Reindeer Games

The reindeer stood unshivering in the sub-zero temperatures of the barn, harnessed and ready for the annual flight.

The flight that defied both time and space, that tested them to the extreme of their stamina, that strained each one of them to the limit of their endurance and strength. After such a flight it took an entire year for the reindeer to recover.

The reindeer communicated without speaking, a communion of minds, a shared memory and life-experience, for they had been born together, and had never been apart since. They had no need of words, they spoke with their hearts, each hearing the thoughts of the others as plainly as if they were spoken aloud.

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Little Bobby was so excited he couldn’t even shut his eyes, let alone sleep. The sounds of the night were muffled by the falling snow outside his bedroom window. The silent night was broken only by the soft, sweet breathing of his little brother and baby sister, her crib pushed into their room to make way for uncles, aunts and cousins in the nursery.

Bobby clutched his Teddy tightly, and strained his ears for a jingle of sleigh-bells, a tread of hooves on the roof, a rush and rustle in the chimney stack.

Only this week, that bad boy Danny Rawls had been teasing him and taunting that there was no Santa, that Santa was a lie. But Bobby refused to believe Mommy would tell him such a fib. Santa was too good, too generous, to beautiful and wonderful not to exist.

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MONIKER-mad Russell Ash has trawled mountains of official records to find the world’s most comical names – and found thousands of rib ticklers including Ima Gay, Ada Poo and Fanny E C Lay.

Potty parents nationwide must have either been bonkers or just plain cruel according to his findings.
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Story of my Drugs on Brain

by Brad Rampton

Disclaimer: The following narrative is a work of fiction, while some of the characters and locations are based on fact, none of the events or activities described below are factual. Depictions of drug use follow, do not continue if offended.

The acid had gone down earlier in the afternoon thanks to a lucky score in metropolis. There was nothing better than the simplicity of a Brisbane afternoon in 1993. Take a walk in the sun through the suburb to a mate’s place, bang in a few early afternoon cones, get on the train into the city and have a few cool beers to wash the day down with.

Beautiful.
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bacon

Six months ago, I got my drivers license suspended due to a 12-point violation. Now I want to make it very clear that I rarely speed. And when I do speed, I never go more than 10 miles over the speed limit. I have gotten busted for going as low as 6 miles over the speed limit and I once even got a ticket for going 4 miles under the speed limit. My problem isn’t blatant disrespect for the law. My problem is my unwillingness to blow some fat balding pig in a uniform.

So, like I said before, I suffered a six month suspension and my insurance skyrocketed. Obviously, it would have been impossible for me to hold a job without transportation, so I had to spend a ridicules amount of money on some piece of shit lawyer to get me work driving privileges.
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People come up to me and say “doc, do people really come up to you?” (thank you Emo). But after that they often ask, “doc, why do you regularly read dKos and Atrios and firedoglake and other unpleasant, fatuous, spurious, scurrilous and scatalogical sites of their ilk?”

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