The Story of Christmas
Hello children. I'm sure you're wondering why I'm not wearing any pants. Well I'm not going to tell you why. Instead I shall enchant you all with the story of christmas. Bear in mind, this version has been passed on from town drunk to town drunk for ages. And here I sit before you. Now of course we all know that this story begins in Israel. But how many of you knew it began with the simple act of making some toast? Aha. That's what I thought. Now shutup Bobby. Anyway, my tale opens in the year zero. Now keep in mind, this was a very confusing year, for many obvious reasons. Hence, all the characters in this story are very confused people. I mean think of the calendars, children. Now where was I? Oh yeah. So young Chris was in his hut. It was December 24, 0. Now of course whenever anyone writes about anything happening in this particular year, they can leave the year off, as it is negligible. But I added it for emphasis, so sue me (please don't). It was a hot December morning, as every morning was in his little town of Bethlehem. Chris had just gotten out of the shower and was stumbling into the kitchen for some breakfast. He went over to the counter and decided he wanted some toast. Much to his dismay, however, he was out of bread. Now Chris was not normally a violent man. I mean sure, he'd had his share of subpoenas and restraint orders, but this was different. No longer was he neglecting taxes or chasing children with pointy sticks. He was being denied his one true pleasure... toast. This wouldn't be pretty. He began by moving his toaster violently through the opposite wall. He then proceeded to punch his table into two half-tables. As his house collapsed, the thought entered his head that he might be overreacting. No. Everyone and everything he came in contact with must pay or become toast rather quickly. And so, Chris went on a rather efficient rampage, throwing people into various upside-down positions and making a general mess of the streets. He did this in a timely fashion, until he came across a bakery. A fire lit his eyes up as he made the various connections between bread and bakeries. He stormed inside demading some, but to his surprise, they hadn't started the first batch yet. This would not do. He forced his way into the kitchen and began throwing around ingredients, some of them happening to land in the mixing vats. After about an hour of this, he noticed that a lot more of the ingredients were finding their way into the vats. Then the thought hit him... He could make his OWN bread. He ran into the Pathmark next door and returned with various bags of groceries, stolen of course. Olives, toothpicks, those stupid orange peanut marshmallow things; one by one they flew into the batter. He ran out of groceries and decided it was time to 'kick it up a notch.' Yelling this, Chris poured the batter into a pot and put it in the oven. The baker, fearing for his life, crept up to Chris and whispered into his ear that it would probably take two hours to be finished. Chris saw the error of his ways, and after punching out the baker for pointing out such things, he threw the pot into a flash frier. Three minutes later, the conglomerate was sufficiently crispy and Chris decided it was time for a taste test. As he bit into it, a number of things started to happen. Having just come out of a flash frier, it was excruciatingly hot. Also, it didn't taste quite like bread. More noticeably, however, was the fact that he had lost his eyesight. Four minutes of running around screaming turned into five minutes of running around screaming and slowly Chris gained his eyesight back. After a few more bites he decided that it defintey didn't taste like bread. Oh well. He figured he'd start making and selling them to the public. So what if it caused temporary blindness, as long as it tasted mildly ok. He decided he would name his new delicacy the Christma. No one really knows why he chose to put those letters on the end like that. Some believe he sneezed and he was writing down the name... or something. And so, Chris opened a bakery and sold his Christmas and little by little, the town of Bethlehem went blind, passing on their newly obtained recessive blindness mutation to their children. But that's a small price to pay for being the first town to ever celebrate Christmas. Now of course, children, my story has no mention of gift-giving, Santa Claus or christmas trees. And that's because they're all figments of your imagination. Just remember this the next time December 25th rolls around: you're really a day late, and you're pronouncing it wrong. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm off to find a pub.