My father was a gambler when I was growing up, so I thought I would confide in him this nightmare I kept having.
"Dad," I began, "I keep having these dreams about a supernatural evil entity that takes horse racing bets from gamblers. He seems so real to me."
"Don't worry, son," my dad assured me. "There's no such thing as the bookey-man."
~ Claim you were a Christmas tree in your former life. If s/he tries to bring one into the room, scream bloody murder.
~ Go to the mall with your roommate and sit on Santa's lap. Refuse to get off.
~ Paint your nose red and wear antlers. Constantly complain about how you never get to join in on the games.
~ Make conversation out of Christmas Carols. (e.g., "You know, I saw mommy kissing Santa Claus underneath the mistletoe last night.")
~ Sing: "All I want for Christmas is my roommate's two front teeth..."
~ Give your roommate the gifts from the twelve days of Christmas song.
~ Build a snowperson with your roommate and place a hat on its head. When it doesn't come to life, cry hysterically, "It didn't work!"
~ Ring jingle bells maniacally saying, "Every time a bell rings an angel gets his wings!"
What do you call the significant other of a Bohemian chess player?
Czechmate!
What are the facilities called where huskies are trained to start their sleds moving and to speed them up in the Iditarod sled competition?
Mush Rooms.