The Baker's Dozen Best Christmas Songs Of All Time

Be warned: this is a stream-of-consciousness list that I'm, literally, composing on the fly.

In other words: don't get your frigging elf panties in a bunch because you're dumbass Christmas song ain't on the list. Be a man...or a woman, if you lack a penis...and put your own holiday favorites in the comment section.

I seldom check comments anymore (the head straight to my junk email, which makes it a more surprising read when I'm cleaning up around this joint, fingerpicking html shit I have no idea about) so go ahead and speak your mind. Just know that it's the holidays, my wish is for everlasting peace and it's only a fucking list on a blog.

Perspective.

Anyways, the list is a pretty spot on account of my favorite Christmas songs ever. These are the ones I never get tired of and present at least a modicum of coolness, if you're into that kind of thing.

My parents have long since abandoned any notion of "coolness," and I can tell you that the first example of this is in their holiday music selection.

Keep in mind, this is a Baby Boomer couple, so they should know better.

Every year, the old man takes out all of the Cd's in his Honda Accord (which is funny in itself, because growing up he only bought American vehicles. He was in politics, so he had to consider the union votes in our blue-collar town) and replaces them with holiday music. I should stress that these amount to at least 18 discs, since neither parent has ever operated a digital device, other than their individual laptops. My dad then will proceed to listen to only Christmas music until the first of the year.

When I visit during the holidays, I'm amazed at the amount of shit that comes out of their car speakers or from their primary audio source: a Bose Wave Radio with a CD changer. My dad had to send it in to Bose once for a repair, instead of following the modern tradition of devices: if it's broke, throw it in the landfill and buy a new one. I actually kind of admired his stubborn loyalty of familiarity in that case.

Inevitably, I hear the (unfortunately) familiar refrains of Christmas With Babyface and I understand how bad it has gotten. There's a fear that, if I dig deeper, I'll find a stray Michael Bolton or Kenny G Christmas record in their CD piles, and then the holidays would be ruined.

If one thing is certain, none of the titles on the Baker's Dozen List of the Best Christmas Songs of all time will cause you the amount of embarrassment of now publicly admitting that my parents own a fucking Babyface album.

Full disclosure: for some reason I continue to reach for Bob Dylan's Christmas From The Heart release every Christmas, cruelly torture myself with at least one listen of Merry XXX Mas (it's getting worse with age, the homophobic lyrics really reflect a stunning level of hatred) and unexplicably watch the Flaming Lips' awful Christmas On Mars film every year.

What I'm saying is to totally take the following list with a grain of salt. Everybody's got their own favorites for the holiday and if "Grandma Got Run Over By A Reindeer" is your thing, then have at it.

But you are open season, however, the moment you admit to liking Christmas With Babyface.

There is most certainly a rock and roll flavor to my favorites and a healthy blend of the obscure, not-so-obvious and annual favorites. Some are fueled by nostalgia and others are included because their holiday spirit is either hidden or downright absent. For whatever reason, they feel like the holidays to me and they provide me with what any decent holiday track should automatically promote: a little bit of warmth, reflections on another year that's passed and the hope that the new year will foster a few decent moments you can recollect again next Christmas.


1.) BING CROSBY & DAVID BOWIE - "Little Drummer Boy/Peace On Earth"

When this clip and song was new-and yes, I'm old enough to remember the actual special in which it originates-the "weird" factor was immediately noted. As a kid, it suddenly made Bing a bit hip, tolerating such a groundbreaking and strange artist like Bowie onto the crooner's scene. The reality is that it may have been nothing more than Bing's devotion to the RCA label and their strange idea of cross-pollinating roster artists, regardless of how different they were. In the end, the professionalism of the pair wins out with a passionate melody of two holiday classics that overcomes the scripted corniness of the scene just prior to the music starting. I still have the vinyl copy of this single, b/w "Fantastic Voyage" from Bowie's Lodger. Crosby died shortly after recording the track/scene with Bowie with the song itself being rehearsed a mere hour before the tapes rolled. Thankfully, this once-a-lifetime moment was captured and it continues to dominate my holiday music list.

2.) CHUCK BERRY - "Run Rudolf Run"

Melodically identical to Berry's own "Little Queenie," "Run Rudolf Run" is an excellent example of a basic 12-bar blues pattern and how Chuck Berry was so inventive that he could get away with things like taking a song he'd already done, re-working it with different lyrics and then releasing it as something completely new. Over a half-century later, the song continues to be used for commercial means and covered by different artists (personal favorite would be Keith Richards' version, which would come in at #14 immediately after the Baker's Dozen list) as a lasting testament to this songs undeniable appeal.

3.) BOB & DOUG McKENZIE - "12 Days of Christmas"

SCTV came during a time when I had no driver's license, no girlfriend and no social life outside of a friend who lived down the street and who shared a love for the 90-minute TV show that aired on NBC every Friday night after Carson. Both of us grew into a certain amount of social charm after our awkward middle school years and SCTV managed to turn a pair of recurring characters name Bob & Doug McKenzie into household names thanks to a hit album and a major motion picture. As a side-note, my friend and I went to the Bob & Doug movie Strange Brew when it was released and the film broke about half-way through it. We walked up to the projection room and filled our pockets with frames of the broken celluloid and had to wait until the thing was released on VHS before we could enjoy the entire movie. The album The Great White North was released in the fall of '81, and SCTV actors Dave Thomas and Rick Moranis had the foresight to include a Christmas song in it, a track that continues to be played around here every year since the early 80's. And every year I chuckle at the lines "There should be more there," "And a beer...in a tree," and the observational deadpan of "That beer's empty." And like all good Christmas songs, I am so ready for this to be done by the 26th.

4.) CHARLES BROWN - "Please Come Home For Christmas"

If I recall, those shitbirds called The Eagles covered this for no apparent reason other than they're douchebags and nobody gave a shit about their original "Funky New Year" that appeared as the b-side. So remember, you're looking for Mr. Brown's original and nothing that features bearded members of the SoCal lite country-rock outfit hanging out by the pool on the cover. Charles Brown, the originator of this tremendous Christmas tune, also contributed another swell holiday track called "Merry Christmas Baby" with Bonnie Raitt in the early 90's, but Brown's original take from 1960 is the bee's knees-a slow ode to what happen when your old lady ain't home for the holidays and your Christmas spirit is as cold as the winter solstice.

5.) FRANKIE GOES TO HOLLYWOOD - "The Power Of Love"

Welcome To The Pleasuredome is a bloated mess that merely confirms Frankie Goes To Hollywood's lack of talent rather than enhance it, which is something they should have considered before releasing a fucking double as their debut. Sure, the band struck big with "Relax" and "Two Tribes," but it was with their third single where the band really shined. Released in the UK during the 1984 holiday season, the song became FGTH's final chart topper (in England, at least) before the band's quick descent. Listening to it today, it's the kind of fluke that makes it hard to comprehend that this is the same band who gained prominence with such lines as "When you wanna suckittoit?" The message of "make love your goal" should have been more realized outside of the U.K. and it is a song that may be the band's nagging reminder that their history is notable for the wrong song.

6.) ROBERT FRIPP - "Silent Night"

This came to me a few decades ago tucked in some record label sampler that I received. Originally released as a flexi disc in 1979 for the Chicago magazine Praxis, Fripp unleashes a very notable Frippertronics version of the classic Christmas song that is mysterious and just as traditional as you remember it. This became a favorite of mine the moment I heard it, and the track's secretive release deserves a wider audience.

7.) THE KINKS - "Father Christmas"

Love it. Recorded when England was just beginning to hear the first wave of local punk talent, these rock veterans captured the economic strife prevalent in their country at the time while mirroring the noisy racket of discontent of their younger musical cousins that was unheard of before. It's no wonder why the Kinks were so revered by punks while other bands of similar backgrounds were cast off as dinosaurs and bloated relics. Hell, even the b-side was "Prince Of The Punks." "Father Christmas" took on greater significance during the 80's when the gap between the halves-and-have-nots grew wider, which may make the track the most relevant Christmas song of this year, now that I think about it.

8.) THE PRETENDERS - "2000 Miles"

Originally released as the b-side to "Middle Of The Road," the Pretenders' lead-off single to their third record, Learning To Crawl, "2000 Miles" became associated with the holidays thanks to the single's holiday of '83 release date and also for Chrissie Hynde's mournful refrain "Our hearts were singing/It must be Christmas time." The UK had the right idea by putting "2000 Miles" as the lead-off single in their neck of the woods-the track is certainly worthy of its own emphasis-but with the U.S. single, you had a very complete picture of the band after tragically losing half of its original members. The new line-up belted out a declaration of Hynde's intention to keep moving forward on the "Middle Of The Road" a-side while "2000 Miles," a loving remembrance of original guitarist James Honeyman Scott, seemed to be the most appropriate song to acknowledge the tragedy in which she just left a year prior. In short, the single perfectly encapsulated the headspace of Chrissie Hynde at that moment while "2000 Miles" continues to be utilized for its Yuletide message to this day.

9.) THE RAMONES - "Danny Says"

Not really a Christmas song, unless you count that line "It ain't Christmas if there ain't no snow," which is the only reason that I give this awesome track from End Of The Century a nod for inclusion. Plus, I'm not a fan of the bruthas' more notable Christmas track "Merry Christmas Baby (I Don't Want To Fight Tonight)" from the abysmal Brain Drain release. Another great thing about "Danny Says?" It uses the same chord progression (G-C-D) as "Blitzkrieg Bop." And "Beat On The Brat." And "Sheena Is A Punk Rocker." And...

10.) RUN - DMC - "Christmas In Hollis"

Any kid that grew up in the 80's also grew up with this modern day Christmas classic from our brothers from Hollis, Queens - like we in these landlocked states know what the hell that even means. I'm sure there are tons of people that hate this track, but these are the same people that don't believe that black Santas are capable of global travel fueled by the magic of a dog with antlers tied to his head. If you believe, you'll understand that "Christmas In Hollis" is amazingly catchy, deliciously kitchy and a head-bobbing entry that can bring a smile even if you don't believe that Santa has an old Merlin electronic game that he's converted into a device that identifies all the children of the world on if they have been "Naughty" or "Nice."

11.) OTIS REDDING - "Merry Christmas Baby"

It's been done before...several times, in fact...but nobody does it like Otis. One of the things I love so much about Otis is that his entire professional career was based on a fluke. In 1962, Redding was the driver for a representative from Atlantic Records who happened to be visiting their subsidiary Stax in Memphis. Otis picked him up from the airport and drove him to the studio, in which time Redding had convinced the man to let him come inside and sing. They recorded two cuts using the label's infamous backing musicians with the second one being "These Arms Of Mine," which went on to sell over 800,000 copies the following year. To think that this man's golden gritty voice would have been would have been just as unfathomable as not being able to hear his version of "Merry Christmas Baby" at least once during the holidays.

12.) ELVIS PRESLEY - "Santa Claus Is Back In Town"

This tune is required on my list if only for the fact that our tree has not one, but two Elvis ornaments that play this song on our Christmas tree every year. I've got lots of decorations for the king, but none are as irritating and continually played by the children for at least the first 12 hours this ornament is found each holiday. The best part is that one is obnoxiously loud and plays the song at a slightly different speed, so when both ornaments are played at the same time, it sounds like a Butthole Surfers acid trip. And nothing says the holidays like either Elvis, the Butthole Surfers, or this smokin' track by Jerry Leiber and Mike Stoller. The b-side of this single was "Blue Christmas," and I thank the Baby Jesus for never giving me an ornament that plays that song.

13.) TOM WAITS - "Christmas Card From A Hooker In Minneapolis"

If you made me choose between that Pogues "New York Fairytake" and this one, the Waits tune would win every time. It's the spiritual father to that song, for sure, but it's also a got a bit more depth and bite to it. These are characters that I wouldn't mess with for fear of their demeanor's, while MacGowan's are harder to empathize with because of their pointless inebriation. Plus, I like the locale of the song-Minneapolis is a lonely place to be during the holidays if'n you don't have a main squeeze to help warm your nights. "Christmas Card" offers just a tad bit of hope in its content as warmth, and when Waits adds a touch of "Silent Night" and "Goin' Out Of My Head" to the proceedings, well forget about it.

John Travolta and Olivia Newton John - This Christmas

The pairing is complete nostalgia. There is no other reason that John Travolta and Olivia Newton-John are together for a Christmas album aside from the fact that they were both cast together in a small little movie musical called Grease over thirty years ago.

Grease has flourished since its first run on charm alone. How else can you explain the impossible plot of an Australian immigrant-who is hot off an innocent summer fling with a local gearhead-as she navigates the social landscape of high school with a collective of sexually active girls, headed by a 34-year old Stockard Channing?

As the main characters in the film, Olivia and Travolta aren’t particularly compatible on screen and their voices don’t blend together all that notably during their duets. Regardless, they have managed to become the biggest selling duet in pop history and their presence in Grease completes the film’s campy homage to 50’s B-movies, giving all of that aforementioned improbability a free pass.

How these characters managed to ride Greased Lightening up through the skies and endured for so long is pretty remarkable, so the idea of both of them returning together to perform Christmas music isn’t completely out of the realm. Unfortunately, when one doesn’t properly attend to the execution of such a reunion, what you get is a record that’s more acknowledged for its weird aftertaste than musical notoriety.

I won’t even mention the cover, because it’d be like bitching about how Kraft Macaroni and Cheese tastes nothing like a homemade batch of the gooey comfort food. This is truth in advertising, and the only thing that would make the cover of This Christmas more awesome is if Travolta sported a cheesy seasonal sweater.

As hard as it is to be polite about the cover art, I simply cannot get away from all of the tabloid overtones when Travolta takes over the resistant role of “Baby, It’s Cold Outside.” We’re all accustomed to Olivia’s occasional glimpses as the sexual aggressor (Shake Shack, anyone?), but to hear Danny Zuko put up a fight to Sandy’s advances thirty years after the fact makes for a perfect hushed whisper of “Beard!”

There are other laugh-out-loud moments within This Christmas that are much less juvenile, but equally surreal. Like the part during “I’ll Be Home For Christmas” when Barbara Streisand pops in for a verse for absolutely no reason at all.

Speaking of guest cameos, there are tons of ‘em. From another brake-slamming appearance (this time with James Taylor on “Deck The Halls”) to a not-so-subtle nod to the Scientology folks with some ivory-tickling from Chick Corea, John and Olivia bring a whole slew of friends to join in their Christmas spirit and it’s as sincere as you pretending to think the gag gift you get at work during your department’s holiday party is funny.

There’s octogenarian Tony Bennett who drops in for “Winter Wonderland,” if you count having your verses recorded at a completely different studio during a completely different session as “dropping in.”

ONJ brings out longtime musical partner John Farrar for the record’s lone original track “I Think You Might Like It.” Farrar was responsible for many of Olivia’s biggest hits, and he served as both the writer and producer for “You’re The One That I Want,” the hit single that propelled the pair into the record books.

Farrar’s latest tune for is being called the sequel to that Grease classic, and it’s hard to dispute that claim since it follows nearly the same chord progression under the guise of some light country swag.

Check out the shoes.

Clearly, I’m not the man who should be reviewing This Christmas because I’m overflowing with cynicism at every turn.

So I ask my wife, who often fills the house with a bit of Christmas singing of her own during the holidays, to offer her opinion of the pairing. Suddenly, I find her singing along with This Christmas, causing me to consider that maybe it is my jaded outlook that’s causing me to be so dismissive of this holiday collection.

When I ask her if This Christmas has caused her spontaneous outburst of seasonal caroling, she admitted that it wasn’t the quality of the songs that prompted her singing, but just the familiarity of the material.

Indeed, the selection doesn’t stray to far from the obligatory set list that every holiday record seems to cull from. Case in point: ONJ has now selected “Silent Night” for every single Christmas album she has released.

This Christmas is the perfect holiday record for anyone who has been waiting since Two Of A Kind for the return of John Travolta and Olivia Newton John. Beyond that, This Christmas is another run-of-the-mill collection of uninspired holiday classics featuring a bunch of questionable guest appearances and two longstanding friends who can’t seem to get away from those hallowed halls of Rydell High.

An extra star has been added for this release as all proceeds from the sale of This Christmas go to the artist’s charitable foundations.

This review originally appeared in Glorious Noise.

Fishbone - It's A Wonderful Life (EP)

Released in a limited edition e.p. before the holidays in 1987, Fishbone’s It’s A Wonderful Life remains as one of the season’s best cynical offerings. It continues the band’s hyperkinetic funk rock of the previous year’s Truth and Soul and features the band’s naughty boy humor.

The title track is a fast-paced run through of the movie of the same name. And rather that wallow through 80 minutes of sentimental celluloid, Fishbone tackles the plight of George Bailey in 3 minutes, and rather than the promise of life being wonderful, the band sets their expectations at merely having a good time.

“Slick Nick, You Devil You” paints everyone’s favorite fat man as a dirty drunk. The items this lush leaves behind has vocalist Angelo Moore screaming “I wanted candy! I wanted candy! I wanted candy!” by the final verse.

With one Truth and Soul leftover beginning side two and another humbug jam ending out this 15 minute holiday blast, It’s A Wonderful Life still plays well a quarter century later. With the e.p. long out of print, the songs are now found on the retrospective Fishbone 101 for anyone looking for some relief from the traditional holiday music.

Flaming Lips: Christmas On Earth

You know, I've warmed somewhat to the Flaming Lips' boring Christmas On Mars movie, to the point where I'll watch it every year during the holidays, right alongside with the 1951 version of A Christmas Carol with Alastair Sim as Scrooge.

The Lips' movie is nowhere near as good as it, but the Lips have that pussy Charles Dickens beat with their Silver Trembling Fetus Ornament.

I've got plent of Elvis ornaments.

Someone stole my Iron Maiden ornament.

I must acquire the Silver Trembling Fetus Ornament.

Under Shrink Wrap

I’d be remiss if I didn’t talk about Christmas one last time, specifically what I got for Christmas that is music related. I do this because there is nobody except you readers that could appreciate it-my own family really has no idea the impact that music has on me. Growing up, I’d throw down records that I wanted as Christmas gifts, and inevitably I’d get “What do you want besides records?” to help fill in the gaps that couldn’t be filled with just a visit to the record store.

But of all things, my Mother-in-Law seems to be making an effort to understanding as evidenced by a Christmas present that wasn’t on any list.

She said that she had read my post on the Bruce Springsteen documentary, where I confessed that I never owned Darkness On The Edge Of Town and that I’d probably seek out the re-issue set sometime later.

Instead of doing the obvious-merely ordering that newly issued edition-she sought out an original vinyl edition. Not only that, but the copy I ended up getting was a sealed copy, complete with the promotional sticker “Contains ‘Badlands’.”

Now I’m at a dilemma: break the seal and listen to the record just like I would have in 1978, or keep it sealed. I do have one of those album cover picture frame things where the shrink-wrapped album could be displayed nicely, but it almost seems like defaulting on the integrity of the music of Christmas past.

I would always retreat and listen to my presents, absorbing whatever information I could about the gift.

It’s not about wanting the value to keep increasing on the album-I don’t think Darkness is that rare of a commodity-but it’s not every day where you can find a sealed record that’s over thirty years old.

Whatever the decision, it’s a great gift and it reminded me how something, which may seem insignificant to others, still means a lot to me.

Share your own Christmas music booty in the comments.

Merry Christmas From Glam-Racket!

I have no idea where this Glam-Racket tradition started and I have no idea how to stop it. But Happy Holidays with our annual revisiting of R. Kelly’s Trapped In The Closet saga.
Merry Christmas to all.
And to all, a midget.

David Bowie & Bing Crosby - Little Drummer Boy/Peace On Earth

I know there is an update version-a parody which is more creepy than funny-but for me, the original is (obviously) still the best and just as weird.

Because the notion of David Bowie-fresh off of the androgyny of Ziggy Stardust and still considered a fringe rock artist in the mainstream-sitting down to croon a duet with Bing Crosby was absolutely bonkers back when this song was done for a Crosby Merrie Olde Christmas special.

Bing died a month after recording this song.

Bowie was asked about the weird paring, admitting that he did it because his mom liked Bing Crosby. He didn’t like the song “Little Drummer Boy,” so songwriters wrote “Peace On Earth” to tack onto the more recognized classic.

I’d looked for a copy for years, under the assumption that the performance was only available as a bootleg. I learned through someone that a record collector in Waterloo, Iowa had a copy-probably more than one, actually-and that he might be able to sell me a copy.

I was in college at the time, and I had a few rarities of my own. I called up the man unannounced and offered to meet at his place to discuss options.

I return for a promotional copy of Jimi Hendrix Live At Winterland, I scored a copy of “Little Drummer Boy/Peace On Earth” and an eighth of an ounce of weed.

Looking at it afterwards, I realized that RCA records had actually released “Little Drummer Boy/Peace On Earth” as a single. “Fantastic Voyage” was the b-side, and Bowie became upset with RCA Records for the yuletide cash-in, a full five years after the song was originally broadcasted.



And for a real hoot in parody, check out this stellar version from the Venture Bros. camp.

"Come in. Come in. Come in, David Bowie. Now."

Merry Christmas From Glam-Racket!

We've been bringing you random Trapped In The Closet videos for Christmas on Glam-Racket since 2006 because nothing says the holidays like R. Kelly's modern-day opera.
This is Episode 9, the one with "I'm gonna heat this chicken." in it.
And chicken is close to the turkey which is what a lot of people eat for Christmas.
Surprisingly, pears aren't usually part of the menu.

Merry Christmas From Glam-Racket!

It's Christmas, which means that you're treated to another random episode of R. Kelly's Trapped In The Closet for no particular reason other than it's a Glam-Racket tradition.

Five Golden Tuques

It’s the last day for you to get me my Christmas present. The t-shirt in the picture will do, or the complete Chess recordings of Chuck Berry.
But the reality is that it’s quite awesome watching the kids getting so excited over Christmas. More so Ethan, as Calli just goes over an occasionally fucks with the ornaments on the tree. Ethan’s responsible for that, as he puts all of his ornaments together, in a cluster at the bottom, and of course Callista goes over and starts grabbing them thinking they’re toys to play with. That’s why my Elvis ornaments are out of reach of both kids. She has pointed out to her Mom and I that she would like a My Little Pony (“Pony!”) and Brobee from Yo Gabba Gabba! (“That!”).
Ethan has indicated that he wants pretty much everything that’s on television.
I am very proud of him, however, as I have taught him Bob & Doug MacKenzie’s version of the “12 Days Of Christmas” and he’s repeatedly singing “And a beer in a tree!” at the most inappropriate of moments.
That reminds me: those Bob and Doug figurines that McFarland had out a few years ago would be another great stocking stuffer for yours truly.

Merry Christmas From Glam-Racket!

Back by popular demand, and mainly because I think it's a wonderfully crazy tradition, I'd like to wish everyone a Merry Christmas with another randomly out of place chapter from R. Kelly's Trapped In The Closet. I received both sets on dvd this year because I think they're totally awesome.
Enjoy.
Merry Christmas.
Don't sniff coke.

Happy Holidays From Glam Racket!

Nothing says "Merry Christmas!" or "Happy Birthday, Jesus!" quite like Chapter 11 in R. Kelly's "Trapped In The Closet" video series.



You're welcome.

Matt Rogers-Rated X Mas

Since we’re quickly approaching the holidays, I think it’s time to mention the absolute worst Christmas albums known to mankind. It would be easy to nominate those recent offerings by Billy Idol or Twisted Sister, but I’m versed enough to know that the most pathetic holiday album was released in 1999 and is no longer available. It’s because the baby Jesus demanded the thing be recalled shortly after it was issued.
Matt Rogers’ Rated X-Mas promises “Christmas songs NOT for the entire family!!!” when it should have read “Christmas songs NOT fit for human consumption.” Containing 8 songs (or “parodies” as listed on the cover art) and clocking in at less than 20 minutes, it’s a collection of familiar Christmas classics, lyrically raped by (assumedly) Matt Rogers and a few unnamed musicians.
These musicians have, what sounds like, a commercially available keyboard pre-programmed with songs like “Santa Claus Is Coming To Town” and “Rudolph The Red Nosed Reindeer.” From there, the “hilarity” begins by changing the lyrics of these well-known tunes into raunchy, utterly retarded renditions. At the risk of sounding like a prude, let me declare that even the most socially inept 14-year old that masturbates four times a day would not consider these renditions to be clever or funny. Anyone else would probably react like I did upon first listen: with a violent fervor that will have you screaming for the head of one Matt Rogers.
“Rudolph” is changed into “Rudolph The Deep Throat Reindeer,” where the familiar red-nosed reindeer manages to make the other reindeer jealous because he gives Santa blowjobs and allows him to have anal sex with him because Ms. Clause “is on the rag.” The song is complete with the sound effects of these acts with the role of Rudolph being played by the most juvenile homosexual stereotype imaginable. The rest of the song’s verses are sung by an uncredited female who should be sterilized for participating in such a project.
She also makes an appearance on “Frosty The Pervert” and “Drunken Santa’s Coming To Town.”
The pinnacle of the disc is “Suck On My Cock,” sung to the melody of “Jingle Bell Rock.” It provides the listener with detailed instructions on how to properly give a blowjob (“Start licking and slurping/My dick will get firm/Soon you’ll be tasting sperm”). The funny thing is, when the line “don’t got ripping out my pubic hair” comes around, you begin to wonder if Mr. Rogers has ever even received a blowjob himself; in all of my years of oral sex, I’ve never experienced an incident where my pubic hair was getting pulled. What the fuck?!
Equally troubling is “I Love To Choke My Chicken With My Hand” (sung to “Winter Wonderland”) where Rogers’ admires his ejaculate and then starts, literally, screaming about how his sister offered to blow him if he reciprocates. He continues to rant about how he can jerk off with both hands and how he wants to masturbate continuously. With songs as unfunny as these, his wish may probably come true.
So how did I come into possession of such an unwanted Christmas artifact? Radio stations were sent promotional copies of this disc, which is itself a completely stupid move as none of the songs could even be aired on terrestrial radio due to the lyrics.
Anyway, a friend worked at one of these stations and was taken aback at how awful the disc was. He played it for me, angrily yelling “It’s Christmas!” during points in the song where Mr. Rogers’ probably anticipated laugher. We did laugh: We laughed at the shitty production quality. We laughed at how someone thought it was funny enough to press and release. We laughed at how anyone would actually buy it, only to play it and find out how embarrassingly bad it is. Seriously, it’s not the kind of disc you can play for anyone as most of the reactions to it would be discomforting to the point where you quietly reach for the eject button.
Almost as soon as it was released, it was taken off the shelves in a forced copyright infringement recall. Apparently, in a rush to bring laughter to the world, Mr. Rogers’ failed to secure the legal copyrights to every song he anally raped. This resulted in some very angry legal threats from the original songwriters, to the point where none of them would allow the songs to be used in any future pressings and to the point where Mr. Rogers and “Party On Parody Productions” were forced to destroy all remaining copies of Rated X Mas.
My friend snagged an additional copy for me and since acquiring it, I play it at least once every Christmas to remind myself that there are worse things, much worse, than hearing “Silent Night” for the ten-thousandth time in my life.

The Baby Jesus Remix

Me has composed twelve point plan for good happy success. I’ve only made it to step five, so sue me if your results vary. In step one, the patient is required to return to their hometown for the holidays. In my case, that town is Keokuk, Iowa. You may have read about it in my previous post entitled “Merry X-Max.” It’s a wonderful place and it’s a wonderful life starring Jimmy Stewart as the General Manager for the steel castings plant. Step two consists of hooking up with an old high school “dude,” preferably one who is as cynical as you are regarding the former stomping grounds. In my own example, we will now refer to the “dude” as Bob Weir. In fact, at one time the dude actually looked a little like Bob Weir, even though he enjoyed the Phil Lesh material more. After all, Ratdog is just a step higher than your local Grateful Dead tribute band. Step three requires smoking marijuana. You cannot proceed to step four without completing step three. And as the hometown Bob Weir stated on Christmas Eve: “As long as I can smoke something, I’ll be alright.”
For step four, you’ll need to visit Keokuk’s annual “City Of Christmas.” If you’re not familiar with Keokuk’s “City Of Christmas,” you probably have something similar in your own hometown. Essentially, it’s a bunch of Christmas lights, Christmas themed displays, and a low-wattage radio station that cranks out 24 hours of non-stop Christmas gansta rap. You now understand why you need to complete step three before progressing on to step four.

One drives through the City Of Christmas at a low speed. Speeders and vandals have to contend with the City Of Christmas Police Department. The offices of the City Of Christmas Police Department are a camper next to the bandstand. They wear Kevlar parkas and have their own candy cane swat team. It’s just like an episode of “Hill Street Blues” except all the characters here dress in green and red. When you leave the City Of Christmas, blue neon deer jump over your vehicle. Once again, you really should finish step three before step four. Trust me.
Step five requires you to look for your hometown’s toughest tavern, bar, or honky tonk. This part is tricky, as years may have passed since you’ve actually visited a local watering hole and, as The Byrds song goes “I was so much older then, I’m younger than that now.” What?
Luckily, I just moved from my beloved hometown, so I knew that former violent nightspots like “Dirty Harry’s,” “The Glass Rail,” and “Tweaker’s Shank*” were now closed. Hell, the real violent spots, like the infamous “four corners” bars** (a stabbing every weekend!) were closed even when I was in high school, so there really hasn‘t been a truly scary bar in Keokuk in almost twenty years. I knew that some shady undertakings were taking place in a place called “T.J.’s House Of Music.***” I’m not sure who T.J. is, but I’m pretty sure that the only music there is the sound of people grinding their teeth after doing a line of crystal in the bathroom. It’s now Christmas, so a lot of bars are closed. T.J.’s doesn’t have any external signage, but a glimpse through the tinted windows showed a faint light over the bar. The door was locked and, despite our promise to pay in cash, the bartender refused to let us in, even though two men were still seated at the bar enjoying their Miller High Life and Meth. Bob Weir and I moved on to the ever-reliable Tee Pee Lounge.
There is no draft beer at the Tee Pee Lounge. Pleasure comes your way in twelve ounce cans and there’s nothing fancier than well drinks if’n your in the mood for a cocktail. Surprisingly, everyone was under the age of 30 (’cept for me and Bob Weir) at the Tee Pee Lounge, and even the bartender was pretty hot. I say this with amazement because a friend’s mother used to bartend there and she was at least 65 at the time. The fact that the Tee Pee found 1.) someone under the age of 30 to dish out cans of beer and 2.) that she was fairly attractive means the Tee Pee has made incredible improvements since they first opened in 1943. A drunk dude present that night told Bob Weir all about it. We had bet a round that the bartender wouldn’t know shit about the Tee Pee’s history. She didn’t. I won.
The local Coast Guard was present in the form of a drunk twenty-something guy that sat next to me and told me all about his work. He was very proud of what he did, oftentimes using a military vernacular to try and impress me. What did not impress me was his confession that he had to go to work in four short hours. Thank God the river is frozen over this time of year; this Marine wanna-be really needed to be put to bed and was in no shape ready to deal with The Wreck Of The Edmund Fitzgerald.
The jukebox played the obligatory Lynyrd Skynyrd, AC/DC, and today’s best country. “Papa Was A Rollin’ Stone” played which brought the dozen patrons into a reflective mood. Daddy don’t like to be tied down in Keokuk; hell, even the condom machine at the Tee Pee states “For refund insert baby.” I thought it was kind of clever myself.
Then Gloria Gaynor came on the jukebox and the bartender started to dance. Below is a picture of her dancing, but it’s too dark to see anything. She was hot. Trust me.

Like I said, I only made it to step five because me and Bob Weir totally shut down the Tee Pee Lounge. And even though it wasn’t the most surly bar in Keokuk, it probably was the most fun. And isn’t that what we’re really seeking during the holidays anyway? I got home at 3:30am and crashed the folk's refrigerator for some pickled herring before going to bed to let Santa do his business. Santa. Jesus. They're the same thing, according to Master Shake.

*Not a real bar

**The Four Corners were essentially four bars, each on facing the other on the corner in a neighborhood in West K. Only two of the four remained standing when I was in high school. Now, only one building remains and it's closed for business.

***Supposedly, Styx played there. I don't believe it.

Jesus Died For Somebody's Sins

Jesus is the reason for the season. So forgive me if my worship doesn’t include spending a certain amount of bones on living in a manger. Let me explain. I arrive home on Saturday night to find the driveway filled with vehicles. Inside, my roommate (the owner of this lovely suburban cookie cutter) has essentially asked his older brother to move in with us. Did I mention his brother is married? Did I mention the two have an infant daughter? Did I mention they also have a two year old son? Did I mention they have a five year old daughter? Did I mention that this family of five is now living in our three bedroom house with the two of us? I guess I don’t need to mention that I’m now going insane.
The roommate/landlord did run into some trouble with the law a few months ago that will probably result in him losing his license. His job requires him to travel quite a bit and he was in line for a promotion with his company. The fear was that if his employer found out if he had lost his license that they wouldn’t give him the promotion and, worse yet, may fire him for his actions. Of course, that wasn’t going to happen but it was going to pose a problem with the increased amount of traveling his new position required. He asked me to become his “driver” but that really wasn’t part of my own career goals. He then asked his older sister to undertake the position. She was going through a divorce, or considering one, but eventually she declined as well. Next family member. His older brother was not happy with his own position in Dallas, TX and was considering moving to Iowa to raise his family. Nice plan, or was it. Typically, people have a resemblance of a plan before moving across country and especially if they have four other mouths singing “99 Bottles Of Beer On The Wall” all the way to the Hawkeye state. Now I understand that Latino culture places a high priority on family and the bond between them is incredibly strong. But isn’t the notion of, oh I dunno, logistics also considered when family’s stick together during times of strife. Jesus Fucking Christ. I never want to be married to someone who acquiesces to an idea of moving across country into a younger brother’s house when said house isn’t big enough to hold more than four people. Again, if you’re keeping score, the number of living humans in this home is now up to seven. Jesus wept.

So he runs the idea by me without much time, effort, or thought beforehand. I mean, it’s just another example of selfishness and how he can manage to overcome a life lesson without negatively impacting a career advancement that will provide him with more cash to blow on fucking toys he’ll never use. As if he hasn’t learned already that all the cash in the world won’t by him happiness and resolve some deep rooted issues caused by, newsfuckingflash, his family. Jesus Christ on the cross.
So the brother is going to become his driver. His wife will stay home (here) and raise the kids until….Well that’s about all I know. I seriously thought this would be a retarded idea that would soon pass, but the situation has proven to be the reality of my surroundings. Jeezee Peezee.
The family is relatively nice and extremely quiet. They refer to me as “the guy who speaks English.” The wife cooks and cleans and I am included in the nightly dinner menu, which is strange as I kind of enjoy doing my own cooking. Added to this, it is an extreme Mexican diet, which isn’t bad with the exception of some low nutritional value ingredients. This works well with the roomies’ revelation that he has diabetes and high blood pressure. And if you’ve ever tasted authentic Mexican food, you’ll understand that it’s a culture that considers beef tripe as a meat. I’m fairly certain that his doctor did not recommend he increase his lard and grease intake during his last bloodwork session. Jeese Louise.
So I have no idea what the plan is, other than there is no plan and that the two year old likes to start screaming for his Daddy at early hours. I know this has to be taking a toll on the roommate, so I’m anticipating that the situation will change around the same time I’ll be actively looking for a new place to live. Jesus H. Christ.
As for now, I’ve got to get the fuck away for the holidays, so I’ve pushed up my schedule and now want to be on the road as early as tomorrow night. I don’t give a shit that it’s bitterly cold outside, the Honda will be loaded up with gifts and Christmas fucking joy after work as I run away from this diverse “Eight Is Enough” episode staring me as Adam Rich. The eighth character, by the way, is the baby Jesus.

A Sourmash Christmas Carol

Get yr. Snow license, it’s wintertime. It sucks being a largehearted boy in Iowa with long-distance relationship tendencies. You’re always driving towards fulfillment and then, eventually, driving back to reality. In my case, reality meant missing work entirely and not giving a rat’s ass about it or the repercussions. The funny thing was, I didn’t get a chance to demonstrate my ambivalence towards it; the manager who hates me was totally apologetic about it. In some manner it was her fault but ultimately the responsibility falls on me. Fuck responsibility up it’s tight ass.
So these wintertime travels remind me that I’m driving without insurance. Like I said: “Fuck responsibility.” But the cold air brings me back to other winter nights in a previous life. And while I don’t want to do a “u-ie” and return to that previous life, I do think it’s time for me to finally throw the whole thing in park. Is it the clarity of being sober that’s brought me to this understanding? Probably not, as I feel it has always been in me and drugs have a tendency to do wonders like mask pain and stifle initiative. And to this day, I’d rather enjoy the company of a spliff than a shot of Maker’s Mark. But a shot every now and then certainly does hit the spot.
Now on to one last memory of Christmas past…

In high school, I was moderately involved in theatre. By “moderately” I mean that if it happened to be a production that I was interested in, I would audition. On occasion, I would get a part. There were a few productions that I had no interest in. For some reason, “South Pacific” comes to mind. In some odd rationale, I felt the play was “racist” and signed up for the lighting crew instead of an acting or chorus part.
I can’t remember why I thought “South Pacific” was racist, but I do remember that it has nothing to do with the story that I set out to tell.
Mr. Anderson, our cigarette smoking drama teacher at the high school, approached me and a friend during the fall of my Freshman year. He stated that the community theatre group needed some volunteers for their yearly production of “A Christmas Carol.” Specifically, they needed some help with sound and lighting. Now the other dude had done a killer job running lights for the summer musical production of “Pippin” so I knew he’d be a shoe-in for the lighting chores of the Dickens production. That left me with a chance at doing sound.
As it turns out, they had picked another volunteer to run sound, so that left me with the boring duty of running sound effects for the production. Essentially, all I had to do was make sure there were a bunch of chain sounds for the Ghost of Christmas Past and some wind noises for the Ghost of Christmas Future. Pretty mundane stuff, but as any drama fag will tell you, there are more chances to get laid in school plays than any other extracurricular activity. Having dabbled in both sports and drama, I can tell you there is ten times more sexual activity resulting from the drama camp than any sport can provide. Some of the spoils can also fall on to members of the lighting and sound crew, and the community theatre presented an opportunity to have a go at some of the Catholic school girls. It goes without saying, I could live through the boredom of sound effects if there was a chance at getting a little after the cast party on closing night.
The sound guy they picked up was probably in his late twenties and far to old to be ogling the seventeen year olds in the production. Of course, that didn’t stop him just like the cold winter air didn’t stop him from retreating to his vehicle during intermission to snort cocaine. I’ll never forget him talking into the headsets during the performance how there was a “100% chance of a snowstorm” every night.
So while the sound guy was keeping himself entertained, there was little for me and the lighting dude to really do. I was also dismayed how everyone, particularly the director, always seemed to be too uptight to be really feeling the Christmas spirit. All of this prompted me to bring a fifth of Jack Daniels to the last night of the performance.
I devised a practical joke that would take place on stage in front of a live audience. At the end of the play, where Tiny Tim utters the whole “God bless us everyone” line, the Cratchit family toasts a glass and has a quick drink of wine. Up until that point, the “wine” was nothing more than grape juice or some other Shirley Temple elixir. On the final night, I poured Jack Daniels into the glasses and saved the rest for the cast party after the show.
The lighting dude, cocaine soundman, and myself were all aware of what was about to take place. When the line approached, the three of us turned up the headphones to the stage microphone to hear the reaction. Tiny Tim, a kid who couldn’t have been more than 9 years old said his immortal line and took a big gulp of his grape juice. Now, it’s a scientific fact that most 9 year old boys aren’t used to their first taste of Tennessee whiskey and most will probably immediately become violently ill afterwards. That is exactly what Tiny Tim did on this night. Although no vomit came up, the whiskey did. It came back out of his mouth and through his nose, causing the crippled boy to cough uncontrollably for the remaining five minutes of the play. All three of us backstage rolled with laughter as we heard Tiny Tim trying to expel the last remnants of the smuggled whiskey. All other cast members didn’t seem to notice or care about the new wine. Bob Cratchit actually seemed to enjoy his drink, finishing the nip entirely while on stage. .

During the curtain call, Tiny Tim looked white as a ghost before quickly exiting the stage to look for a drinking fountain.
The director was not too pleased with my practical joke and made it a point to tell me and the lighting guy that we would not be invited back to volunteer for the Great River Players. My heart broke and then my mind noticed the oxymoron of the words “volunteer“ and “invited.” The mind quickly refocused as it remembered the words “cast party” and the reason for attending: “Catholic girls.”
Unfortunately, the lighting dude decided to keep up with Tiny Tim in the whiskey department and had almost the same results. By midnight, he was too loaded to walk and he was late for his graveyard shift at the radio station. I had to leave the Catholic girls in the capable hands of other cast members and drive the lighting dude to work, which led me to a brief career in radio. But that’s another Christmas story for another time.