Chinese Shotgun

I have a rule that after Thanksgiving I start listening to Christmas music. So, while it’s only December 9, I’ve already had my fair share of Christmas music. My after Thanksgiving rule only applies to me putting Christmas music on my iPod. By Thanksgiving, commercials and shopping malls have already shoved holiday music, and sales, and false hope down my throat. In the mall, Christmas begins in fucking August.

I think that some of the Christmas carols that are popular are giving today’s youth a bad message. I’m not talking about freedom of religion, or the fact that people bursting out into song in the middle of Target is so fucking irritating I can’t stand it. I just think that, in a time where censorship is stronger than ever, we need to rethink what these songs are saying. It’s been a long morning, and I was sick this entire weekend, so really this entry is only about two songs in particular.

1: I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus

Really? Well then your mommy is a big fucking whore. Listen, kids: it’s only okay for Mommy to be kissing Santa Claus if Daddy isn’t around anymore. And even then, Santa Claus better have initiated the kiss. Why? Have you ever heard of Mrs. Claus? Santa Claus is fucking married. Unless there is a Part 2 that goes “My Mommy is a big whore home-wrecker” I think that this isn’t something you should just be running around town advertising in a sing-song manner. Don’t get me wrong, that whole “sex with a mom” fetish works on me too… but you wouldn’t go around town singing that your mom had an affair with the math teacher so you could pull a B-average. What makes Santa Claus any different?

2: Rudolph, the Red-Nosed Reindeer

Trust me. There is a reason that Rudolph was laughed at by the other reindeer. It’s called acne. It’s weird, too, because there really is no reason for Rudolph to have acne, considering that a reindeer’s diet consists entirely of vegetation. I guess magic really does happen at the North Pole. Perhaps Rudolph went on a few other Christmas journeys with Santa Claus. If I were Santa, I’d get pretty fucking sick and tired of cookies and milk after the, say, I don’t know, fifth house I visited. My guess is that Santa didn’t want to be a rude guest, and instead of leaving the milk and cookies on the table, he took them to make it seem like he ate them, and gave them to the reindeer. Rudolph probably had too much milk. I mean, milk is actually bad for your skin. Skim milk is the worst kind, and since Santa is overweight, and all of the cartoons portray him this way, children probably started leaving skim milk as a way to watch out for Santa’s health, so they could continue to get presents year after year.

So the other reindeer made fun of Rudolph because he had acne. What a glorious fun-loving song for children. It’s a good think kids stop believing in Santa Claus before they hit seventh and eighth grade and they start getting red noses. So now kids want to be just like Rudolph, and they’re going to stop washing their faces. How are companies like Clearasil going to counter-act this trend? My guess would be to create a commercial where Rudolph uses Clearasil to wash his face, and then his red nose goes away, and instead of leading a fucking sled like some slave, he gets all the hot reindeer ass. Mmm.

A popular mondegreen consists of “Olive, the other reindeer…” If you take this part of the song literally, guess what… Olive is a fucking bitch. In fact, there were a ton of “Olives” in my eighth grade English class. I had naturally oily skin, okay? I wasn’t glorified. I didn’t save Christmas. I was just an easy target in dodgeball.

Today is Halloween (in case you didn’t know) and all around the United States, in areas that aren’t surrounded by that Christian hippie shit, children are getting delicious candy treats as they walk door to door. Halloween is awesome because it’s the only holiday where you can walk door to door and the people inside are actually obligated to give you free shit.

My childhood is full of fond Halloween memories, as long as I don’t think of the years my mother made me dress up as a dalmatian, or a piece of pizza, or an Indian chief… nevermind. Halloween always fucking sucked. No matter how bad ass I thought my costume was (dalmatian costume excluded) someone always had a better one. And the neighborhood I live in was really into giving out apples, and granola bars, and shitty stuff like that.

Nothing, however, made less sense to me on Halloween than the “fun size” candy bar. The smallest damn candy bar on the planet is supposed to be fun for children. Children who love to eat sugary shit and destroy their teeth and get a sugar high and then jump on the furniture at mommy and daddy’s “big people party” are somehow to just have a blast eating a candy bar that’s no bigger than their thumb. Fuck you!

For certain things, smaller is actually more fun. Small sports cars are fun, midgets are funny to watch (especially at a public swimming pool), a small parking ticket fee is better than a big one…. but when it comes to penises and candy bars, bigger is better. Trust me… whoever did the marketing tests on the term “fun size” didn’t try it out on drunken (correction: just a little buzzed) cheerleaders.

So on this Halloween night, when adults all over try to force children into anorexia with a smile on their face, you think of that. And next year you go out and you buy a big fuckin’ candy bar for each and every kid.

Seriously, what is this about? Why do communities advertise that Santa visits them. Doesn’t Santa visit everywhere on Earth (except Israel, obviously)? What makes West Middlesex so fucking special? Except for the fact that they clearly alienate Jewish people. And that they’re above Biblical law because they don’t wait until December 25 like everyone else. I can see the flyers the tourism board will put out now. “Move to West Middlesex, if you can’t wait two extra days for Christmas.”