Here's one I found under a mince pie

Dear Christmas survivor

I hope your festivities were wonderful. Santa had a few problems on the big night. He’d been under the weather and the duvet for a few days, tossing and turning, musing over ‘beard in or out’.

“I’d better get up, there are a billion kids waiting for their pressies. I’ll just check the E-mail and see who wants what”. He got out of bed and fell over, “bugger, that’s the third time this week”. He found 400 E-mails in the inbox and 760 million in the spam. “Mmm, that worked well, must thank the Grinch”.

“How many reindeer do the trip?.. There’s 16 of the bleeders today,isn’t that double? Ah well, should be a bit quicker. This sack’s heavy, thought they’d stopped those lead balloons”. First couple of thousand deliveries, no worries, but then he dropped the sat nav. “Ah well, back to the D-V (the front three and back three pages are always missing). I must have spilt something on it, it’s all [filtered naughty word] blurred”.

Then the runners really started to come off. Somebody who was helping the environment had fitted a windmill on to the roof. Rudolph saw it too late, off came the famous bit and out came the poo. The others slipped on it, so it was more of a touch cloth than a touch down. The sack slipped out of his hand and bounced down the s**t streaked roof. “No matter, I’ll sort it later, my feet are freezing and the old pins are stiff as a ***g pole”.

Now chimneys are never an issue despite urban myth, but this year, there were problems “Bleedin 'ell that’s tight, must be those tablets the Doctor put me on”. With all the grace of a baby elephant he landed in the hearth and nearly toasted the marshmallows.

“I’m knackered…I know, I’ll have a smoke and the glass of sherry”. Twenty minutes later, he was ready for action…on, the fridge. “I’m starving, so I’ll have a little snackette”. Four pounds of stilton, a trifle, a pound of sprouts, a quart of double cream and a bottle of breast milk later, it was time for a nap, but not before he’d fallen through the Christmas tree, and crushed a couple of baubles.

The kids found him in the morning, kicked him and burst out crying. Mummy and Daddy were as equally unsympathetic and when he started slurring his words, thought he was drunk. They got him to his feet, but he was standing like a banana and trying to grip the door frame. He fell over again.

“I feel very strange, can you phone Mrs Santa please? She’ll know what’s wrong”.


I never knew it was you all these years…a Ginger Santa, well I’ll be…sorry about the hernia this year when you delivered my stone horse, it’s very nice, very large & VERY heavy indeed.

I’ll ask you for something lighter next year…how about another REAL horse, it can deliver itself. Perhaps not, more s***e to shovel…


H,some girls where happy with My Little Pony,but,Oh no.Can’t you kidnap an Elf to help with the ‘Shivelling of the Shote’?Why a big stone horse,when I know you’d be happy to have the Kids in the house.If I could get on the roof like I used to,you’d be the first to hand over a bottle of sherry as I swept your chimney with my head.

That Santa is poorly,but what do you think is wrong with him? He first appeared on Th’Old Boreds four years ago,and there is more rubbish from then,so beware.

S xx