1. Don't think about it, just literally knock yourself out. Side effects may include redness, swelling, and headache. Overuse may result in stupidity. Do not use if greatest fear is knocking yourself out.

2. Make fun of someone with the same fear. Remember that everyone has a fear. If someone doesn't, that person is stupid and possibly overused Tip #1. Remind yourself that someone has a worse fear than you. For example, a fear of cheese, mothers, mirrors, and/or knocking yourself out.

3. If all else fails, contact Batman. He can do many things, including sawing off the legs of your bedframe so that no monsters can get underneath the bed.

My dog General Sherman is not enjoying the ”Polar-Vortex Bomb Cyclone” (or what we used to call a snowstorm, back in the old days) that has recently occurred. Being a southern dog both by birth and by nature, The General finds little pleasure in ice-matted paws and is quick to point out that the only good ice in this world is currently tempering his hard cider.

When our preferred weather person told us about the -52 degrees Bozeman, Montana was currently suffering, The General looked stupefied. “What,” he asked, “does a dog in Bozeman do if it has to go outside?”

I gave him the only conceivable answer. “It hurries.”

A disbelieving General Sherman looked his disgust. “Well then, it is explained. Only a stupid dog could live north of the Mason-Dixon Line, as there is not adequate time for reading up there!”

With that settled The General lit his Cuban, picked up our recently arrived copy of “Hounds and Heels” magazine, and retreated away to his favorite natural area for some quiet time.

That’s a good dog.

When an uninvited stranger with a long beard and a large sack walks in on your Christmas celebration

You eagerly welcome him to join in on your vacation

As you pour him a glass of milk and offer him cookies

He only smiles and removes from his sack eight goodies

But though you expect ¨Ho, ho, ho!¨

He chuckles ¨I´m ready to party for seven nights straight, you know!¨

And just as he hands you a warm plate of knish

A sudden realization hits that he is Jewish!

He sets the menorah upon the mantle

And beckons you to light each and every candle

Then with a smile you take his hand to join you in time

To sing "This little light of mine, I'm gonna let it shine..."

Chuck handed the order to his customers. The little kid made a sad face, and clicked his tongue. Chuck held onto the plate of food. The kids parents looked at him, and cleared their throats. Chuck have a slight smile, and nod, “Here’s your cheese pizza, kid!” He said while gritting his teeth. As he was about to head back to the kitchen, he landed on his bottom. The kid quickly stood and jumped on his back. Chuck rose in a hurry, another waiter who had their back turned to them bumped into them. This sent the kid flying into the air, he landed on another close by table with his face planted right into a big bowl of mashed potatoes. He licked some of it off his face and said, “Yum!” When the manager approached from his office into the tiny dining area, she yelled, “Chuck!” He tried to hide behind the kid’s parents giant red sofa like seats, but the manager had already spotted him. Her eyes bulged every time something extraordinary or Chuck related happened, this time her eyes seemed to be ready to pop right out of their sockets from the crazy scene she had witnessed from the other side of the family diner. Chuck followed right behind her like a little pup that had been denied to play with its chew toy, or bone. The manager said, “Oh, Chuck. What happened out there today?” Chuck took a deep breath and replied, “I like kids, okay. But some just need to learn how to give other adults, who are not their parents, respect.” The manager shook her head, “Chuck- it’s not only the kids you end up getting into problems with— even some of our regular customers~ you try to challenge their patience!” Chuck nodded his head, “Alright. I’ll try to be a better server from now on.” The manager shook her head, “Oh no. I’m done, please pack up your stuff, and leave this vicinity.”

Chuck walked to the parking area. Someone there called out to him. He did not recognize them. “It’s been a while there, Chuck. How’ve you been, dude? Wanna hang out later tonight and catch a soccer match?” Chuck replied, “Nah. Thanks. But I’ll have to find another job.” His buddy patted Chuck on the back. “Don’t worry. You can join our merry band of misfits!”

Later Chuck met with the merry band of misfits. One wore a clown mask, another had a hook for a hand, and their fearless leader, George, slowly clapped his hands.

George: “Everyone— meet Chuck-”

Chuck: (waves his left hand) “Hey~ thanks for having me join the crew.”

The clown masked fella smiled and asked Chuck, “Would you like some gum?”

Chuck said, “Of course. Thanks!”

He reached out his hand, and unwrapped the gum from the paper. Chuck placed the gum in his mouth, and chewed, chewed, chewed, then chewed some more. The more he chewed the tougher the gum became. He felt his jaws tighten from pain. How long was he going to have to chew the gum before it at least became less tough?

The clown snickered. Chuck wanted to ask, “What’s so funny?” But he couldn’t, the gum was like a dollop of glue in his mouth. He tried to slowly open his jaws, and worked on carefully blowing a bubble. The gum extended out of his mouth in a giant circle, & then it burst with a loud pop sound. Parts of the gum were all over his face. Chuck chuckled.

Then he charged toward his new friend. Chuck’s chair soared backward landing right back onto its four feet. Soon, he and his new buddy were caught in a wrestling match on the concrete floor.

George pulled at the clown’s ears, “Enough!” Then adjusted his custom fit suit, “You’ll have a chance to play later, boys. First, let’s get to work on what we’ll do for our next job.”

The other member of the merry band of misfits pulled Chuck using his hook, and dragged him back to his seat.

Chuck felt beads of sweat collect right around his armpits. Why did he decide to wear a long sleeved t-shirt to this meeting?

George pulled spread out a map on the floor with job ideas. He pointed to a new community that had been developed in the area. “This is where we need to place all our eyes on. Focus on finding a way to work together to grab the treasures in those homes.”

Chuck scratched his head, “What kind of business, or job do you have in mind?”

George handed Chuck a costume. “We make birthdays a lot of fun, not only for kids, even pets, too!”

Chuck laughed. “You must be kidding. Tell me you are pulling my leg…and you want me to wear that..,” he said, and pointed at the sparkly costume with one giant horn attached to the center of the forehead. “I’d rather be caught working as a security guard than wear that!”

George smiled, “You better be there. The first event we will be hosting is at Priscilla’s. Her father works with the Mayor, so, we need to make sure we make Daddy’s little girl very happy. Capeesh?”

Chuck gave a slight nod. George placed the costume over his buddy’s right shoulder.

Bright and early the following day, Chuck tugged at his costume. He felt like he was going to cry. “Maybe I just need to move to Puerto Rico, settle down there in a community full of love, and later start a family.” His daydream was interrupted by the sound of a horn.

The guys had come to pick him up. “Get in the back of the truck.” George directed Chuck, and waited.

Chuck hopped in the back, and almost fainted. The animal greeted him with a snort. Chuck collapsed into the corner of the speeding vehicle. Whose pet was this? He jumped at the sight of the clown masked fella who was now holding the pig.

They arrived at Priscilla’s home. Chuck whistled. It was quite a grand mansion with rows and rows of rose bushes. They were greeted at the door by the butler, who stared at the men, and tried not to jeer.

Priscilla’s Dad was at work, as they had expected. It was the lady of the house who came to meet her guests. She wore a black pearl necklace, and high heeled pumps. Her hips swayed in the bold yellow dress she wore. Chuck had never before in his life seen such a royal and elegantly dressed person. He didn’t know what to say, or do.

She even had a warm smile that made her guests forget why they had come to her home in the first place. “Gentlemen. This way to the swimming pool area. Thank you.”

They followed her, and smiled. Then they were brought back to their work mode, thanks to the sight of the mountain of gifts they had seen placed around the living, as well as dining room, too.

Chuck rubbed his hands together. They just needed to make sure to not to harm anyone while they grabbed some gifts, and a few other treasures from Priscilla’s welcoming home/party.

George went to the kitchen, and came back out with a bottle of the finest drink, which he poured for all the older guests. For the kids, he handed them sweets. The only one who refused was Priscilla. “Daddy told me not to accept anything from someone I don’t know. You guys aren’t even entertaining the guests with any magic tricks, or the kids.”

Chuck stepped next to George and squatted down to look at the little girl, “Just take the candy, okay.” He begged her again, but she still said, “No way, Mister!”

She ran back into the house, and locked the door. The guys had managed to get the rest of the party relaxed, and dreaming. They only had one small problem to deal with: Priscilla.

George placed his hand on the door, and felt a wave of electricity buzz through the knob. His hair went from the nicely flat gelled look to a spiky porcupine appearance. “That little girl’s toast!”

Chuck tried to break the glass part of the door, but ended up banging his head, and he thought he could see stars floating around his forehead. On the other side of the room, the pig stared at all of the guys.

Meanwhile, the clown masked fella had jumped in the pool. He was enjoying the beautiful day, and had even served himself one of the sandwiches near the table by the pool.

Priscilla quickly dialed the line her father had told her to use in case of an emergency. The phone rang, and a voice said, “Priscilla— what’s the matter, dear?”

Soon the front door was burst down in two shakes of a lamb’s tail. They charged inside, and called, “Priscilla…we are here..where are you?”

Daddy’s little girl stepped out from behind the hidden door by the side of the library. “What took you so long?”

They smiled, and both replied, “Where are the troublemakers?”

Priscilla led them to the back. She pointed in the direction of the merry band of misfits.

They were all still trying to find a way back into the house. George panicked at the sight of the A-team.

He quickly informed the guys, “It’s time to skedaddle, fellas! Time waits for no man…run..”

Chuck wondered why George started climbing over the brick wall. The rest followed suit.

The door opened and out came the pig. Chuck now started to run for the hills, too.

Priscilla burst out laughing. She grinned, and continued to chuckle, “Thanks a lot, fellas. At least those guys will think twice before coming back to steal from my home.”

They took off their costumes, as well as faces. “Any time, Priscilla. Don’t forget to send the bill to your father. We will help you clean up and wake everybody up.”

Priscilla chuckled once more, “Will do. You guys shall also receive a Christmas bonus to go along with the payment for today’s work.”

I remember pooping on myself while waiting my turn to play pickup basketball at the courts in the projects of NYC the Bronx. It was really a fart that turned into a mini poop. I thought it was just gas that needed to be passed. I quickly noticed that what I pass wasn't just gas but a tiny turd. I was a young teenager and I just got to the court with friends and refuse to go back home to change my draws so I stayed the course because the turd wasn't much wet or soft even!

Back then I was still wearing briefs that wrapped around your legs tight, not like boxers, so the tiny turd stayed within. I patiently waited my turn and soon was able to play. By that time the turd cooled off and throughout the game, I played and the thing I will never forget was a tiny cold turd in my draws bouncing all in and around my underwear messing with my concentration. To this day on rare occasions I'll still pass more than just gas. Sorry.

Once upon a time, on a Saturday evening, a skeleton and a fire imp went out for drinks at the Jack/Sally Bar. The following conversation ensued…

Ellington: Ox, go easy on those Holy Waters. You remember what happened last time.

Ox: Stop babying me. Of course, I remember!

Ellington: No need to get…

Ox: Were you going to say heated?

Ellington: Maybe I was.

Ox: Don’t start with me, Ellington!

Ellington: Start with you? This happens every time we go out for drinks. Ever since Flamma left you, you’ve been a complete wimp wick.

Ox: How dare you?

Ellington: When those cute ice nymphs came over and started talking to us last week, you started dimming. In real time! And they had a werewolf friend, Ox. A werewolf! You know I love how those wolf chicks jump my bones.

Ox: Flamma was my spark. My Sol. My North Star. I wasn’t ready to move on yet. I’m STILL not ready!

Ellington: Dude. She was sleeping with her old flame! I had no idea she was incestuous.

Ox: Why’d you have to remind me? You heartless boney bastard!

Ellington: Quit your balling before your embers burn the bar top, you whiny conflagration.

Ox: You take that back, you hollow calcium deposit!

Ellington: You 2-lumen candlestick!

Ox shook violently as he glared at Ellington.

Ellington: Ox, wait! NO!

As the Jack/Sally went up in flame and smoke, Ellington walked out the front door, Ox floating behind him. They stood on the sidewalk, watching the bar burn out of control as bar patrons, set ablaze, ran around franticly inside.

Ellington, with his lanky, 6-foot frame, his eye sockets fixed; and Ox, floating next to him at a comfortable height of 5’5”, looked at each other with blank faces.

Firetruck sirens wailed in the distance. Ellington sighed and began down the sidewalk.

Ellington: Come on, Ox. Let’s get out of here… before the authorities show up… again. They’ll waterboard you if they catch you a second time.

Ox: I’m sorry, Ellington.

Ellington: I know, Ox. I know.

Once there was a duck who was out about the town. She decided to walk into a bar, at which point a crafty bear saw an opening for a joke.

"DUCK" yelled he, at which point she turned and enquired why he would yell such a thing. "You were about to walk into a bar!" said the guffawing bear.

"Hmmph. I would have preferred more quality," harrumphed she.

At which point a koala rose and demanded why she was drinking tea made of his relatives.

"You insult people with most efficiency." said the bear, enjoying the havoc he had created.

"Fish-in-sea? Why not fish-on-land? Or indeed fish-in-space! We needn't decide the fate of others based on species," interjected a fish, having heard no context.

At this point, bear, fish, koala and duck were facing each other with remarkable aggravation. Eventually the duck sighed and said "This is simply unbearable. Let's have a round of drinks," leaving all parties satisfied except the bear, who wondered why he should be deemed un-able to enjoy this somewhat pleasing solution to their tiff.

"Open up, old man! I'm freezing my nuts here! Damn snow!" The loud banging woke up Santa, who came in late last night. Add in a hangover, and you get the picture.

Santa stood up from his comfy and warm bed, grumbling under his breath (more like cursing his visitor). Who the hell would knock at his door at... 7 AM? on Christmas of all days.

Santa dragged himself towards the door, the banging getting progressively more loud and aggressive.

Someone needs to cool down a bit. Oh, wait, they're kind of doing that.

Santa finally opens the door, and, lo and behold, Ebenezer Scrooge's forever frowning face is what greets him!

Merry Christmas, indeed.

"Eb, old friend, long time no see! Come in, come in," Santa ushers the man inside, preparing mentally for what is probably going to be the most exhausting visit he's had in a long time.

Santa hoped that his helpers didn't take all of the booze home. He's going to need it if he wants to survive the surly man.

They sit down by the fire. Scrooge sighs gratefully (rejoice, rejoice!) as the warmth works its way through his freezing body.

Are bitter, cold-hearted people even capable of feeling cold? Isn't that kind of a given for them?

Winter is winning. Stranger things have happened.

In fact, one such strange thing is happening right now.

Scrooge is smiling with content.

Scrooge. Is. Smiling.

Santa stares in disbelief.

He stares some more.

Santa thinks he's either still hungover or in some kind of twilight zone. Because there is no possible way that this is real.

Scrooge notices that it's too quiet. He opens his eyes and sees Santa just staring at him, not moving a single muscle.

"What's the matter? You haven't decided to kick the bucket yet, have you? Snap out of it, man!"

Santa blinks at the sound of the man's voice and snaps out of his daze.

"Ah, sorry there, Eb. I haven't fully woken up yet. Would you like something to eat or drink?" Santa remembers being somewhat of a host.

But no earthly laws or customs apply to a man such as Scrooge, so it's not as if he's insulting the other man by forgetting his manners.

"Coffee is fine. I already ate before I came here. I'd rather drink something stronger than coffee, but, as you well know, I now have people who...care for my health."

"Are you saying you don't want to worry them?" Santa grins at the scowling man.

"Just shut up and make the damn coffee."

Santa raises his hands in mock surrender and turns to the cupboards.

A few moments later...

Santa and Scrooge are just sitting around the crackling fire, sipping their coffee, when Scrooge decides to break the silence.

"Alright, now that I'm warm and have some coffee in my system, I'll tell you why I'm here. I'm here to discuss the lack of my Christmas present."

Well, that was unexpected. Santa almost choked on his coffee.

It wouldn't do well for you to die, Santa. Think of all of the children that are awaiting their presents every year.

Think of all the cookies that might go to waste.

And, most importantly, think of your alcohol stash. Those elves can drink you under the table; imagine leaving all of the liquor to them because you couldn't swallow your coffee properly.

This is a historical moment, old man. Pull yourself together!

Scrooge is actually complaining about the lack of his Christmas present?!

Nothing is ever simple with this man, is it?

Santa sighs quietly before replying, "The lack of your Christmas present? I thought you didn't want any."

Scrooge is glaring at the confused Santa, trying to burn a hole through him.

Murder doesn't work that way, sir. Not in this story at least.

"Well, aren't you a lousy author? I should've had some sort of superpower by now! After all that bullcrap I went through in my original story, it's only fair!" Scrooge yells at the author.

Uhm, excuse me, but aren't you supposed to take it up with Santa? You know, no present for you under the Christmas tree and all that? You can argue with the author some other time.

"Tch, whatever. I'll deal with you later. Now, Santa, I'm a reformed man. I've been kind to my employees (yes, I have more than one); I've been nicer to them and to other people. I'm all flowers and rainbows. I even adopted a puppy. So why, after those three lunatics invaded my privacy, haven't I gotten anything this year? Am I still on that "naughty" list of yours?"

A grown man asks if he's on the "naughty" list. It happened, yeah.

Where's that whiskey again? Santa's going to need it. It won't help his incoming headache, but it'll at least help him stay (somewhat) sane.

The author agrees. The author also suggests not giving Scrooge any alcohol. It might make things even worse.

A sober Scrooge is already a handful; imagine a drunk one (or better yet, don't).

And just then, Santa remembers. He's definitely screwed.

Ignorance is bliss.

"Well, old man? Care to explain, or do I have to take drastic measures?"

You being here, in Santa's cottage, the first thing in the morning on Christmas is already drastic enough, Scrooge.

"You again! Shut your trap and wait for your turn! It was you who had made me come see this old fart on Christmas in the first place!" Scrooge barks at the poor author.

The author can't confirm or deny it. Why is it always the author's fault?

"If you actually had some decent ideas for the stories you write, you wouldn't be in this kind of mess right now, would you?" Scrooge asks.

The author liked you more when you were a selfish, stingy, old bastard.

Let's get back to Santa, shall we?

He remembered the reason why Scrooge didn't get his present.

"Uh, sorry, Eb, you see, I kind of... forgot to review my "naughty or nice" list this year! You were never on any of those, so..." Santa trails off, knowing that Scrooge could figure out the rest.

What happens after this reveal is up to you, dear reader.

Merry Christmas! <3