Fibbing Friday — Christmas Fibs

Frank (aka PCGuy) and Di (aka Pensitivity101) alternate as host for Fibbing Friday, a silly little exercise where we are to write a post with our answers to the ten questions below. But as the title suggests, truth is not an option. The idea is to fib a little, a lot, tell whoppers, be inventive, silly, or even outrageous, in your responses. Today is Frank’s turn to host and here are his questions.

1 – What does it mean to “come a-wassailing”?

It’s an invitation to go out onto the bay in a sailboat, get drunk, and post a YouTube video of everyone saying “Wassup?”

2 – What was on Little Jack Horner’s thumb when he pulled it out of his Christmas pie?

He pulled out a long, brown hair that his mother must have let fall into the batter when she made the pie. It caused Little Jack to upchuck.

3 – According to the song, what was it that “My True Love gave to me” on the 8th day of Christmas?

Divorce papers. Turns out she wasn’t really his true love at all.

4 – What is the purpose of a Yule log?

It’s what ends up in the toilet after having taken a laxative to finally unblock your bowels after drinking too much eggnog while decking the halls with all that holly.

5 – What was so special about the reindeer named Rudolph?

A few years earlier, Rudolph had been a she, Ruth, but she had undergone a sex change operation because Santa, a misogynist, would not permit a female reindeer to lead his reindeer team.

6 – What were the names of Santa’s reindeer?

Groucho, Zeppo, Chico, Harpo, Curly, Moe, and Larry.

7 – Why do we leave a snack for Santa?

If you don’t leave Santa a snack, the fat bastard won’t leave you a present.

8 – Who or what is Krampus?

Krampus is what women go through each month when they have their menstrual cycle.

9 – How did the tradition of kissing under mistletoe get started?

It was an attempt to take a man’s attention away from the cameltoe of that sexy young girl in the very, very tight jeans and to force him to focus, instead, on kissing his wife on her lips. Her mouth lips, that is.

10 – Why is Christmas celebrated in December?

September has Labor Day, October has Halloween, November has Thanksgiving, January has New Year’s Day, February has Valentine’s Day, March has the Ides of March, April has Easter, May has Mother’s Day, June has Father’s Day, July has Independence Day, and August has International Beer Day (followed by International Hangover Day). December needed a holiday, so it was decided that Christmas would be in December.

FFfPP — Naughty and Nice

D82F0CC6-037C-4EDA-84DE-1D1E62BE2340.png“You’re hired,” the manager said. “Go back into the storage room, pick out a costume that fits you, and come back tomorrow at 9:30. We open our doors at 10:00 and the kids will be lined up and clamoring to sit on Santa’s lap.”

Clyde was happy. Thanks to online shopping, many department stores had been shuttered, so there were a lot fewer jobs for Santas than there used to be. It was short term gigs like this, as Santa Clause, the Easter Bunny, George Washington, or Uncle Sam that gave Clyde what he called his “fun funds.”

On Clydes third day as the store Santa, the incident happen. A little girl, maybe seven or eight, walked up to Santa. He gently lifted her up and put her on his lap. “Ho, ho, ho,” Clyde said to her. “Can you tell Santa your name?”

“I’m Cindy,” she said.

“Cindy,” Clyde said, “have you been a nice little girl or a naughty little girl?”

“Both,” she said.

That was an answer Clyde was not expecting. “Both?” he repeated.

“Yes. My daddy says it’s nice when I’m naughty,” at which point Cindy put her hand on Santa’s crotch and started to fondle him.

(200 words)


This sick little tale was written for Roger Shipp’s Flash Fiction for the Purposeful Practitioner. Photo credit: Bruce Mars at Pexels.

Mild Weather

3DE78C0C-8F15-4F23-A228-8F3832DF0AEB“Dad, it’s not the same. I hate it here,” whined Jimmy.

“Me too,” chimed in Marcia.

Helen gave Charlie an I-told-you-so look. Charlie shrugged and then addressed his kids. “What’s not to love about Cancun?” He asked. “The weather is perfect, sunny and mild. The beaches are pristine, and the water is crystal clear. “Jimmy, how can you hate this place?”

Jimmy folded his arms across his chest. Marcia looked at her older brother and copied his defiant stance. “Tomorrow is Christmas. Where’s the snow? Where are our sleds? This hotel room doesn’t have a chimney. We don’t even have a Christmas tree in this room.”

Marcia began to sob. “I bet Santa won’t be able to find us here. He’ll go to our house in Maryland and no one will be home. He won’t get his milk and cookies.”

“And we won’t get our Christmas presents,” complained Jimmy.

Charlie gave Helen a helpless look. He then looked over at Jimmy and Marcia. “Kids, we’re Jewish, you know that, right? We celebrate Hanukkah, not Christmas.”

Jimmy burst out laughing. “I know, Dad. I’m just bustin’ your chops.”


Written for today’s one-word prompt, “mild.”

Sunday Photo Fiction — Heads Up

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“Why do you do that to your dolls?” Samantha asked her daughter.

Sheri was a shy, quiet girl with few friends. She spent most of her free time alone in her bedroom. “You mean pull their heads off?” she asked.

“Yes. Why do you do that?”

Sheri shrugged her shoulders and simply said, “I dunno. I just do,”

“That’s not an acceptable answer, young lady,” Samantha scolded. “You must have a reason for removing the heads from your dolls.”

Sheri shrugged again.

Well, Sheri, if you won’t tell me why, I’ll make sure that Santa knows what you do to your dolls and I’m pretty sure he won’t be bringing you any new dolls this Christmas.”

“Fine,” Sheri said, “I’ll tell you.”

“Go ahead,” Samantha said. “I’m waiting.”

“I’m making a shrine and the dolls are my sacrifices.”

Dumbfounded, Samantha said, “A shrine? What kind of shrine? Who gave you that idea?”

“She told me you wouldn’t understand,” Sheri said.

“She? Who is ‘she’?”

Pointing at her own head, Sheri said, “She did.” Then an eerie smile crossed her face and she added, “Mom, did you know that Satan is an anagram for Santa?”


Written for this week’s Sunday Photo Fiction prompt.