We
are Southern writers with a strong sense of regional heritage who laugh at
our own shortcomings and make diversity into an asset. We are proud of our
turnip greens, cornbread and rural past, but recognize football, country
music, and car racing as activities of a new South.
We would also like to go on record as the humorist group with the most
couches on the front porch and the greatest number of junk cars rusting in
the backyard.
We welcome any Southern humorist, comedy
author, funny writer, or cartoonist who creates humor of any sort,
or aspires to do so, to join our newsgroup and become a part of the comedy
organization that sponsors our official Southern Humorists website.
We welcome true southerners, former
southerners, transplanted southerners - and even danged Yankees, as long
as you know that you will be the one who talks with a funny accent and
that you're treading on our sacred Southern soil here.
I’m
a snow freak. When the forecast shows those flakes on the radar or
warnings uttered from some meteorologist’s mouth, I get as excited as a
child on Christmas Eve.
Snow is my Santa, the white world that
falls and makes winter gorgeous, like a gift in the jolly man’s bag.
But here’s the deal, snow forecasts
for those who adore white worlds, are often like blind dates.
Let
me be the first to announce there are only 38 more shopping days left
before Christmas. Thirty-eight wonderful days to make sure everybody on
your list gets exactly what they deserve. And do I plan to take advantage
of it? Do I plan to do my shopping early? Heaven forbid! I don’t even
know why I brought up the subject.
The differences between men and women
are never more obvious than when it comes to Christmas shopping. Women
want to look, compare, study, analyze, feel, smell, poke, prod and ask
questions about each and every item they think they might buy before they
buy it. That’s why 38 shopping days are never enough time for a woman.
“Deep Fried Tofu” - my eyes studied the menu as my brain went into hyper-drive trying to comprehend what those words in that particular sequence meant. Even for a Southerner who is familiar with “deep-fried everything” from “Twinkies” to “Snickers bars”, deep fried tofu had to be the ultimate. I wouldn’t be surprised to hear that the Tofu Institute of the World was making arrangements at this moment to fly into the South and confiscate all tofu in the region. I’m sure that the health conscious Northern carpetbaggers who migrated south never intended for one of the bastions of health food to be deep fried and then covered with a vinegar-based barbeque sauce. They had probably read in Time Magazine that we were an over-weight, lard-gifted, pack of swine gobbling rednecks. They probably were only trying to make us more health-conscious as they trekked across the Mason-Dixon Line, bearing tofu, seaweed and turkey sausage.
Three years of dating my husband before I married him didn’t prepare me for his Bah Humbug! attitude toward the Yuletide season. The wonderful man I loved had turned into Ebenezer Scrooge’s evil twin brother.
Daily I heard complaints. “The lights are too tangled. We’ll never get them sorted. Why do we have to buy so many gifts, what are they going to give us? Why do you have to bake so much? The grocery store bill is going to kill me. Why do we have to take mittens, socks and teddy bears to church? “
Well, it's almost that time of the year again. The time that comes
with joy, happiness and nostalgia that you normally only feel when a
family shares the event together. Yeah, Christmas too, but i mean time
we get to indulge in enormous portions of that now classic movie, A
Christmas Story.
The movie, which features the unforgettable little Ralphie and the
rest of the Parker family, first ran in 1983, making this year the
25th anniversary of the movie many of us grew up with. My generation's, It's A Wonderful Life, I guess it could be called.
We are not The Waltons. Nor are we The Cleavers. We do not resemble any family ever seen in one of Norman Rockwell’s paintings. Our family is more The Griswalds meet Martha Stewart wannabes. Oh, we have high hopes ever year when the holidays roll around, but somewhere between the pictures in my mind and the pictures that make it into the camera, things begin to go wrong. Take the four tree Christmas as the perfect example of high hopes meet stark reality.
As a child and a teenager, the winter hollydays were my favorite time of year. Family gatherings at Thanksgiving wound into counting the days til the fat man was expected to deliver a bountiful harvest of Barbie dolls and cowgirl boots (and later stereos and Jordaches) under the tree. Living in the Deep South, I longed for JUST ONE white Christmas.
Every holiday has its hazards, though this Christmas season has been a relatively uneventful one in Louden Flat. Most of the accidents we've had have been the expected kind, such as falling off ladders and getting scratched by holly, both of which mishaps I warned you about in previous columns. There are, of course, a few exceptions:
* A 47-year-old woman was slightly injured in a family dispute over cranberry sauce. “I wanted jellied and he wanted whole-berry,” explained Candy Yams. “I hate whole-berry.”
This may come as a shock, but I do love to sing. This love of singing is both a blessing and a curse. This year, on December 7, I will once more be invited to sing in a concert as part of larger choir, 59 members this year, at a local church. As near as I can figure, 13 churches will be represented.
And then there is me! I am the only one who does not sing in a church choir, and when asked every year, I tell them that I am a member of the Reformed Druid Church. For the uninformed, the Druids worshiped oak trees, we, the Reformed, we worship plywood.
My name is Cathy Gregor and I suppose you know where I live by now, if not - just "Google" it on your computer.
I have been very good this year; at least I think so with what I can remember. What I don't remember "doesn't count" because then I was with Rose and Fred and they always lead me into temptation at parties ---- so that really doesn't count, or does it?
Congratulations!
You are the recipient of American's most wanted gift, the gift card. The
gift card can be exchanged for many useful and necessary items. Cash is
not one of them.
Please read the following instructions to learn how to use your new gift
card.
Gift cards come with a number of different designs on the front. Ignore
the picture; it is the amount that the card will purchase that matters,
and they are all spent exactly the same way. You can tell how much the
balance is on the card by calling the phone number conveniently located on
the back of the card and entering the secret identification number, also
on the back of the card.
My husband and I have the same argument
every Christmas. My husband hates telling the kids there's a Santa Claus,
while I on the other hand enjoy it. We both agree the real story of
Christmas and Jesus' birth is the one that should get our greatest
attention, so I just have fun with it. One of our 12 year olds thinks he is
totally convinced there is no Santa, until I start telling him my
observations.
I’m
a snow freak. When the forecast shows those flakes on the radar or
warnings uttered from some meteorologist’s mouth, I get as excited as a
child on Christmas Eve.
Let
me be the first to announce there are only 38 more shopping days left
before Christmas. Thirty-eight wonderful days to make sure everybody on
your list gets exactly what they deserve. And do I plan to take advantage
of it? Do I plan to do my shopping early? Heaven forbid! I don’t even
know why I brought up the subject.
“Deep Fried Tofu” - my eyes studied the menu as my brain went into hyper-drive trying to comprehend what those words in that particular sequence meant. Even for a Southerner who is familiar with “deep-fried everything” from “Twinkies” to “Snickers bars”, deep fried tofu had to be the ultimate. I wouldn’t be surprised to hear that the Tofu Institute of the World was making arrangements at this moment to fly into the South and confiscate all tofu in the region. I’m sure that the health conscious Northern carpetbaggers who migrated south never intended for one of the bastions of health food to be deep fried and then covered with a vinegar-based barbeque sauce. They had probably read in Time Magazine that we were an over-weight, lard-gifted, pack of swine gobbling rednecks. They probably were only trying to make us more health-conscious as they trekked across the Mason-Dixon Line, bearing tofu, seaweed and turkey sausage. 
Three years of dating my husband before I married him didn’t prepare me for his Bah Humbug! attitude toward the Yuletide season. The wonderful man I loved had turned into Ebenezer Scrooge’s evil twin brother.
Well, it's almost that time of the year again. The time that comes
with joy, happiness and nostalgia that you normally only feel when a
family shares the event together. Yeah, Christmas too, but i mean time
This may come as a shock, but I do love to sing. This love of singing is both a blessing and a curse. This year, on December 7, I will once more be invited to sing in a concert as part of larger choir, 59 members this year, at a local church. As near as I can figure, 13 churches will be represented.
IDear Mr. Santa,
Congratulations!
You are the recipient of American's most wanted gift, the gift card. The
gift card can be exchanged for many useful and necessary items. Cash is
not one of them.
