The War on Christmas (Part 2)

I am writing this blog post from my cell in POW Camp X-mas somewhere inside the Santa compound at the North Pole. Obviously, my little rage against the Christmas machine has taken a negative turn.

Since my incarceration I have been subjected to nonstop holiday music, with the exception of Thursday morning when I had to watch the entire Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade. As if the scriptwriting weren’t bad enough—though, to be fair, how many times can one describe a giant Kermit the Frog floating down the block?—it seems that every child is born with a recording contract now, and when they turn 13 they get plopped onto a parade float going down 34th Street in New York City. And seven years from now, I’ll be at a convenience store, see one of these wunderkindts on the cover of Maxim and think, “Gee. I remember when she was lip synching ‘The Greatest Love of All’ with Big Bird.

And speaking of lip synching, the coup de grace was Andy Williams. I have a lot of respect for Andy Williams. To, at age 80, still be a commercial success as a singer is an enviable feat. But I think it strains credibility to have him lip synching to a 45-year-old recording of himself singing “It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year.” I wasn’t fooled.

[Scuffling in the background and what sounds like reindeer grunts]

Hey! Watch it with those antlers, pal. I know the Geneva Convention backward and forward.

So after the parade it’s back to the nonstop Christmas music. And after about three or four hours of the stuff, you start pondering some deep philosophical questions. I’m referring here, of course, to the universal poser: Eartha Kitt or Madonna? I’m inclined to go with Eartha for retaining the sex appeal in her rendition of “Santa Baby” without having to resort to a Betty Boop impersonation. I’ll admit I’m a bit biased against Madonna anyway, because in recent years she’s gone completely off the reservation of planet Earth, and is one flop shy of opening a theme park and zoo on her residential property. Plus, she’s never played Catwoman.

But it’s not all about exploring life’s great mysteries here in Santa POW land. Some of the questions are more practical. I’m looking at you Paul McCartney and Wings.

A choir of children sing their song.
They’ve practiced all year long.

All year long? Really? Sounds a bit like someone’s not using rehearsal time wisely. I mean, there’d have to be an Easter Cantata in there back in March. All year long?! And I thought marching band was bad. Four months of “West Side Story.” Sure, in July it’s all “Crazy” and “Cool,” but by November you’re wishing Officer Krupke would call in the SWAT team to gun down the Sharks AND the Jets. But you go ahead, Paul McCartney and Wings, and keep rehearsing that one song all year with the kiddies. Let me know how that turns out.

Well, that’s all the time I’ve got to write for now here at good ol’ Camp X-mas—cookies, milk, and candy canes. After that it’s meditation time, when all us Christmas mutineers orient our prayer rugs toward Mecca. Yep. Wall Street. Seems things are going a little hinky there, and those folks need all the good vibes we can send them. Cash also.

As my good friend Tom Lehrer wrote:

Angels we have heard on high
Tell us to go out and buy!

Happy holidays, people!

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One comment

  1. Stay strong, brother. Reinforcements are on the way. Our best strategists are trying to find their way around the popcorn-string tripwire as we speak. We’ll have you out of there by the seventh day of Christmas at the latest.

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