First, a Christmas song, courtesy of Xanta Claus:
_________________________

It's OK to shout
It's OK to cry
It's OK to pout
I'm telling you why
Santa Claus is dead meat this year

He won't make a list
He won't check it twice
And we don't care if you're naughty or nice
Santa Claus is dead meat this year

We'll get him while he's sleeping
We'll throw him in the lake
We don't care if you're bad or good
Have another piece of cake
(Woooooo!)

It's OK to shout
It's OK to cry
It's OK to pout
I'm telling you why
Santa Claus is dead meat
Are reindeer white or red meat?
Santa Claus is dead meat this year
_________________________

And now, gather in front of the fire for the traditional story: _________________________

From: CptainDan
Newsgroups: rec.sport.pro-wrestling
Date: 01 Dec 2001 20:42:09 GMT
Subject: The night Vader came over for Christmas dinner

It was a few years back when he was still working for the WWF. I saw him at
the airport on Christmas morning, talking on his cell phone. I heard him telling somebody that his flight had been delayed until late that evening so he wouldn't be home for Christmas.
I introduced myself to him and told him I was a big fan. I said, "I
couldn't help overhearing, Mr. White. That's too bad about your flight being delayed."
He laughed and said, "You can call me Vader, bro."
I asked him if he'd like to come home with me and have Christmas dinner with
my family. He was hesitant at first, said he didn't want to impose, but I told him that my kids were big wrestling fans and that his being there would make their Christmas extra special. So he finally agreed!
I phoned ahead and told my wife to set an extra place at the dinner table,
and we were on our way. It was about a 45 minute drive to my place, during which I had to pull over TWICE to let Vader take a piss. I think he had been drinking cause he really smelled like beer.
When we got to the house I introduced Vader to the wife and kids. Boy were
they surprised! "Geez, look at the size of him," my wife whispered. "I hope I made enough food!"
I gave Vader a tour of the house and showed him our Chritsmas tree.
"I bet I could EAT that tree!" he said.
He snapped a branch off of the tree and started gnawing on it, but after
only a few seconds he spit out a bunch of needles and said, "Okay, maybe I can't eat the tree" and threw the branch on the ground.
Vader sat on the couch all afternoon drinking beer and playing Nintendo, getting up only to use the bathroom (he stunk it up REALLY BAD) and one time because he thought he heard a burglar outside.
Finally, it was time to eat. Drunk Vader mushed all of his side dishes -
mashed potatoes, corn, stuffing, cranberry sauce, green beans, and jello - together in one big bowl. Then he grabbed a huge turkey drumstick and used it like a big spoon to scoop up his food and eat it.
"That was great," Vader said. "What should we do now?"
"Let's wrestle!" said one of my kids.
"You wanna wrestle, huh?"
Vader picked up my son and play-powerbombed him on the couch and broke it. "Okay Vader," I said. "Maybe it's time for you to go."
"I'm not leaving until I get some plum pudding, bitch!" he roared.
My wife brought out a big bowl of pudding and Vader ate the whole thing. He then put the empty bowl on his head, yelled "Hike!", and ran head-first into the wall, putting a big crack in it.
I called Vader a cab and walked him outside.
"Merry Christmas, Vader," I said, holding the car door open. He just kind
of grunted in response.
The cab started to pull away and I waved goodbye. Vader pressed his face against the window like he was making out with it, and they drove away.

And that's the way it REALLY HAPPENED!

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