My young grandchildren went to a local carol service with a neighbour’s family. As the grandchildren do not speak French, I was concerned that they would not follow everything so I asked the older boy how they got on. His reply “It was very nice but the people singing didn’t know the words!”
A man and his dog were walking along a road. The man was enjoying the scenery, when it suddenly occurred to him that he was dead.
He remembered dying, and that his dog walking beside him had been dead for years. He wondered where the road was leading them.
After a while, they came to a high, white stone wall along one side of the road. It looked like fine marble. At the top of a long hill, it was broken by a tall arch that glowed in the sunlight.
When he was standing before it, he saw a magnificent gate in the arch that looked like mother-of-pearl, and the street that led to the gate looked like pure gold. He and the dog walked toward the gate, and as he got closer, he saw a man at a desk to one side.
When he was close enough, he called out, ‘Excuse me, where are we?’
‘This is Heaven, sir,’ the man answered.
‘Would you happen to have some water?’ the man asked.
‘Of course, sir. Come right in, and I’ll have some ice water brought right up’. The man gestured, and the gate began to open.
‘Can my friend,’ gesturing toward his dog, ‘come in, too?’ the traveller asked.
‘I’m sorry, sir, but we don’t accept pets.’
The man thought a moment and then turned back toward the road and continued the way he had been going with his dog.
After another long walk, and at the top of another long hill, he came to a dirt road leading through a farm gate that looked as if it had never been closed. There was no fence. As he approached the gate, he saw a man inside, leaning against a tree and reading a book.
‘Excuse me!’ he called to the man. ‘Do you have any water?’
‘Yeah, sure, there’s a pump over there, come on in.’
‘How about my friend here?’ the traveller gestured to his dog.
‘There should be a bowl by the pump.’
They went through the gate, and sure enough, there was an old-fashioned hand pump with a bowl beside it. The traveller filled the water bowl and took a long drink himself, then he gave some to the dog.
When they were full, he and the dog walked back toward the man who was standing by the tree.
‘What do you call this place?’ the traveller asked.
‘This is Heaven,’ he answered.
‘Well, that’s confusing,’ the traveller said. ‘The man down the road said that was Heaven, too.’
‘Oh, you mean the place with the gold street and pearly gates? Nope. That’s hell.’
‘Doesn’t it make you mad for them to use your name like that?’
‘No, we’re just happy that they screen out the folks who would leave their best friends behind.’ ‘Dogs are family’ 
Words: Earl Hamner Jr.
For many children, the story of Santa Claus is as much a part of Christmas as gifts and Christmas dinner. But the tale of a white, Western Santa who judges all children’s behaviour has problems.
…
With Christmas rapidly approaching, and Brighton Museum & Art Gallery now hosting Father Christmas in his grotto, it seemed a good time to share my thoughts – some old and some new – about the message that the story of Father Christmas sends, and how we can update the tale for modern audiences.
In the popular myth in many Western cultures, Santa flies his sleigh around the world on Christmas Eve. As he visits each nation he determines if the children deserve presents based on being ‘naughty’ or ‘nice.’ But who decided Santa should be the judge of children’s behaviour in every community? How can he assess, for example, Indigenous children practicing their own cultural traditions?
Told like this, the story presents Santa as the ultimate authority of all societies. This asks us to accept colonial assumptions of cultural superiority. It doesn’t recognise the complex realities colonised people face.
Still funny two years on.
Source: Decolonising Father Christmas - Brighton & Hove Museums
I’m afraid the humour is lost on me.
File it under Absurd and Unnecessary!
Assuming it’s not a spoof, the humour lies in the writer’s earnestness being beyond parody.
And I’ve published quite a bit on the ‘colonial gaze’…
Gotta ‘like’ that, only this morning lying in bed half awake and wondering if it would be me or my best furry mate who would travel the road first, then I had a vision of being lowered in alongside Fran with Jules up above howling pitifully into the grave.
I woke up at that point and saw that he was fast asleep and not bothering about me at all. 
We carry on, together. 
Well, it struck a chord over here…
Perhaps your “likes” for that joke will pick up in due course. If not, don’t fret, just hammer on.
Well this Broadcaster reckons it was fine and nothing to get strung up about. The joke seems to have sustained well.
A double whammy, then.
No, the Tele was string-through, so you’re just stuck with a Digitech unit on the floor.
Now that’s old school…
You are definitely a guitar nut.