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Life is only what you wonder.

Tuesday, December 20, 2005

Slay Bells

See that glazed expression on my face? That wide-open deer-in-the-headlights look?
That comes from listening to Christmas Carols all day at work, every day since three days before Thanksgiving. And I have to put up with them until after New year's.
Pray for me.

This is why Christmas music is absoloutely forbidden in my house.
Play whatever you like: NWA, Willie Nelson, Sex Pistols, Beethoven or anything else and I'm fine with that. Stick some Yoko Ono in the CD player if that's your cup of tea. Put on anything Christmas-y and watch me transmogrify into a hideous ogre right before your very eyes.

You'd think that they'd give us a break and put something else on once in awhile, but no.
I've heard "Jingle Bells" by Barbra Striesand, Diana Ross, John Denver and those damn barking dogs.
I've heard "Winter Wonderland" by Annie Lennox, Garth Brooks, Lee Ann Womack, Amy Grant, Jewel and Clay Aiken. I've heard "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer" by The Jackson 5, Barenaked Ladies, Billy Gilman, and Harry Connick, Jr.
Suffice it to say I've heard every fuggin' version of every fuggin' Christmas Carol by every fuggin' artist since the dawn of time, OK?

And I swear, I swear if I hear "Felis Nativdad" one more time I am going to snap!

People don't actually do that, though, do they? Snap, I mean. I think that only happens in movies.
Like in the movies someone goes through something traumatic and they "snap" and suddenly go all psychotic. (Jason Voorhees sees his mother brutally murdered and "snaps" and goes on a killing spree, like in Friday the 13th, for instance.)
I can see someone going through something horrible and their mind shutting down (catatonia) but I don't think people actually snap like in the movies.

At least I hope not.

I can picture it now.
I'm waiting tables and everything is fine. It's a perfectly normal day. Then "Grandma Got Run Over By A Reindeer" comes on for the one-hundreth time and my eyes start buggin' out. Drool starts coming out my mouth.
I get a crazy evil grin on my face, like Private Pyle in that crucial scene halfway through Full Metal Jacket. ("I am . . . in a world . . . of shit!").
I start slowly walking toward the kitchen area. Everyone is wondering what's up with me because I walking so stiffly and I'm all mute and starey-eyed.
I grab the super-sharp and extra-big chef knife from the knife block.
Then "Jingle Bells" comes on for the the five-hundreth time and I snap!
"Jingle bells!" I screech as I start swinging the blade.
"Jingle bells!"
"Jingle jingle jingle all the way!" I cackle as I hack away, blood flying everywhere, spittle flying from my mouth.
Oh, it's just too gruesome to contemplate.

By the way, have you ever wondered why every artist in the world does a Christmas album, but Hip-Hop artists don't? Kenny Rogers, Hanson, Mariah Carey, Jessica Simpson, almost anyone you can think of has a Christmas album, or has done at least one Christmas song, but not any rap or Hip-Hop people.
What's up with that?
Where's "A Snoop Dogg Christmas"? Where's my "Chris'mas N' Da Hood'?

Can you just imagine a hip-hop Christmas song though?
(Smokin' dat blunt on Chris'mas eve, etc.)
Hey, I would probably buy it anyway, just because it was different.