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What Christmas Songs Can We Still Listen To?
Christmas is almost here, everyone. Time to decorate the tree, bake some cookies, and kick back by the fire while listening to some tunes. You’ve probably got that fire going because it’s cold outside. But don’t listen to that classic ode to rape, ‘Baby It’s Cold Outside.’
After boycotting (and out-screaming anyone who says it isn’t about rape) that song, I began listening to a playlist of old hits. It turns out that the biggest war on Christmas has already arrived in the form of classic Christmas music.
Read the lyrics of any Christmas song, and if you look hard enough, you’ll see that all of them refer to some kind of illicit activity. The following list is by no means comprehensive. Feel free to comment below with your own discoveries.
Here are the most obvious allusions to criminal activity that I found:
–All I Want For Christmas Is You. A crystal clear nod to sex trafficking.
–Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer. Thinly-veiled commie ballad.
–Let it Snow. Cocaine.
–I’m Dreaming of a White Christmas. Alt-right white supremacy. And also cocaine.
–O Holy Night. Secret slang in the world of cocaine users (cocaine is snorted through holes).
–O Little Town of Bethlehem. Way before Jesus became Bethlehem’s most famous export, this little town produced a large amount of blow.
–Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer. Hmm, let’s see. Grandma drinks to much eggnog and decides she’s going to walk home? Any old person worth their salt would fall asleep, and that’s before the powerful effects of eggnog set in. See where this is going? You guessed it—Grandma took a few zips of nose candy and unwittingly wandered right into Santa’s flight path.
–Back Door Santa. I just found out about this song, and boy am I one steaming little cup of decaf. At first, I believed it to be about anal sex (I heard some youth at Target use the term), but then I remembered that a lot of cocaine arrives in this country via little balloons packed full of white lightning, which are then inserted into the rear end (back door) of the intended mule.
–Mele Kalikimaka. This is simply what comes out when someone who is coked to the gills tries to say ‘Merry Christmas.’
So this Christmas season, you may as well skip right ahead to Easter music. I recommend the Rolling Stones, who named themselves after the stone that was rolled away from the tomb of Jesus.
Photo by Ylanite Koppens on Pexels.com
Some Dark Truths About Me
A few weeks ago, at one of them political rallies, Dr. Ben Carson said something like this: Hillary Clinton wrote her senior thesis on Saul Alinsky. Saul Alinsky mentions Lucifer in one of his books. Therefore, Hillary Clinton worships Satan.
Compelling argument, but there’s no way she’s that cool.
So I sat for a while, thinking. Following Dr. Carson’s logic, I learned some very dark truths about myself.
Here are a few:
I read Gravity’s Rainbow, a big novel with a small part featuring coprophilia. Therefore, I am a coprophiliac.
I enjoy using car batteries to torture hookers, because a copy of American Psycho is sitting in my book pile right now. Also, I like to stab small children at the zoo.
I am a homophobic pill popper who hates his mother. That would be from my high school days listening to Eminem.
I cook meth. Thanks, Breaking Bad.
And most horrifying of all, I might not play football next year because I’d rather hang out with Wooderson and drink beer.
I Like Reuben Sandwiches Now
“Let’s change the way we eat.”
—Tupac Shakur, Changes
I recently ate a Rueben sandwich for the first time. It was pretty good. I like Reuben sandwiches now.
Donald Trump in a Rage Against the Machine Video
Screenshot of Rage Against the Machine’s “Sleep Now in the Fire” video from 1999…..
Fun Game: Indie Band or Kentucky Derby Horse?
Topical humor time: I compiled a list of indie band names and monikers of horses that have participated in the Kentucky Derby over its 141 year run. It is up to you to guess whether each following group of words identifies a band, a horse, or a Band of Horses (that one is a band). Now, I present to you the list:
I Don’t Know If I Should Cry Or Fart
I Would Have No Problem Shooting A Kitten In The Face
Slovakian Bubble Bath
I Am A Horse That Has Raced In The Kentucky Derby
This One Is A Band Name
The Annexation Of Puerto Rico
Sentient Toilet
The Courtroom Doll That Is Used As A Device For People To Point Out Where The Bad Man Touched Them
Cassandra Morningfart
Why Is A Midget Slapping Me With A Stick
There you have it. Think you did well? Read on, and award yourself one point for each correct answer.
I Don’t Know If I Should Cry Or Fart—This one is neither a horse nor a band. My friend Ryan said it one time.
I Would Have No Problem Shooting A Kitten In The Face—Another trick question. My other friend Jeremy once said this.
Slovakian Bubble Bath—This also is not an animal or a group of humans. It is a despicable act my pal Brad made up, involving fellatio and flatulence in a tub filled with water!
I Am A Horse That Has Raced In The Kentucky Derby—The name implies this is a horse that has raced in the Kentucky Derby. In reality, it is just something I typed.
This One Is A Band Name—This one is NOT a band name. How many have you gotten right so far? I’m shooting 100 percent.
The Annexation Of Puerto Rico—This was a trick play used by football-playing children in the 1994 film Little Giants.
Sentient Toilet—Can you imagine if toilets became self-aware? Wouldn’t that be terrible? And getting back on track, also not equine or musical in nature.
The Courtroom Doll That Is Used As A Device For People To Point Out Where The Bad Man Touched Them—This is a doll that lawyers hold up to people and ask “Where did the bad man touch you? Point to the corresponding area on this doll,” not a horse or a band.
Cassandra Morningfart—This is what shows up on my cellular telephone when my girlfriend, Cassandra Morningfart, calls me.
Why Is A Midget Slapping Me With A Stick—This is something that horses in the Kentucky Derby wonder. There are also people in indie bands that ask themselves this question. Sometimes people in indie bands get slapped with sticks by midgets.
Now give yourself one point for each correct answer.
0-4 points: You don’t know shit about indie bands or the Kentucky Derby!
5-9 points: Impressive, but you are still not very good at knowing things about horses and bands.
10 points: You are me.
Rap Music: Does It Belong In My Cubist Epoch?
If you missed yesterday’s post, you have to be asking yourself “What the f*&k is an epoch?”
It’s okay, I was flummoxed too.
Two hours into my Cubist phase, even I was still thinking epoch was murdered by Notorious P.U.F.F. Daddy back in nine-six. I couldn’t have been more wrong. What in the world could Cubism have to do with rap music anyways?
Nothing, until now. In yesterday’s post, I also claimed I wasn’t creative enough to produce a Cubist work. I couldn’t have been more wrong there either. Would an uncreative person have the revolutionary idea to combine Cubism and rap music into one fluid art movement called rapism? That looks bad. Try again. Would an uncreative person have the revolutionary idea to combine Cubism and rap music into one fluid art movement called Curap? No, an uncreative person would not have that idea. That’s why I had that idea.
If yesterday’s painting was an example of my ‘early Cubist phase,’ then today’s installment is surely ‘high Curap.’ Here we see the artist (me) rip through the fabric of our tangible universe and stumble into a dimension all his own.
Heaven for a G, by Michael Cedarwood. (2015) Microsoft Paint
The painting again makes use of cubes, there’s some liquor in there, and double meaning is incorporated—the ‘G’ in question stands of course for Georges Braque, and also for the way that rap music uses the letter, as an abbreviation of ‘guy.’
The epoch rages on.
Hipster Plans To Avoid Mainstream Highways And Drive to SXSW Only On Obscure, Little-Known Roads
Interstate 35, which travels directly through Minneapolis, Minnesota and all the way to Austin, Texas, site of the annual South by Southwest gathering, is intentionally being avoided by a nameless, faceless hipster in the Land of 10,000 Lakes.
NO.
The interstate system, dubbed ‘way, way too mainstream,’ by the hipster will be ignored in favor of a bizarre and far more lengthy path to Texas. A path you probably have never heard of.
The hipster said the following in a low, drawn out voice: “I would have driven the route if it were still the early 1950s, you know, before the interstate system was created. Roads were cooler back then. Now it’s all corporate and shit.”
The hipster was very adamant about obscurity and not following trends.
“Avoiding conventional highways was a no-brainer for me, so I sat down and brought up Google Maps on my iPhone. I was
YES.
able to find little-traveled county roads, abandoned residential streets, and even flat expanses of Oklahoma prairie that I could drive my Camry over.”
The hipster kept talking.
“I’ll probably see some stuff I normally wouldn’t, and I can post pictures to Instagram and Facebook and Twitter. Really show people how cool it is when you don’t do what everyone else is doing,” he said from behind his gluten-free beard crumbs and glasses without glass in them.
The drive from Minneapolis to Austin, which can be done solely on Highway 35, was made unnecessarily complex after the hipster read an article on a popular website.
“I was paging through Buzzfeed, ironically of course, and came across a list titled ’25 Reasons to Drive On a Highway.’ And I thought, ‘if Buzzfeed knows about highways, then 40 year-old Iowans are probably even aware of their popularity.’ Needless to say, in that moment I knew highways had jumped the shark.”
Does the hipster find his roundabout route to Texas excessive?
“Yeah, I’ll be putting a few extra clicks on the odometer,” the hipster admitted. “Is it totally necessary for me to pass through both Virginias, shoot over to New Mexico, then down into the real Mexico, in order to approach South by Southwest literally from the Southwest, all in the name of turning my back on something the majority of people like? No, it’s not necessary at all. It’s quite stupid, actually. I think I even pass through Canada at some point. But keep in mind, stupidity is in no way popular right now. But when it becomes the “in” thing, guess who will be credited with making it cool? Me. Not that I care. Then I’ll move on to something else.”
As of this writing, the hipster was somewhere in the Pacific Northwest, with estimates placing his arrival in Austin sometime between April 1-3, when the festival will have been over for more than a week.
Rapper Boasts About Average Penile Length In New Song
A blurred out image of the normal penis, which no one wanted to see anyway.
Some suburb in MN—Rapper Steven Anderson decided over the weekend to mention his 5 7/8″ long reproductive organ on his newest track, tentatively titled My Penis is Right In Line With The American Average.
“For the opening line, which can make or break a hip-hop song, I was thinking something along the lines of ‘My five and seven eighths/always satiates.’ It drops right in with the beat, and people will be like ‘What? That’s not very big. But it’s not little either.’ I’m not married to the idea, though,” Anderson said from his Toyota Camry.
In hip-hop tradition, when a membrum virile is mentioned, it is generally for the purpose of revealing great size, as well as giving a mention to the owner’s dexterity and control over the piece of anatomy, a fact not lost on Steven.
“Not everyone is hung like a goddam horse, alright? It’s just how it works,” he said. “I’ve got this weener, like most guys, and it’s just your basic weener, nothing more, nothing less, and I want people to know that.”
The reference to the mid-level junk, which is nothing to write home about, was finally given the go-ahead by Anderson after a late-night writing session in which he wrestled with the idea of whether or not people would like to hear music about his in-no-way-out-of-the-ordinary dong.
When asked if the size of his log might attract ridicule from rival rappers, or the fact that he drives a Camry, rents a middle-unit townhouse, and holds a day job in data entry, Anderson responded: “You know what? I’m just a normal person with no defining qualities, and I don’t think it’s a point of shame. The fact of the matter is, today’s average American penis doesn’t get a lot of clock in hip-hop. But the very fact that it’s not special, that makes it special among the masses, because there are millions of men just like me, and they’ll buy into this. No one makes fun of a guy for being 5’10”. That’s average. Besides, I make up for it in other ways, if you know what I mean.”
When told “No, I don’t know what you mean, please elaborate,” Steven ended the interview.
Resignation Letter, Or, ‘The World’
I just quit my job. Weeks before I knew I was going to quit, I wrote this resignation letter. Then, in the excitement of finally being able to quit, I forgot to bring it with me when I actually did quit. Balls. Not a big deal, though: it was purposely designed to confound, flummox, and bring about the general idea that I was somewhat unstable, thus making my hasty departure a point of concern rather than indignation.
The highfalutin verbiage and esoteric references would have been lost on the audience anyway. I mean, the one guy has had the same handlebar moustache for at least two decades. And last year, he didn’t even tell us when one of our coworkers was murdered by his girlfriend (Sadly, I didn’t make that up. She ran him over with her car. Management said not one word about it, to avoid giving people a day off for the funeral. Again, I can’t stress this enough: I didn’t make that up.).
Having said that, I now realize he would have thrown the letter in the garbage after he read the first line anyways. Here’s what I had:
The World*, or, My Resignation
Dearest Bob:
If you’re reading this, that means I’m already dead.
Or not. Anyhoo. Where to begin. At the beginning, I reckon.
Some 900 odd days ago, under Libra’s balanced gaze, a new cycle began, I playing The Fool. As time shifted I slowly toed my way through the major arcana, in both work and private life, ultimately culminating in this letter, which as you see above, I have entitled ‘The World.’
To come at it from another angle—the Moirai may now weave my tale. Read:
In that September of 2011, Clotho, Spinner of Life, dealt my thread. Her sister, Lachesis, drew her rod and measured it. Now, this night, governed by the fish Pisces, Atropos The Unturning, eldest of the three sisters, must now brandish her abhorred shears, and make her calculated cut.
Main point being, in the Menippean satire that this job, and consequently my life, has become, the ultimate communication of this letter is that I am quitting, if you didn’t get that already.
Now, by this time you may have noticed that I have left this communique with the front office and vanished, while the traditional two weeks of notice have not yet passed. None of us need worry about this. In the vast scope of geological time, after Armageddon has come and gone, whatever form it chooses to take, be it Ragnarok, The Four Horsemen, The Karmatic Wheel coming to a stop, Nuclear Winter—I can assure you that my swift exit from this company will not matter in the least.
At that time, when aliens, remaining humans, cockroaches—whatever is left, really—pick through the rubble where once stood this office/warehouse compound, I can assure you that my failure to give the traditional fourteen days forewarning will not be mentioned, nor will it even be relevant.
As Elton John once sang, we are nothing more than a candle in the wind. Or Kenny Wayne Shepherd: cold on ice, joker on jack, tears on a river, whisper on a scream. It doesn’t mean a thing.
And thus, as mysteriously as I arrived, I now dissipate, into the nether regions of the working world. May dementors eat my soul should we cross paths again.
Love,
Guy that don’t work here no more
*In Tarot readings, The World card can represent a cycle completed.
The Philosophunculist 