Everybody's making their predictions for the new year. I don't even know what's happening now.

     My wife's parents live on a farm and they always give us something practical. This year they gave us a pig.
      They got the idea about a month before Christmas -- watching me eat Thanksgiving dinner.
     It's a cute pig. The kids named him (Osama) because he's got a mean streak.
     They tried to teach him to catch a frisbee, but he ate it.
      It's not easy keeping a pig in the city, but I figure what the heck? With all the burglaries, he might make a good watch pig.
     So I put up a sign, "Beware of Pig!"
     And I taught him to oink when he sees a stranger.
     He oinked at the Avon Lady and she fell off the porch.
     But I knew this pig was not happy. I could tell by the way he'd look up at me with those big sad blue eyes while eating my house shoes.
     Then yesterday he rooted under the fence and ran away. I asked around if anybody'd seen a pig. The kid at the service station said he saw one hitchin' a ride with an old guy who looked like Jimmy Dean.

     Christmas is the season to remember the poor. That's why on December 26th IRS sends out the tax forms.

     The worst thing about Christmas is Christmas morning. It comes so early.
     And you have to take pictures.
     I don't even take good pictures when I'm wide awake.
     Take Christmas morning this year. It was still very dark. And still very quiet. And still very still.
     In the distance you could hear a rooster snoring.
     The family was downstairs -- which is always best in a one-story house.
     The kids are opening their presents and threatening to kill each other.
     And I'm trying to take pictures. The flash keeps waking me up.
      I end up with 12 beautiful color closeups of my nose.

      The pollution index is high at 70: 15 ozone, 15 particulates, 40 wrapping paper and ribbons......

     Next year I think I'll concentrate more on filling my heart with joy instead of my stomach with fudge.

     It was great. We had the biggest Christmas we've ever charged.

     Gee, I just realized, I didn't get a Christmas card from (sexy celebrity).
      Darn slow mail service.

      I think I'll drop by the unemployment office and count the Santa Clauses.

     My wife has her own method of squeezing through those after-Christmas shopping crowds. She smears Vasoline on her credit cards.

     My wife wanted a fur coat for Christmas, but I bought he a fake fur because I don't believe in killing animals. Last night she got even. For dinner we had a rubber chicken.

     This is the time of year when our friends send us Christmas cards so we'll enjoy the holidays, and IRS sends us tax forms so we won't.

      I must be getting old. I made it through the 12 days of Christmas okay, but the 12 nights almost killed me.