Jesus fucking Christ, I hate Christmas music. Yeah, that’s right. I took the Lord’s name in vain, and I’ll do it again, too. Seriously, some of that shit is the most disturbing fucking garbage ever. I mean, take “Grandma Got Run Over By a Reindeer.” Really? We’re all supposed to feel all holly and jolly listening to some jam about an old person being mowed down by a horned beast? The mental image of her bones crunching under Rudolph’s galloping hooves is enough to put me off my Christmas dinner. If I manage to make it dinner this year. Last year I just got super drunk, argued with my uncle about whether or not Obama is a real American citizen, and retreated to my horribly preserved childhood room. The dust of childhood is insidious… But I digress.
“I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus”? For real? What child of divorce would ever utter the words: “Oh, what a laugh it would have been if Daddy had only seen Mommy kissing Santa Claus last night”? Are you shitting me? That would have been fucking traumatizing. Like that scene from IQ84. (I won’t explain. Read the fucking book.) Your mom is cheating on your dad with an obese mythilogical creature? Oh, yeah, that’s fucking hilarious. Maybe Santa can bring me $1,200 so that I can cover my therapy costs this year. That would be nice.
And don’t even get me started on “Baby It’s Cold Outside.” “Say, what’s in this drink?” Yeah, that would be roofie, honey, enjoy your unwanted Christmas child. God, it’s like all these songs are just super sinister subliminal messages that serve to explicate the horrors that are everyday life, packaged in bright, shining boxes that only belie their utterly macabre inner workings. Merry fucking Christmas, baby.
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