doing, but that won’t stop the nightmares. “Make it a double Hermey” Rudolf’s guttural tone echoed through the dive. “I think you’ve had enough…you’re not flying home tonight” Hermey said. “Why don’t you kill yourself like other dentists” Rudolf hissed. “Oh that’s right, you’re not a dentist anymore since you got caught doing nitrous with Sam the snow man!”

It would be the first Christmas Greg Middle was spending without his friends. He knew in his heart they tried to save him but he was too sinfully smart for that. Now the Battle was impending and Greg spent the waiting days post-Rapture praying. A zap and bright light broke his solemn prayers and Jesus Christ appeared in his lonely apartment in all His grandeur. It was the best Christmas present he could think of.

Bob Marley was dead as a doornail. This must be distinctly understood or nothing wonderful can come of the story I am about to relate…

Tiny shards of Santa filled a half dozen evidence bags, piled neatly on the mantle with obvious care. “It was a deadly combination”, began Inspector Spilkus. “Flatulence– touched off by a burning ember. Milk and cookies? Egg nog? Unfortunately for Mr. Kringle, his lactose intolerance did NOT make this the happiest time of the year.”

So, initially, at least, like the trapdoor on Santa's scorched Long Johns, the case appeared to be open and shut.

Suddenly, Rudolph is red on the other end, Dancer and Prancer are jealous and Santa is off to scoop up some Ho-Ho-Hos in Elf Town. Sure, they are sort of human there but it will keep PETA off his back for once. The North Pole cops always look the other way when Nick is off getting his jollies. Saint, my reindeer ass. The big guy is a God around here, especially at Christmas. There's plenty of work and nobody squeals but Frosty's pet pig. If only Frosty knew. If only.

“You're late again,” snarled Scrooge to his tardy clerk. “Please, sir,” replied Crachit. “It's only once a year. I was making rather merry last night. “I have no doubt you were, but I'll not put up with this,” replied Ebeneezer, licking his lips and reaching for his whip. This was the part of their foreplay that he loved most. “Drop your pants, Crachit. I'm going to lay into that delicious bum of yours.”

As Jeffery Dahmer drove through his neighborhood giggling to himself and gingerly drawing Hitler moustaches on the Missing Asain boy posters on the telephone poles. He,by chance looked up, and there he saw, several feet off the ground, a blue christmas tree ornament. He paused and reflected back on his youth, when the school kids made fun of his shoes during the holidays, ” You'll see, I'll be laughing at you in the future or else I'll be severely beaten by fellow inmate Christopher Scarver with a bar from a weight machine while on work detail in the prison gym and die of severe head trauma while on my way to the hospital in an ambulance. and my brain will be retained for study.

Elbow-deep in the asshole of his former business partner, Ebenezer flexed his lard slathered fist, his bulbous class ring tearing at Jacob’s tender innards.

“Ughhh!” the specter muttered, a mixture of pain and pleasure painting the features of his face.

“That’s right, my concubine,” Ebenezer whispered, a smile spreading across his pale, thin lips. “Who’s learning the true meaning of Christmas now?”

Marcus stared despondently at the twisted, charred bodies that decorated the burnt remnants of his inn. He’d met bad men in his life, back when he’d been a centurion in the Roman Legions, before he’d retired to the life of a humble innkeeper, but nothing that could compare to the savagery of this Judean. All this after being denied a room?

“I’ll see you dead, Joseph of Nazareth,” he vowed, “and your hell-spawn family too!”

“Snow tires don’t sing when you put chains on them!” Santa Claus drunkenly exclaimed.

“Ees good,” Hugo Chavez chuckled. “Ees good joke.”

“Enough!” Barack Obama yelled, his fist slamming angrily on the table. “Now is not the time for racist jokes! Now is the time for us to use Santa’s gift-giving operation as a front to corner the world narcotics market.”

In the corner, Adam Lambert sat silently, listening. “The fools,” he thought.

Sorry, but I misspelled “Cratchit.”

Rude Elf maundered through the Christmas crowd at Walmart in search of discount ground beef for that night's supper. Hamburg stew: water, salt, ground beef (80/20), and celery. He had been experimenting with Depression-Era recipes for quite some time now and though the sodium made his fingers swell, he could hardly think of eating anything hardier. His weak constitution wouldn't tolerate it anyhow. Charla was coming over for dinner tonight. God, she had great cans…

Santa glanced from the List as Mrs. Claus entered, ensconced in an aura of steaming cinnamon-sugar cookies. Their eyes locked. After so many millenia, the ache still crept up his core whenever he spied her dowdy silver ‘do, her horn-rimmed bifocals, and the plump, fleshy rolls bursting from her frumpy gingham jumper. He stood and slid his fuzzy gloves seductively along her ample midriff …

Santa moaned, punctuating each thrust with a grunt …

Stanley, The Christmas Polock.
As July approached Stanley, the Christmas polock, dragged a bag of reindeer chow to the barn and left it in front of the skeletal remains of Santa's sled pullers, ” Why won't these flying space goats eat? They sure are dumb? Maybe I should open the can of food for them? Stupid flying space goats!” Stanley never saw the wooden mallet in Mr's Clause's hand, Never heard the dull thud as it knocked him unconscious, All he knew is that when he awoke he was tied to a bed in a Wonder Woman outfit in a Philadelphia Ramada Inn hotel room. ” Jm. J. Bullock? What are you doing here?”. Jm. J. just put a finger to his lips.
The tenants of the next room heard a resounding ” Ouch, Hey! what the hey!” come from Stanley's room.

Santa had too much egg nog at some nightclub on Locust Street, he left his reindeer floating 50 feet above the dive bar shitting on transsexuals who squealed in terror as their B 52 singers hairdo's wear squashed by falling shit.
” Jeeze Louise! I spent 130 dollars at my hair dressers and that flying elk ruined it!” a patron screamed.
A worker for Philadelphia Animal Control approached Santa and said ” Sir, there's something you gotta do about those reindeer.shitting on the Lady Gaga's”
Santa took off his red suit jacket, revealing a red wife beater and a bicep tattoo of a pitbull with a dead pitbull in it's mouth. Santa grinned and said ” Son, I hope you bought a lot of body bags…”

Hitler paced the floor. He had asked Santa for nuclear capabilities for three straight years, and had instead received nothing but ties and LA Looks hair gel. The jolly old German gift-giver had forsaken the German leader. There was going to be hell to pay.

“Hello?”
“I'm looking for Robert Langdon,” a man's voice said. Langdon sat up in his empty bed and tried to clear his mind. “This… is Robert Langdon.” He squinted at the digital clock. 5:18 AM.
“I must see you immediately.”
“Who is this?”
“My name is Sinterklaas. Although you may know me by my more common name.”
“Saint Nicholas” Langdon interrupted. This wasn't the first time the noted Harvard symbologist had encountered Father Christmas…

The year was 1985. Santa knew something had to be done or Christmas might be erased from existence forever. Rudolph, sporting a stylish life preserver, flew as fast as he could. It wasn't long before Santa's sleigh reached 88 miles per hour and they were off, leaving a trail of fire tracks in the sky. Little Timmy Tannen watched from his driveway, a slight twinkle in his eye. Indeed, this was going to be a long night.

The sirens closed in on the St. Nicholas estate. Inside, Santa hadn’t eaten in days. Candycane colored gun in hand, watching tv from his desk with a red velvet bullet proof vest on, he watched as five children’s hospitals burned to the ground in a some kind of a coincidental terrorist act.

The recession had really hit home this year, and Santa had to make his cuts too.

After a hard holiday season of making toys, the pack of elves migrate back to their artic circle. Many will not make it. It is a long journey and while the women elves are out feeding, the men are left with the elf eggs.

While it seems like the eggs have the easy part, they too have hardships in their future. Global warming has made the easter bunny seals search for colder waters, and boy o boy, do they love fresh elf eggs.

Must be read by a Morgan Freeman impersonator.

It was Christmas eve and Joe Carter & Mariano Rivera were set for their annual caroling around south philly…

A lone iceburg drifts past the North Pole. The sleigh careens toward the edge as two geriatric men fight to control the reigns.

“This is crazy. I checked my list twice – You’re as bad as they get”

“Sorry, my no-bid contract says this gig belongs to Haliburton now.”

“But you’re supposed to give to the children, not take away their future”

“Well ‘SAINT’ Nicholas… They don’t call me Dick because I’m a nice guy.”

Tracy dialed the number from memory, still fuming from the embarrassment of the night’s ordeal.

“Ho Ho H…”

“Don’t give me that crap Nick. I don’t see why you can’t just give me coal or something..”

“I thought you’d like him”

“A blind date for Christmas is not a gift… especially with an ass like Johnny whatever the hell his name is.”

And there it was. For years I had waited for Santa to finally heed my Christmas wishes, but it was finally under the tree. I didn't even have to unwrap the gift. I knew the unmistakable shape of one foot high cylinder with a radius of seven inches.

Finally, my popcorn tin.

I ripped off the paper, and what lay within but the finest caramel, cheese flavored, and butter popcorn so carefully portioned. What flavor would I choose to consume first? I closed my eyes, reached inside, and let fate decide…

The iceburg had created an enormous gash in the supposedly unsinkable ships bow, and water was flooding the watertight compartments. In a room above, Captain Smith spoke with the architect of the monstrous ship, Thomas Andrews. Andrews looked solemnly below at the compartments filling up. “She will be below water in two hours. There is no-one who can save us now.”

Then, when Andrews looked up, he saw a twinkle in Captain Smith's eye. The jolly fat man with the white beard who captained the ship was…NO! It couldn't be true! Captain Smith winked. It was true. Everybody was going to be OK.

Santa, drunk off the power, and high from the “snowball” he just snorted off of Sarah Palin's OF AGE daughter's stomach, leapt into the sleigh, before the glacier was too small to take off. The glacier was melting because those c#nts in Washington refuse to deal with climate change the way it should be- just ask @guardianuk.

Anyway, as the coked-up beast vaulted his massive, sweaty framed onto his vehicle, he aggressively slurred, “On Dasher! On Dancer! On Prancer! On– AH, what the F@CK??!! GET THE F@CK OFF THE BACK OF MY SLEIGH, CHRIS HENRY! GET OFF THE GODDAMN SLEIGH!”

Santa was relaxing in his leather lounge chair drinking an iced SoCo and listening to Sting's new Winter Celebration CD when his doorbell rang,
He opened it to find several elves holding boxes.
Santa smiled at each elf's effort to “give them man who gives gifts, a gift”.
After collecting several boxes from his helper's , he sat down and wrote a check to each elf and personally thanked them for defacating into pizza boxes and donating their underwear.He signed his full name
Santa Clause Savitz. ” This is what Christmas is all about” he thought to himself and smirked.

If you have no idea what I am talking about
for more info please check -http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ed_Savitz

I need my nickel bag of funk, where's the voting?

As Santa descended the chimney, he thought ” Oh no, Please no more cookies and milk”
as he stepped from the fireplace he looked to the end table on top was a note ” Dear Santa, Thank you, I hope you enjoy!” under the note was KY Warming Jelly and a novelty mini baseball bat, you know, the kind ballparks give out on small novelty bat day.
Santa smiled, and stepped into the hallway closet. The kids were awoken when santa's heart gave out and he fell pantless onto the floor.

Oh? The contest is over
Damn these Dollar store calanders
well just change santa to the Easter Bunny