A xmas joke for you all

This is an article submitted to a 1999 Louisville Sentinel contest to find
out who had the wildest Christmas dinners. This won first prize.

Christmas With Louise

As a joke, my brother used to hang a pair of panty hose over his fireplace
before Christmas. He said all he wanted was for Santa to fill them. What
they say about Santa checking the list twice must be true because every
Christmas morning, although Jay's kids' stockings were overflowed, his poor
pantyhose hung sadly empty. One year I decided to make his dream come true.
I put on sunglasses and went in search of an inflatable love doll. They
don't sell those things at Walmart. I had to go to an adult bookstore
downtown. If you've never been in an X-rated store, don't go. You'll only
confuse yourself. I was there an hour saying things like, "What does this
do? You're kidding me! Who would buy that?" Finally, I made it to the
inflatable doll section. I wanted to buy a standard, uncomplicated doll that
could also substitute as a passenger in my truck so I could use the car
pool lane during rush hour. Finding what I wanted was difficult. Love Dolls
come in many different models. The top of the line, according to the side
of the box, could do things I'd only seen in a book on animal husbandry. I
settled for Lovable Louise. She was at the bottom of the price scale. To
call Louise a doll took a huge leap of imagination. On Christmas Eve and
with the help of an old bicycle pump, Louise came to life. My sister-in-law
was in on the plan and let me in during the wee morning hours. Long after
Santa had come and gone, I filled the dangling pantyhose with Louise's
pliant legs and bottom. I also ate some cookies and drank what remained of
a glass of milk on a nearby tray. I went home, and giggled for a couple of
hours. The next morning my brother called to say that Santa had been to his
house and left a present that had made him VERY happy but had left the dog
confused. She would bark, start to walk away, then come back and bark some
more. We all agreed that Louise should remain in her panty hose so the rest
of the family could admire her when they came over for the traditional
Christmas dinner. My grandmother noticed Louise the moment she walked in the
door. "What the hell is that?" she asked. My brother quickly explained,
"It's a doll." "Who would play with something like that?" Granny snapped. I
had several candidates in mind, but kept my mouth shut. "Where are her
clothes?" Granny continued. "Boy, that turkey sure smells nice Gran" Jay
said, to steer her into the dining room. But Granny was relentless. "Why
doesn't she have any teeth?" Again, I could have answered, but why would I?
It was Christmas and no one wanted to ride in the back of the ambulance
saying, "Hang on Granny, hang on!" My grandfather, a delightful old man
with poor eyesight, sidled up to me and said, "Hey, who's the naked gal by
the fireplace?" I told him she was Jay's friend. A few minutes later I
noticed Grandpa by the mantel, talking to Louise. Not just talking, but
actually flirting. It was then that we realized this might be Grandpa's
last Christmas at home. The dinner went well. We made the usual small talk
about who had died, who was dying, and who should be killed, when suddenly
Louise made a noise like my father in the bathroom in the morning. Then she
lurched from the panty hose, flew around the room twice, and fell in a heap
in front of the sofa. The cat screamed. I passed cranberry sauce through my
nose, and Grandpa ran across the room, fell to his knees, and began
administering mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. My brother fell back over his
chair and wet his pants. Granny threw down her napkin, stomped out of the
room, and sat in the car. It was indeed a Christmas to treasure and
remember. Later in my brother's garage, we conducted a thorough examination
to decide the cause of Louise's collapse. We discovered that Louise had
suffered from a hot ember to the back of her right thigh. Fortunately,
thanks to a wonder drug called duct tape, we restored her to perfect
health!

Ben