Be Politically Correct With Men
How To Be Politically Correct With Men

He does not have a FAT BEER GUT - He has developed a LIQUID GRAIN STORAGE FACILITY.

He is not a BAD DANCER - He is OVERLY CAUCASIAN.

He does not GET LOST ALL THE TIME - He INVESTIGATES ALTERNATIVE DESTINATIONS.

He is not BALDING - He is in FOLLICLE REGRESSION.

He is not a CRADLE SNATCHER - He prefers GENERATIONALLY DIFFERENTIAL RELATIONSHIPS.

He does not get FALLING-DOWN DRUNK - He becomes ACCIDENTALLY HORIZONTAL.

He is not a MALE CHAUVINIST PIG - He is a SWINE EMPATHIZING BIGOT.

He is not afraid of COMMITMENT - He is MONOGAMOUSLY CHALLENGED.

He does not STINK - He has HYGIENE AVERSION SYNDROME.

He is not OBSESSED WITH TELEVISED SPORTS - He has AN ATHLETIC TELEVISUAL ADDICTION.

He does not IGNORE YOU - He has ATTENTION SPAN DEFICIT DISORDER.

He is not a LAZY, MESSY SLOB - He LACKS HAND-VACUUM COORDINATION.

He does not tell ENDLESS, BORING, UNFUNNY JOKES - He is HUMORLY OVER-CONFIDENT.

A Night Before Christmas For Moms
A Night Before Christmas For Moms

It was the night before Christmas, when all thru the abode
only one creature was stirring, and she was cleaning the commode.
The children were finally sleeping, all snug in their beds,
while visions of Nintendo and Barbie, flipped through their heads.

The dad was snoring in front of the TV,
with a half-constructed bicycle on his knee.
So only the mom heard the reindeer hooves clatter,
which made her sigh, “Now what’s the matter?”

With toilet bowl brush still clutched in her hand,
she descended the stairs, and saw the old man.
He was covered with ashes and soot, which fell with a shrug.
“Oh great,” muttered the mom, “Now I have to clean the rug.”

“Ho-ho-ho!” cried Santa, “I’m glad you’re awake.
Your gift was especially difficult to make.”
“Thanks, Santa, but all I want is some time alone.”
“Exactly!” he chuckled, “I’ve made you a clone.”

“A clone?” she asked,“What good is that?
Run along, Santa, I’ve no time for chit-chat.”
It was the mother’s twin.
Same hair, same eyes, same double chin.

“She’ll cook, she’ll dust,
She’ll mop every mess.
You’ll relax, take it easy,
Watch The Young & the Restless.”

“Fantastic!” the mom cheered.
“My dream has come true!
I’ll shop. I’ll read,
I’ll sleep a whole night through!”

From the room above, the youngest began to fret.
“Mommy?! I'm scared… and I ‘m wet.”
The clone replied, “I’m coming, sweetheart.”
“Hey,” the mom smiled, “She knows her part.”

The clone changed the small one, and hummed a tune,
as she bundled the child, in a blanket cocoon.
“You're the best mommy ever. I really love you.”
The clone smiled and sighed, “I love you, too.”

The mom frowned and said, “Sorry, Santa, no deal.
That’s my child’s love, she’s trying to steal.”
Smiling wisely Santa said, “To me it is clear,
Only one loving mother, is needed here.”

The mom kissed her child, and tucked her into bed.
“Thank you, Santa, for clearing my head.
I sometimes forget, it won’t be very long,
when they’ll be too old, for my cradle-song.”

The clock on the mantle began to chime.
Santa whispered to the clone, “It works every time.”
With the clone by his side Santa said, “Goodnight.
Merry Christmas, Mom, You’ll be all right.”