the History of Santa Claus

From Odin to Saint Nicholas, the history of Sinterklaas, Santa Claus, is interesting.

Read it here.

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Santa’s Favourites


from StrangeMaps

Clean Underwear

Wear clean underwear in public, especially when working under your vehicle…

From the Northwest Florida Daily News:
A Crestview couple drove their car to Wal-Mart, only to have their car break down in the parking lot. The man told his wife to carry on with the shopping while he fixed the car in the lot.

The wife returned later to see a small group of people near the car. On closer inspection, she saw a pair of male legs protruding from under the chassis. Although the man was in shorts, his lack of underpants turned private parts into glaringly public ones.

Unable to stand the embarrassment, she dutifully stepped forward, quickly put her hand UP his shorts, and tucked everything back into place.

Upon returning to her feet, she looked across the hood and found herself staring at her husband who was standing idly by.

The mechanic required three stitches in his forehead.

From the Reindeer

Christmas Santa

(not for the keiki)

click to see  Christmas Santa

8-O) from JM

Santa Claus, TheTrueStory

I remember my first Christmas party with Grandma. I was just a kid. I
remember tearing across town on my bike to visit her on the day my big
sister dropped the bomb: “There is no Santa Claus,” she jeered. “Even
dummies know that!”

My grandma was not the gushy kind, never had been. I fled to her that
day because I knew she would be straight with me. I knew Grandma
always told the truth, and I knew that the truth always went down a
whole lot easier when swallowed with one of her world-famous cinnamon buns.

Grandma was home, and the buns were still warm. Between bites, I told
her everything. She was ready for me.

“No Santa Claus!” she snorted. “Ridiculous! Don’t believe it. That
rumor has been going around for years, and it makes me mad, plain mad.
Now, put on your coat, and let’s go”

“Go? Go where, Grandma?” I asked. I hadn’t even finished my second
cinnamon bun.

“Where” turned out to be Kerby’s General Store, the one store in town
that had a little bit of just about everything. As we walked through
its doors, Grandma handed me ten dollars. That was a bundle in those
days. “Take this money and buy something for someone who needs it.
I’ll wait for you in the car.” Then she turned and walked out of
Kerby’s.

I was only eight years old. I’d often gone shopping with my mother,
but never had I shopped for anything all by myself. The store seemed
big and crowded, full of people scrambling to finish their Christmas
shopping. For a few moments I just stood there, confused, clutching
that ten-dollar bill, wondering what to buy, and who on earth to buy
it for.

I thought of everybody I knew: my family, my friends, my neighbors,
the kids at school, the people who went to my church. I was just about
thought out, when I suddenly thought of Bobbie Decker. He was a kid
with bad breath and messy hair, and he sat right behind me in Mrs.
Pollock’s grade-two class.

Bobbie Decker didn’t have a coat. I knew that because he never went
out for recess during the winter. His mother always wrote a note,
telling the teacher that he had a cough, but all we kids knew that
Bobbie Decker didn’t have a cough, and he didn’t have a coat. I
fingered the ten-dollar bill with growing excitement. I would buy
Bobbie Decker a coat. I settled on a red corduroy one that had a hood
to it. It looked real warm, and he would like that.

“Is this a Christmas present for someone?” the lady behind the
counter asked kindly, as I laid my ten dollars down.

“Yes,” I replied shyly. “It’s … for Bobbie.”

The nice lady smiled at me. I didn’t get any change, but she put the
coat in a bag and wished me a Merry Christmas.

That evening, Grandma helped me wrap the coat in Christmas paper and
ribbons, and write, “To Bobbie, From Santa Claus” on it — Grandma
said that Santa always insisted on secrecy. Then she drove me over to
Bobbie Decker’s house, explaining as we went that I was now and
forever officially one of Santa’s helpers.

Grandma parked down the street from Bobbie’s house, and she and I
crept noiselessly and hid in the bushes by his front walk. Then
Grandma gave me a nudge. “All right, Santa Claus,” she whispered, “get
going.”

I took a deep breath, dashed for his front door, threw the present
down on his step, pounded his doorbell and flew back to the safety of
the bushes and Grandma. Together we waited breathlessly in the
darkness for the front door to open. Finally it did, and there stood
Bobbie.

Forty years haven’t dimmed the thrill of those moments spent
shivering, beside my grandma, in Bobbie Decker’s bushes. That night, I
realized that those awful rumors about Santa Claus were just what
Grandma said they were: ridiculous. Santa was alive and well, and we
were on his team.

-via UHS

Reindeer

According to the Alaska Department of Fish and Game, while both male and female reindeer grow antlers in the summer each year, male reindeer drop their antlers at the beginning of winter, usually late November to mid-December.

Female reindeer retain their antlers till after they give birth in the spring.

Therefore, according to EVERY historical rendition depicting Santa’s reindeer, EVERY single one of them, from Rudolph to Blitzen, had to be a female.

We should’ve known… ONLY women would be able to drag a fat man in a red velvet suit all around the world in one night and not get lost.

I knew it!!!

-thanks, DvS

Missing Elf