Ho Ho Ho Christmas Quotes

The door opens with a rusted jingle, and an animatronic Santa insults my moral virtue three times. Ho, ho, ho.

In another Christmas story, Dale Pearson, evil developer, self-absorbed woman hater, and seemingly unredeemable curmudgeon, might be visited in the night by a series of ghosts who, by showing him bleak visions of Christmas future, past, and present, would bring about in him a change to generosity, kindness, and a general warmth toward his fellow man. But this is not that kind of Christmas story, so here, in not too many pages, someone is going to dispatch the miserable son of a bitch with a shovel. That's the spirit of Christmas yet to come in these parts. Ho, ho, ho.

Well, well, well,” Santa said once the elf had retreated. “Come and sit on my lap, little boy.” This Santa’s beard was real, and so was his hair. He wasn’t fucking around. “I’m not really a little boy,” I pointed out. “Get on my lap, then, big boy.” I walked up to him. There wasn’t much lap under his belly. And even though he tried to disguise it, as I went up there, I swear he adjusted his crotch. “Ho ho ho!” he chortled. I sat gingerly on his knee, like it was a subway seat with gum on it. “Have you been a good little boy this year?” he asked. I didn’t feel that I was the right person to determine my own goodness or badness, but in the interest of speeding along this encounter, I said yes. He actually wobbled with joy. “Good! Good! Then what can I bring you this Christmas?” I thought it was obvious. “A message from Lily,” I said. “That’s what I want for Christmas. But I want it right now.” “So impatient!” Santa lowered his voice and whispered in my ear. “But Santa does have a little something for you”—he shifted a little in his seat—“right under his coat. If you want to have your present, you’ll have to rub Santa’s belly.” “What?” I asked. He gestured with his eyes down to his stomach. “Go ahead.” I looked closely and saw the faint outline of an envelope beneath his red velvet coat. “You know you want it,” he whispered. The only way I could survive this was to think of it as the dare it was. Fuck off, Lily. You can’t intimidate me. I reached right under Santa’s coat. To my horror, I found he wasn’t wearing anything underneath. It was hot, sweaty, Geshy, hairy … and his belly was this massive obstacle, blocking me from the envelope. I had to lean over to angle my arm in order to reach it, the whole time having Santa laugh, “Oh ho ho, ho ho oh ho!” in my ear. I heard the elf scream, “What the hell!” and various parents start to shriek. Yes, I was feeling up Santa. And now the corner of the envelope was in my hand. He tried to jiggle it away from me, but I held tight and yanked it out, pulling some of his white belly hair with me. “OW ho ho!” he cried. I jumped o1 his lap. “Security’s here!” the elf proclaimed. The letter was in my hand, damp but intact. “He touched Santa!” a young child squealed.

Say who with the what now? Well, Merry Christmas and Ho Ho Holy Crap. Just what the hell have I been yammering on about?

For months I yearned to see Santa again, mooning for him like a lost love. Then, on Christmas Eve, I was awakened by someone shaking me in my bed. “Ho! Ho! Ho!” a voice said out of the darkness. I felt the giggles rising up in my throat. But that's another story...

Santa did me a solid this Christmas. Ho, ho, fucking, ho.

Do you need help with anything?" he asked with a wicked arched brow. "Maybe with cookies for Santa." Scowling because no one was here but us, I said, "You're a bit late for that. Santa already came." He hadn't moved, but I knew better than to think he would. Flynn was a pro at filling the bubble air space that was meant to be private and personal. "And were you a good girl?" he asked. Awkwardly folding my arms over my chest, I said, "Not sure, I haven't checked. But you needn't look. We all know you are all bad." Laughing, he said, "Yeah, well, there are other things worth unwrapping." Grinding my teeth, I asked, "What, you didn't get your Ho, Ho, Ho, last night?" Tossing back another full belly laugh, he said, "You know you're kind of funny when you want to be.

So the sleigh-boat was our new solution. It worked great, except when Felix yelled down at the mortals, ‘Ho, ho, ho, Merry Christmas!’ Of course, most mortals can’t see magic clearly, so I’m not sure what they thought they saw as we passed overhead. No doubt it caused many of them to adjust their medication.

-La tua stessa coscienza ti dice che non sei più quello che eri, io invece sono rimasta la stessa, e mi rendo conto che tutto quello che ci prometteva felicità quando avevamo gli stessi sentimenti è diventato presagio d'infelicità ora che siamo diversi. Quanto sovente e con quanta pena abbia pensato ciò non voglio dirtelo. E' sufficiente che vi abbia pensato e che sia in grado ora di renderti la tua libertà. -Te l'ho forse mai chiesta? -A parole no, mai. - E in quale modo allora? -Mutando il tuo carattere, il tuo umore, la tua atmosfera di vita, le tue speranze, tutto ciò che rendeva il mio amore bello ai tuoi occhi. Se nulla mai ci fosse stato fra di noi, dimmi, mi sceglieresti ancora, cercheresti ancora di conquistarmi? Oh no, certo!

If I could have predicted how this day was going to end, it would not be in Ho the Not-Pimp’s upscale flat—if I was in America, I’d call it a penthouse, but I’m not—eating cheeseless pizza and making out. I don’t even care about the tomato-onion-oregano

Ho ho ho, tell me why you are not at home' is something Santa Claus could ask you if you stayed in a hotel over Christmas. It is most certainly not the reason why it is called 'hotel', but it will hopefully help you remember that the stress is actually on the second syllable.

My own grandfather died after a long, debilitating bout with Alzheimer’s, including one memorable Christmas Eve where he managed to steal the car keys in the middle of the night and disappear for seven hours into downtown Honolulu. Ho-ho-horrible Christmas morning to you too, family.

Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the base Only sentries were stirring--they guarded the place. At the foot of each bunk sat a helmet and boot For the Santa of Soldiers to fill up with loot. The soldiers were sleeping and snoring away As they dreamed of “back home” on good Christmas Day. One snoozed with his rifle--he seemed so content. I slept with the letters my family had sent. When outside the tent there arose such a clatter. I sprang from my rack to see what was the matter. Away to the window I flew like a flash. Poked out my head, and yelled, “What was that crash?” When what to my thrill and relief should appear, But one of our Blackhawks to give the all clear. More rattles and rumbles! I heard a deep whine! Then up drove eight Humvees, a jeep close behind… Each vehicle painted a bright Christmas green. With more lights and gold tinsel than I’d ever seen. The convoy commander leaped down and he paused. I knew then and there it was Sergeant McClaus! More rapid than rockets, his drivers they came When he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name: “Now, Cohen! Mendoza! Woslowski! McCord! Now, Li! Watts! Donetti! And Specialist Ford!” “Go fill up my sea bags with gifts large and small! Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away, all!” In the blink of an eye, to their trucks the troops darted. As I drew in my head and was turning around, Through the tent flap the sergeant came in with a bound. He was dressed all in camo and looked quite a sight With a Santa had added for this special night. His eyes--sharp as lasers! He stood six feet six. His nose was quite crooked, his jaw hard as bricks! A stub of cigar he held clamped in his teeth. And the smoke, it encircled his head like a wreath. A young driver walked in with a seabag in tow. McClaus took the bag, told the driver to go. Then the sarge went to work. And his mission today? Bring Christmas from home to the troops far away! Tasty gifts from old friends in the helmets he laid. There were candies, and cookies, and cakes, all homemade. Many parents sent phone cards so soldiers could hear Treasured voices and laughter of those they held dear. Loving husbands and wives had mailed photos galore Of weddings and birthdays and first steps and more. And for each soldier’s boot, like a warm, happy hug, There was art from the children at home sweet and snug. As he finished the job--did I see a twinkle? Was that a small smile or instead just a wrinkle? To the top of his brow he raised up his hand And gave a salute that made me feel grand. I gasped in surprise when, his face all aglow, He gave a huge grin and a big HO! HO! HO! HO! HO! HO! from the barracks and then from the base. HO! HO! HO! as the convoy sped up into space. As the camp radar lost him, I heard this faint call: “HAPPY CHRISTMAS, BRAVE SOLDIERS! MAY PEACE COME TO ALL!

Is that...the Looney Tunes theme?" Mer and St. Clair cock their ears. "Why,yes.I believe it is," St. Clair says. "I heard 'Love Shack' a few minutes ago," Mer says. "It's official," I say. "America has finally ruined France." "So can we go now?" St. Clair holds up a small bag. "I'm done." "Ooo,what'd you get?" Mer asks. She takes his bag and pulls out a delicate, shimmery scarf. "Is it for Ellie?" "Shite." Mer pauses. "You didn't get anything for Ellie?" "No,it's for Mum.Arrrgh." He rakes a hand through his hair. "Would you mind if we pop over to Sennelier before we go home?" Sennelier is a gorgeous little art supply sore,the kind that makes me wish I had an excuse to buy oil paints and pastels. Mer and I went with Rashmi last weekend. She bought Josh a new sketchbook for Hanukkah. "Wow.Congratulations,St. Clair," I say. "Winner of today's Sucky Boyfriend award.And I thought Steve was bad-did you see what happened in calc?" "You mean when Amanda caught him dirty-texting Nicole?" Mer asks. "I thought she was gonna stab him in the neck with her pencil." "I've been busy," St. Clair says. I glance at him. "I was just teasing." "Well,you don't have to be such a bloody git about it." "I wasn't being a git. I wasnt even being a twat, or a wanker, or any of your other bleeding Briticisms-" "Piss off." He snatches his bag back from Mer and scowls at me. "HEY!" Mer says. "It's Christmas. Ho-ho-ho. Deck the halls. Stop fighting." "We weren't fighting," he and I say together. She shakes her head. "Come on,St. Clair's right. Let's get out of here. This place gives me the creeps." "I think it's pretty," I say. "Besides, I'd rather look at ribbons than dead rabbits." "Not the hares again," St. Clair says. "You're as bad as Rashmi." We wrestle through the Christmas crowds. "I can see why she was upset! The way they're hung up,like they'd died of nosebleeds. It's horrible. Poor Isis." All of the shops in Paris have outdone themselves with elaborate window displays,and the butcher is no exception. I pass the dead bunnies every time I go to the movies. "In case you hadn't noticed," he says. "Isis is perfectly alive and well on the sixth floor.

«Ci sono molte cose, credo, che possono avermi fatto del bene senza che io ne abbia ricavato un profitto», replicò il nipote, «e Natale è una di queste. Ma sono sicuro che ho sempre considerato il periodo natalizio, quando è venuto — a prescindere dalla venerazione dovuta al suo nome e alla sua origine sacra, ammesso che qualcosa che si riferisca possa esser tenuta separata da questa venerazione — come buono; un periodo di gentilezza, di perdono, di carità, di gioia; l'unico periodo che io conosca, in tutto il lungo calendario di un anno, nel quale uomini e donne sembrano concordi nello schiudere liberamente i cuori serrati e nel pensare alla gente che è al disotto di loro come se si trattasse realmente di compagni nel viaggio verso la tomba, e non di un'altra razza di creature in viaggio verso altre mete. E per questo, zio, anche se il Natale non mi ha mai fatto entrare in tasca una moneta d'oro, e neanche d'argento, credo che mi abbia fatto bene e che mi farà bene, e chiedo che Dio lo benedica».

Senti, abbiamo delle specie di regole qui". Indicò il cartello sul bancone. NIENTE CAMICIA O NIENTE SCARPE, NIENTE SERVIZIO. Molly abbassò lo sguardo su di sé. «Oh dio, me le sono scordate». «É tutto a posto». «Ho lasciato le scarpe in macchina. Faccio un salto e me le metto». «Sarebbe stupendo,Molly.Grazie». «Nessun problema». «So che sul cartello non c'è scritto, ma già che ci sei, potresti metterti anche un paio di pantaloni? Sarebbe sottinteso». «Certo» disse Molly con disinvoltura davanti al bancone. Uscì dal negozio e sentì che l'aria si era proprio rinfrescata. E già, i suoi jeans e le mutandine erano sul sedile del passeggero, accanto alle scarpe da tennis.

Our neighbors would rise early and visit the malls, snatching up gift-wrapped Dustbusters and the pom-pommed socks used to protect the heads of golf clubs. Christmas would arrive and we, the people of this country, would gather around identical trees, voicing our pleasure with worn clichés. Turkeys would roast to a hard, shellacked finish. Hams would be crosshatched with x’s and glazed with fruit — and it was fine by me. Were I to receive a riding vacuum cleaner or even a wizened proboscis monkey, it wouldn’t please me half as much as knowing we were the only family in the neighborhood with a prostitute in our kitchen. From this moment on, the phrase “ho, ho, ho” would take on a whole different meaning; and I, along with the rest of my family, could appreciate it in our own clannish way. It suddenly occurred to me. Just like that.

Ho, ho, ho. Merry Christmas, Nobody!

What if Freud's "Mother" is a ho?

so here, in not too many pages, someone is going to dispatch the miserable son of a bitch with a shovel. That’s the spirit of Christmas yet to come in these parts. Ho, ho, ho.

Well, probably because he was too busy getting it on with my nasty ho-bag of a sister. There are so many days I wish I had a sibling redo. I wish I could take her and push her back into Mom’s va-jay-jay and get another sister. A real sister, not a ho-bag sister.

Once on Christmas Eve and once on Christmas Day. No more, no less. Ho-ho-ho. Sick fuck.

I was a Christmas pimp. A holiday ho.

What is red, white and black all over and says “Ho! Ho!”? Santa Claus after he has came down the chimney.

Some songs from the era prove this, like a couple of little-known verses of Yankee Doodle: Two and two may go to Bed, Two and Two together; And if there is not room enough, Lie one a top o’to’ther Christmas is a coming Boys, We’ll go to Mother Chase’s And there we’ll get a sugar dram [i.e., rum] Sweetened with Melasses [molasses]. Heigh Ho for our Cape Cod, Heigh ho Nantasket, Do not let the Boston wags Feel your Oyster Basket.9 Yes, “Oyster Basket” means exactly what you think it means.

Could it be possible?—as by the match with which Stuyvesant and I lighted our cigars, we saw my watch—ten o’clock! “Stuyvesant,” I whispered, “we are in for an adventure sure enough. I don’t know exactly where we are, but the horses are about used up, and I’m frozen.” He turned and boldly told the party our situation, trying to make it out as a jolly good joke. The ladies did not appreciate it, except little Lucy. She did not say much, but evidently thought it a most delightful experience of romantic reality. Adelaide and Mrs. Grayson were really alarmed, and I am pretty sure that as we drove on again, I heard Cousin Daisy repeating parts of Eastman’s Snow Storm: “But cold and dead by the sunken log, Are they who came from the town.” We pushed on for another half hour, which seemed a whole night time, and then pulled up before a farmhouse, in which the inmates were a long while under blankets. A rascally cur screeched and yelped at us. That, however, and our united voices calling for about ten minutes, aroused someone, for we heard a sash frostily resist lifting, and a male nightmare full voice say, “What in the devil do you want?” Stuyvesant asked for the necessary information, and we learned that we were twelve miles from our destination and four from the nearest village. The window dropped with a bang, but the word reached me, too, something like “jam,” or “slam,” or “ram.” “Ho! Halloo!” sang out Stuyvesant in alarm, “where in the mischief are you driving, Earnest? Here we are over the runners in a drift.” The fact is, I had my eyes on a dark, irregular building just ahead, and I was trying to make out if it was a poorhouse or a jail.

A beautiful young woman wants to meet Santa Claus, so she puts on a robe and stays up late on Christmas Eve. Santa arrives, climbs down the chimney, and begins filling the stockings. He is about to move on to the next house when the gorgeous redhead says in a sexy voice, “Oh, Santa, please stay. Keep the chill away.” Santa replies, “HO HO HO, gotta go, gotta go. Gotta get the presents to the children, you know.” The girl drops her robe to reveal a sexy bra and panties, and says in her most flirtatious tone, “Oh, Santa, don’t run a mile; just stay for a while...” Santa begins to sweat but replies, “HO HO HO, gotta go, gotta go. Gotta get the presents to the children, you know.” The girl takes off her bra and says, “Oh, Santa... please... stay.” Santa wipes his brow but replies, “HO HO HO, gotta go, gotta go. Gotta get the presents to the children, you know.” She loses the panties and says, “Oh, Santa... please... stay....” Santa, trembling, says, “HEY HEY HEY, gotta stay, gotta stay! Can’t get up the chimney with my pecker this way!!!

So the sleigh-boat was our new solution. It worked great, except when Felix yelled down at the mortals, “Ho, ho, ho, Merry Christmas!” Of course, most mortals can’t see magic clearly, so I’m not sure what they thought they saw as we passed overhead. No doubt it caused many of them to adjust their medication.

He’s asking for permission to play this game. I nod. “Answer the question.” “Everything is….. perfect.” I breath. I’m going straight to hell on the ho’ bag express.

Christmas came early, Cecelia, and guess what? You’re a ho,” I bang my head against the door with each word. “Ho,” bang, “Ho,” bang.

There’s more riding on this particular Christmas than ever before, and I’m coming apart at the seams. I need you to find my stolen property before Christmas Eve, or there’ll be no joy to the world, no ho-ho-ho, no holly jolly, no Feliz in the Navidad, no Frohe in the Weihnachten, no Merry in the Christmas.

Don't let your "Ho! Ho! Ho!", "Go! Go! Go!" this year.

Let your "Ho! Ho! Ho!" not "Go! Go! Go!" this year.

The first time we’d flown Air Freak, we’d strung the boat underneath Freak’s belly, which hadn’t been very stable. And you couldn’t simply ride on his back, because those high-powered wings would chop you to shreds. So the sleigh-boat was our new solution. It worked great, except when Felix yelled down at the mortals, “Ho, ho, ho, Merry Christmas!

As a child, I loved that special seasonal magic – gold and silver tinsel, baubles catching the light of a candle, a distant ‘ho-ho-ho’, and the feeling that normal life could be suspended for a few days.

Ho, ho, ho! Merry Christmas!” Santa chuckled as his belly bounced up and down like a bowl full of jelly.

Ho, ho, ho". Santa boomed in a deep voice. "Merry Christmas, young lady." "Merry Christmas." I frowned. "I don't think I've been good this year, Santa." "No, ho, ho?" I scuffed my shoe along the pavement and ducked my head to avoid this gaze. "I was a jerk to my boyfriend. Maybe I'm still just as insecure and controlling as ever." Santa scratched at his beard and studied me with his dark brown eyes. "Maybe being willing to admit you were wrong and apologizing means you've grown more than you think." He paused, then added, "Ho ho ho." "Do you think he'll forgive me me?" I asked. Zac pulled the white beard and Santa hat off. "It is Christmas Eve. Miracles do happen.

For the romance readers who crave a bit of darkness this holiday season. The Grinch snuck into people’s homes to steal Christmas cheer. Saint’s gonna sneak into yours to steal you… Ho, Ho, Ho, Merry Christmas…lock your windows. Or don’t. No one’s judging.