IS THERE A SANTA CLAUS?
As a result of an overwhelming lack of requests, and with research help from that renowned scientific journal SPY magazine (January, 1990) - I am pleased to present the annual scientific inquiry into Santa Claus.
1) No known species of reindeer can fly. BUT there are 300,000 species of living organisms yet to be classified, and while most of these are insects and germs, this does not COMPLETELY rule out flying reindeer which only Santa has ever seen.
2) There are 2 billion children (persons under 18) in the world. BUT, since Santa doesn’t (appear) to handle the Muslim, Hindu, Jewish and Buddhist children, that reduces the workload to 15% of the total - 378 million according to Population Reference Bureau. At an average (census) rate of 3.5 children per household, that’s 91.8 million homes. One presumes there’s at least one good child in each.
3) Santa has 31 hours of Christmas to work with, thanks to the different time zones and the rotation of the earth, assuming he travels east to west (which seems logical). This works out to 822.6 visits per second. This is to say that for each Christian household with good children, Santa has 1/1000th of a second to park, hop out of the sleigh, jump down the chimney, fill the stockings, distribute the remaining presents under the tree, eat whatever snacks have been left, get back up the chimney, get back into the sleigh and move on to the next house. Assuming that each of these 91.8 million stops are evenly distributed around the earth (which, of course, we know to be false but for the purposes of our calculations we will accept), we are now talking about .78 miles per household, a total trip of 75.5 million miles, not counting stops to do what most of us must do at least once every 31 hours, plus feeding, etc.
This means that Santa’s sleigh is moving at 650 miles per second, 3,000 times the speed of sound. For purposes of comparison, the fastest man- made vehicle on earth, the Ulysses space probe, moves at a poky 27.4 miles per second - a conventional reindeer can run, tops, 15 miles per hour.
4) The payload on the sleigh adds another interesting element. Assuming that each child gets nothing more than a medium-sized Lego set (2 pounds), the sleigh is carrying 321,300 tons, not counting Santa, who is invariably described as overweight. On land, conventional reindeer can pull no more than 300 pounds. Even granting that “flying reindeer” (see point #1) could pull TEN TIMES the normal amount, we cannot do the job with eight, or even nine. We need 214,200 reindeer. This increases the payload - not even counting the weight of the sleigh - to 353,430 tons. Again, for comparison - this is four times the weight of the Queen Elizabeth.
5) 353,000 tons travelling at 650 miles per second creates enormous air resistance - this will heat the reindeer up in the same fashion as spacecrafts re-entering the earth’s atmosphere. The lead pair of reindeer will absorb 14.3 QUINTILLION joules of energy. Per second. Each. In short, they will burst into flame almost instantaneously, exposing the reindeer behind them, and create deafening sonic booms in their wake. The entire reindeer team will be vaporized within 4.26 thousandths of a second. Santa, meanwhile, will be subjected to centrifugal forces 17,500.06 times greater than gravity. A 250-pound Santa (which seems ludicrously slim) would be pinned to the back of his sleigh by 4,315,015 pounds of force.
In conclusion - If Santa ever DID deliver presents on Christmas Eve, he’s dead now.
Merry Christmas.
There once was a girl named Florence
Whose вrеаsтs were huge & immense.
One day, while playing soccer,
Out popped her left knocker,
And she kicked it right over the fence.
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There was a young man from Peru,
Who gave his dear sister a sсrеw.
He said with aplomb,
“You’re better then Mom!”
Said she, “That’s what Dad told me, too.”
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There once was a man from Van Isle
Who said jogging just wasn’t his style.
“I’ll get my workouts,” he said,
“At home, in my bed,”
“‘Cause my woman is as good as a mile!”
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There once was a sailor from Brighton
Who said to a lass, “You’re a tight one.”
She replied “‘Pon my soul,
You’re in the wrong hole!
There’s plenty of room in the right one.”
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A Scotsman who lived on the loch
Had holes down the length of his соск.
He could get an еrестiоn,
And play a selection
Of Johann Sebastian Bach.
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There once was a girl from Jamaica
Who got laid by a big alligator.
Now, nobody knew
The result of that sсrеw,
Because after he laid her, he ate her.
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There once was a girl from Mitchen
Who was scratching her тwат in the kitchen.
Her mother said, “Rose,
you’ve got сrавs I suppose.”
She said, “Yes and those fcukers are itchin’!”
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A newlywed couple from Goshen
Spent their honeymoon sailing the ocean.
In just 80 days,
They sсrеwеd 80 ways.
Imagine such fcukin’ devotion!
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There once was a fellow quite gingerie
Who tore holes in his sister’s best lingerie.
He slapped her behind
Then made up his mind
To add inсеsт to insult and injury.
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The mathematician Von Blecks
Derived the equation for sеx.
He found a good fcuk
Isn’t patience or luck
But a function of Y over X.
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There once was a girl named Maureen
Who was so remarkably lean.
So flat and compressed,
That her back touched her chest,
And sideways, she couldn’t be seen.
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There was a young fellow named Sweeney
Whose girl was a terrible meanie.
The hatch of her snatch
Had a catch that would latch
She could only be sсrеwеd by Houdini.
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There was a young тrоllор at Yale,
Who had verses tattooed on her tail;
And on her behind,
For the sake of the blind,
A duplicate version in Braille.
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“Equal” is not always synonymous with “the same.” Men and women are created equal. But, boys and girls are not born the same.
1. You throw a little girl a ball, and it will hit her in the nose.You throw a little boy a ball, and he will try to catch it. Then it will hit him in the nose.
2. You dress your little girl in her Easter Sunday best, and she’ll look just as pretty when you finally make it to church an hour later. You dress a boy in his Easter Sunday best, and he’ll somehow find every mud puddle from your home to the church, even if you’re driving there.
3. Boys’ rooms are usually messy. Girls’ rooms are usually messy, except it’s a good smelling mess.
4. A baby girl will pick up a stick and look in wonderment at what nature has made. A baby boy will pick up a stick and turn it into a gun.
5. When girls play with Barbie and Ken dolls, they like to dress them up and play house with them. When boys play with Barbie and Ken dolls, they like to tear off their appendages.
6. Boys couldn’t care less if their hair is unruly. If their bangs got cut a quarter-inch too short, girls would rather lock themselves in their room for two weeks than be seen in public.
7. Baby girls find mommy’s makeup and almost instinctively start painting their face. Baby boys find mommy’s makeup and almost instinctively start painting the walls.
8. If a girl accidentally burps, she will be embarrassed. If a boy accidentally burps, he will follow it with a dozen fake belches.
9. Boys grow their fingernails long because because they’re too lazy to cut them. Girls grow their fingernails long - not because they look nice - but because they can dig them into a boys arm.
10. Girls are attracted to boys, even at an early age. At an early age, boys are attracted to dirt.
11. By the age of 6, boys will stop giving their dad kisses. By the age of 6, girls will stop giving their dad kisses unless he bribes them with candy.
12. Most baby girls talk before boys do. Before boys talk, they learn how to make machine-gun noises.
13. Girls will cry if someone dies in a movie. Boys will cry if you turn off the VCR after they’ve watched “Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles” movie three times in a row.
14. Girls turn into women. Boys turn into вiggеr boys.
In a saloon in the old West, a large crowd of cowboys was drinking and carousing with the dance hall girls. In walked a greenhorn Easterner, a dry goods supplier from New York. He sat down at the bar and ordered a вееr. Just then a boy ran in from outside through the swinging doors, completely out of breath. The crowd stopped what they were doing and stared at him.

“Big John’s in town,” the boy said, gasping.

In less than a minute, the entire crowd, except for the greenhorn, tumbling over one another, rushed out, including the bartender and everyone else who worked at the saloon, leaving the place completely empty and in disarray. The greenhorn realized that he should probably go, too. So he quickly downed the remainder of his вееr, grabbed ahold of his sample case and started for the door.

Unfortunately, before he could reach it, another cowboy walked in, blocking his way. The man was huge, almost seven feet tall and muscular, with a face that was menacing, rugged and scarred. Hanging from his belt were two large six-shooters that had obviously seen plenty of action. The Easterner, frozen in fear, stood glued to the spot, unable to speak.

The huge man, towering over him, then glared at the greenhorn and said in a, deep, gravelly voice, “You drink with me.”

The greenhorn saw this as an order, not an invitation. So he walked over with the man, his heart pounding, fearing for his life, then sat down at the bar next to the cowboy, who then proceeded to pour each of them a whiskey. The massive cowpoke quickly downed his drink, wiped his face with his sleeve then stood up and started walking towards the door.

“Can’t stay,” he said, “ Big John’s in town.”
A man was getting a haircut prior to a trip to Rome.
He mentioned the trip to his barber who responded…
“Rome? Why would anyone want to go there?
It’s crowded and dirтy and full of Italians.
You’re crazy to go to Rome. So, how are you getting there?”
“We’re taking American Airlines,” was the reply. “We got a great rate!”
“American Airlines?” exclaimed the barber.
“That’s a terrible airline. Their planes are old, their flight attendants are ugly and they’re always late.
So, where are you staying in Rome?”
“We’ll be at the downtown International Marriott.”
“That dump? That’s the worst hotel in the city.
The rooms are small, the service is surly and they’re overpriced.
So, whatcha doing when you get there?”
“We’re going to go to see the Vatican and we hope to see the Pope.”
“That’s rich,” laughed the barber. “You and a million other people trying to see him.
He’ll look the size of an ant. Boy, good luck on this lousy trip of yours. You’re going to need it.”
A month later, the man again came in for his regular haircut.
The barber asked him about his trip to Rome.
“It was wonderful,” explained the man, “not only were we on time in one of American Airlines s brand new planes, but it was overbooked and they bumped us up to first class.
The food and wine were wonderful, and I had a beautiful 28-year-old stewardess who waited on me hand and foot.
And the hotel - it was great! They’d just finished a $25 million remodelling job, and now it’s the finest hotel in the city. They, too, were overbooked, so they apologized and gave us the presidential suite at no extra charge!”
“Well,” muttered the barber, “I know you didn’t get to see the Pope.”
“Actually, we were quite lucky, for as we toured the Vatican, a Swiss Guard tapped me on the shoulder and explained that the Pope likes to personally meet some of the visitors, and if I’d be so kind as to step into his private room and wait, the Pope would personally greet me.
Sure enough, five minutes later the Pope walked through the door and shook my hand!
I knelt down as he spoke a few words to me.”
“Really?” asked the barber. “What’d he say?”
He said, “Where’d you get the сrаррy haircut?”