Sung loudly and off-key to the tune of “The 12 days of Christmas”.
“On the first day of Christmas
My schizophrenic friend gave to me,
A cup of resperidone in a damn tree”
“On the second day of Christmas,
My schizophrenic friend gave to me,
A free trip to the psych ward,
and a a cup of resperidone in a damn tree”.
“On the third day of Christmas,
My schizophrenic friend gave to me,
Four hours in restraints,
A free trip to the psyche ward,
And a cup of Resperidone in a damn tree”.
Fffffiiiivvvveeee. intrusive thoughts!
Q: Why is Santa’s bag so big?
A: Because he only comes once a year.
Q: How can you tell the difference between a Snowman and a Snow Woman?
A: Snowballs!
Christmas is coming and i have decided that I won’t be going to my brothers house this Christmas Eve or any other Christmas Eve.
My entire dysfunctional family has turned their backs on me.
I’d rather spend Christmas alone than spend it with a bunch of selfish self centered and uncaring so called family members.
Even cousins and Aunts that I thought were close to me, have decided to treat me like an outcast.
I have decided to keep away from this toxic family dynamic.
I have been doing the same most of my life.
On the sixth day of Christmas
My schizophrenic friend gave to me
Six secret messages from aliens
Fiiiive intrusive thoughts!
Four hours in restraints
A free trip to the psych ward
And a cup of risperidone in a damn tree!
@Wave Have you found a group home to move into yet? Maybe they’ll have nice holiday dinners for the residents at Thanksgiving and Christmas.
Hi @Moonbeam
No it may take some time before I am placed.
But yes, maybe I can celebrate Christmas and other Holidays there at the group Home.
On the first day of Christmas my pdoc gave to me
A diagnosis of insanity.
On the second day of Christmas my pdoc gave to me
Two tablets of lithium
Which made both of my hands all shaky.
On the third day of Christmas my pdoc gave to me
Three capsules Prozac
Two tablets caps of lithium
And now I can barely see.
On the fourth day of Christmas my pdoc gave to me
Four hits of Zoloft
Three capsules Prozac
Two tablets of lithium
Now my mouth tastes like soiled undies.
On the fifth day of Christmas my pdoc gave to me
Fiiiiiive benzzzzzadriiiiine.
Four hits of Zoloft
Three capsules Prozac
Two tabletss of lithium
I will never pay off that shopping spree.
On the sixth day of Christmas my pdoc gave to me
Six tabs of diazepam
Fiiiiiive benzzzzzadriiiiine.
Four hits of Zoloft
Three capules Prozac
Two tablets of lithium
Whoa, my feet feel so awful heavy.
On the seventh day of Christmas my pdoc gave to me
Seven tabs of haloperidol
Six caps of diazepam
Fiiiiiive benzzzzzadriiiiine.
Four hits of Zoloft
Three capsules Prozac
Two caps of lithium
I’m becoming a lock-jawed zombie.
On the eighth day of Christmas my pdoc gave to me
Eight grams of Seroquel
Seven tabs of Haldol
Six caps of diazepam
Fiiiiiive benzzzzzadriiiiine.
Four hits of Zoloft
Three capsules Prozac
Two caps of lithium
Oh, my head is so sore and dizzy
.
On the ninth day of Christmas my pdoc gave to me
Nine doses Nardil
Eight grams of Seroquel
Seven tabs of haloperidol
Six caps of diazepam
Fiiiiiive benzzzzzadriiiiine.
Four hits of Zoloft
Three capsules Prozac
Two caps of lithium
A tub of water and I’m still so thirsty.
On the tenth day of Christmas my pdoc gave to me
Ten more Effexor
Nine doses Nardil
Eight grams of Seroquel
Seven tabs of haloperidol
Six caps of diazepam
Fiiiiiive benzzzzzadriiiiine.
Four hits of Zoloft
Three capsules Prozac
Two caps of lithium
Now all it can do is just pee.
On the eleventh day of Christmas my pdoc gave to me
Eleven Paxil dancing
Ten more Effexor
Nine doses Nardil
Eight grams of Seroquel
Seven tabs of haloperidol
Six caps of diazepam
Fiiiiiive benzzzzzadriiiiine.
Four hits of Zoloft
Three capsules Prozac
Two caps of lithium
I just know he is out to get me.
On the twelfth day of Christmas my pdoc gave to me
Twelve shots of Thorazine
Eleven Paxil dancing
Ten more Effexor
Nine doses Nardil
Eight grams of Seroquel
Seven tabs of haloperidol
Six caps of diazepam
Fiiiiiive benzzzzzadriiiiine.
Four hits of Zoloft
Three capsules Prozac
Two caps of lithium
And a quick ride to Emergency.
Good job. Next up: “The Night before Christmas”.
'Twas the night before Christmas and Santa’s a wreck…
How to live in a world that’s politically correct?
His workers no longer would answer to “Elves”,
“Vertically Challenged” they were calling themselves.
And labor conditions at the north pole
Were alleged by the union to stifle the soul.
Four reindeer had vanished, without much propriety,
Released to the wilds by the Humane Society.
And equal employment had made it quite clear
That Santa had better not use just reindeer.
So Dancer and Donner, Comet and Cupid,
Were replaced with 4 pigs, and you know that looked stupid!?
The runners had been removed from his sleigh;
The ruts were termed dangerous by the E.P.A.
And people had started to call for the cops
When they heard sled noises on their roof-tops.
Second-hand smoke from his pipe had his workers quite frightened.
His fur trimmed red suit was called “Unenlightened.”
And to show you the strangeness of life’s ebbs and flows
Rudolf was suing over unauthorized use of his nose
And had gone on Geraldo, in front of the nation,
Demanding millions in over-due compensation.
So, half of the reindeer were gone; and his wife,
Who suddenly said she’d enough of this life,
Joined a self-help group, packed, and left in a whiz,
Demanding from now on her title was Ms.
And as for the gifts, why, he’d ne’er had a notion
That making a choice could cause so much commotion.
Nothing of leather, nothing of fur,
Which meant nothing for him. And nothing for her.
Nothing that might be construed to pollute.
Nothing to aim. Nothing to shoot.
Nothing that clamored or made lots of noise.
Nothing for just girls. Or just for the boys.
Nothing that claimed to be gender specific.
Nothing that’s warlike or non-pacific.
No candy or sweets…they were bad for the tooth.
Nothing that seemed to embellish a truth.
And fairy tales, while not yet forbidden,
Were like Ken and Barbie, better off hidden.
For they raised the hackles of those psychological
Who claimed the only good gift was one ecological.
No baseball, no football…someone could get hurt;
Besides, playing sports exposed kids to dirt.
Dolls were said to be sexist, and should be passe;
And Nintendo would rot your entire brain away.
So Santa just stood there, disheveled, perplexed;
He just could not figure out what to do next.
He tried to be merry, tried to be gay,
But you’ve got to be careful with that word today.
His sack was quite empty, limp to the ground;
Nothing fully acceptable was to be found.
Something special was needed, a gift that he might
Give to all without angering the left or the right.
A gift that would satisfy, with no indecision,
Each group of people, every religion;
Every ethnicity, every hue,
Everyone, everywhere…even you.
So here is that gift, it’s price beyond worth…
“May you and your loved ones enjoy peace on earth.”
IF YOU SEE A FAT MAN…
Who’s jolly and cute,
Wearing a beard and a red flannel suit,
And if he is chuckling and laughing away,
While flying around in a miniature sleigh,
With eight tiny reindeer to pull him along,
Then let’s face it…
Your Pissed!
Roses are reddish
Violets are bluish
If it weren’t for Christmas
We’d all be Jewish.
~Benny Hill
Christmas is a race to see which gives out first - your money or your feet.
-Unknown
What do a Xmas tree and a Catholic priest have in common ?
The balls are just for decoration.
I’ll have you kicked off this site if you lie to me and tell me that you wrote all that yourself.
Isn’t it a bit early still…
You just made my day with this post! 
Of course I wrote that all by myself 
The first day after Christmas
My true love and I had a fight
And so I chopped the pear tree down
And burnt it, just for spite
Then with a single cartridge
I shot that blasted partridge
My true love, my true love,
my true love gave to me.
The second day after Christmas
I pulled on the old rubber gloves
And very gently wrung the necks
Of both the turtle doves
My true love, my true love,
my true love gave to me.
On the third day after Christmas
My mother caught the croup
I had to use the three French hens
To make some chicken soup
The four calling birds were a big mistake
For their language was obscene
The five golden rings were completely fake
and turned my fingers green.
The sixth day after Christmas
The six laying geese wouldn’t lay
So I sent the whole darn gaggle to the
A.S.P.C.A.
On the seventh day, what a mess I found
The seven swans-a-swimming all had drowned
My true love, my true love,
my true love gave to me.
The eighth day after Christmas
Before they could suspect
I bundled up the
Eight maids-a-milking
Nine ladies dancing
Ten lords-a-leaping
Eleven pipers piping
Twelve drummers drumming - well, actually I kept one of the dancing ladies -
And sent them back collect
I wrote my true love
"We are through, love!“
And I said in so many words
"Furthermore your Christmas gifts were for the Birds!”
Twas the day after Christmas, and all through the house,
Every creature was hurting - even the mouse.
The toys were all broken, their batteries dead;
Santa passed out, with some ice on his head.
Wrapping and ribbons just covered the floor, while
Upstairs the family continued to snore.
And I in my T-shirt, new Reeboks and jeans,
Went into the kitchen and started to clean.
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the sink to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the curtains, and threw up the sash.
When what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a little white truck, with an oversized mirror.
The driver was smiling, so lively and grand;
The patch on his jacket said “U.S. POSTMAN.”
With a handful of bills, he grinned like a fox
Then quickly he stuffed them into our mailbox.
Bill after bill, after bill, they still came.
Whistling and shouting he called them by name
"Now Dillard’s, now Broadway’s, now Penny’s and Sears
Here’s Levitz’s and Target’s and Mervyn’s–all here!!
To the tip or your limit, every store, every mall,
Now chargeaway-chargeaway-chargeaw
ay all!"
He whooped and he whistled as he finished his work.
He filled up the box, and then turned with a jerk.
He sprang to his truck and he drove down the road,
Driving much faster with just half a load.
Then I heard him exclaim with great holiday cheer,
“ENJOY WHAT YOU GOT … YOU’LL BE PAYING ALL YEAR!”
Twas the month after Christmas,
And all through the house,
Nothing would fit me,
Not even a blouse.
The cookies I’d nibbled,
The chocolate I’d taste
At the holiday parties
Had gone to my waist.
When I got on the scales
There arose such a number!
When I walked to the store
(less a walk than a lumber),
I’d remember the marvellous meals I’d prepared;
The gravies and sauces and beef nicely rared,
The wine and the rum balls, the bread and the cheese
And the way I’d never said, “No thank you, please.”
As I dressed myself in my son’s old shirt
And prepared once again to do battle with dirt…
I said to myself, as I only can,
“You can’t spend a winter, disguised as a man!”
So, away with the last of the sour cream dip.
Get rid of the fruit cake, every cracker and chip.
Every last bit of food that I like must be banished
Till all the additional ounces have vanished.
I won’t have a cookie, not even a lick.
I’ll want only to chew on a long celery stick.
I won’t have hot biscuits, or corn bread, or pie.
I’ll munch on a carrot and quietly cry.
I’m hungry, I’m lonesome, and life is a bore…
But isn’t that what January is for?
CHRISTMAS CAKE RECIPE
You’ll need the following
1 cup of water
1 cup of sugar
4 large brown eggs
2 cups of dried fruit
1 teaspoon of salt
1 cup of brown sugar
Lemon juice
Nuts
1 bottle of whisky
Sample the whisky to check for quality. Take a large bowl. Check the whisky again. To be sure it’s the
highest quality, pour one level cup and drink. Repeat. Turn on the electric mixer, beat one cup of butter
in a large fluffy bowl. Add one teaspoon of sugar and beat again. Make sure the whisky is still OK.
Cry another tup. Tune up the mixer. Beat two leggs and add to the bowl and chuck in the cup of dried
fruit. Mix on the turner. If the fired druit gets stuck in the beaterers, pry it goose with a drewscriver.
Sample the whisky to check for tonsisticity. Next, sift two cups of salt. Or something. Who cares?
Check the whisky. Now sift the lemon juice and strain your nuts. Add one table. Spoon the sugar or something. Whatever you can find. Grease the oven. Turn the cake tin to 350 degrees. Don’t forget
to beat off the turner. Throw the bowl out of the window. Check the whisky again and go to bed.