Maybe it’s because I’m an atheist. Maybe it’s because when I was two my parents gifted me the biggest spoiler of all time: “Concha, there’s no Santa.” Maybe it's because unless they’re on crack, no one is that fucking happy. Joy to the world, my ass. Tis the season for the crappiest noise pollutant of all – Christmas music.
I hate Christmas music. I hate people who don’t hate Christmas music. An oxymoron parading as melody. It’s the same fifty goddamn songs not rocking around the Christmas tree every December, yet not one mistletoe-wielding dickbag ever seems to get sick of them. I thought music by its very nature is supposed to evolve. Rock overthrows Doo Whop. Punk tells Rush to fuck itself. But I seriously start to doubt the whole “music” claim, when the biggest challenge to the genre is Mariah fucking Carey.
Still, for twenty five days (or even longer thanks to modern marketing) I’m supposed to throw out my decent music tastes cultivated by hundreds of hours in record stores, punk shows, fuck even piano lessons, to hear Bing Crosby wish for my streets to fill up with icy, pricey boot ruining, sky dandruff just because it’s fucking December.
What really pisses me off is Xmas music’s unavoidable ubiquity. Most songs I hate are deflected from my iPod by employing a clever technique called not stealing them illegally from the interwebs. But thanks to everybody else’s seasonal bad taste, I get to go shopping and hear That Which I Hate The Most over a visual of screaming children, parents screaming at their children, while store managers try to keep from screaming at the screaming parents and children. Meanwhile I’m trying to push through this mess because I just stopped in the store to pick up some fucking sour cream and I don’t know what the hell you people are bitching about because the last time I checked this was Wallgreens, not Rwanda!
More ear raping below.
“Lovely weather for a sleigh ride together,” my frozen ass. I’ve been on a sleigh ride. Guess what? It’s fucking cold. The constant jingling of bells? Progresses from monotonous, to annoying, to I kinda wanna hurt someone, to oops I killed the Christ Child.
Not if you don’t shut the fuck up, it isn’t.
The Chipmunk Song
Whoever got the idea to inhale a bunch of helium and confuse it with cute, should’ve kept inhaling, and inhaling, until his head exploded. Really, Alvin? You still want a hula hoop? That’s the fucking shittiest gift I’ve ever heard of, unless I can hang you with it.
While Shepherds Watched Their Flocks by Night
Only in Christmas music, is it acceptable to write lyrics about frigid temperatures, sleighs and other shitty forms of transportation, and smelly old men who walk around prodding sheep with staffs. In fact that little hillside scene sounds a lot like a documentary I watched called Zoo. And in Zoo, a bunch of freaks lived together specifically so they could fuck horses. Yeah, good tidings of great bestiality to ya. Say hi to your mother for me.
Santa Claus is Coming to Town
Like I said, Mom and Dad turned me into a Santa nihilist when I was two, so I know this is a big fat lie. Fuck you, song!
The Twelve Days of Christmas
This sounds like the worst fucking twelve days of anybody’s life. There you are with some normal wish list. Maybe you want a new digital camera, or a gift certificate to Applebees. A week and a half later you got a fucking circus on your hands. Who’s gonna feed all these god damn geese? The ten assholes leaping? And don’t get me started about eight bitches with nipples in their hands. That’s just fucking creepy.
So, you say, I suppose you’ll say you hate Santa now. And baby Jesus too. But that’s just crazy talk. How could I hate something that’s not real?
Really, all Concha wants for Christmas is you to shut the fuck up.