It’s December 24th which means you’ve been bombarded with Christmas music for at least the last 24 days and therefore are about ready to hang yourself on your neighbour’s christmas lights. I swear If I have to listen to Jingle Bell rock one more time I’m going to start calling in bomb threats. Don’t worry, I’ll try to keep it in the spirit of Christmas. There has to be a way to make a bomb using old decorations. You can make a bomb out of anything.
As I work in retail, as I’m sure many of you do, I have no choice but to listen to the same ten tunes performed by five different pop starts on repeat for 8 hours a day. It’s all enough to make me glad that last christmas when Taylor Swift gave her man her heart “the very next day he threw it away”, because fuck that song. The only thing I’ve gained from the last three weeks of musical sleigh rides and halls being decked with poisonous plants is an idea of how prisoners stuck in Guantanamo Bay feel and a realization that a lot of the songs clogging the air ways this time of year are actually pretty creepy when you actually take a second to ask yourself: what the fuck did I just hear?
‘Baby It’s Cold Outside’ – Date Rape Delights Generations.
I’m hardly the first person to point out how creep this holiday favourite is but I’m always taken aback when I first hear it every winter. The whole premise of the song is that a man has invited his date back to his place and he’ll be damned if he lets her walk out that door before he gets to plow her driveway if you know what I mean. For the sake of her health of course.
What starts out as playful banter that might have very well been the woman playing hard to get soon turns into something far more sinister. Originally written by Broadway composer Frank Loesser the song was supposedly meant to be flirtation between a couple who’s desires to pork long into the night are stinted by the worry of what people will say. This interpretation is undermined by the scores earliest casting of the duet’s roles as ‘Wolf’ and ‘Mouse’. Baby It’s Cold Outside isn’t a playful conversation lightly examining sexual repression but the recordings of a sexual predator talking circles around his intended victim.
The Mouse repeatedly voices her decision to leave while the wolf makes excuses to keep her there or flat out ignores her protests in favour of paying her creepy compliments. All assumably while pressing his erect penis into her back as she tries to shrug her coat on. She occasionally does imply that she’d like to stay but always brings it back to the “buuuut… I gotta go” likely for the same reason most girls don’t just tell a stranger to fuck off after telling him for the seventh time, “no you cannot have my phone number”. She doesn’t know this guy well enough to gage whether telling him to piss off because she’s not going to fuck him will end with her body rolled up in a rug in the trunk of his car.
I really can’t stay – Baby it’s cold outside
I’ve got to go away – Baby it’s cold outside
This evening has been – Been hoping that you’d drop in
So very nice – I’ll hold your hands, they’re just like ice
My mother will start to worry – Beautiful, what’s your hurry
My father will be pacing the floor – Listen to the fireplace roar
Pretty innocent so far. Although, one does have to wonder how old this girl is if she still lives with her parents. This song was written before 20’s were being crushed under the weight of student loans after all.
The neighbours might think – Baby, it’s bad out there
Say, what’s in this drink – No cabs to be had out there
I wish I knew how – Your eyes are like starlight now
To break this spell – I’ll take your hat, your hair looks swell
I ought to say no, no, no, sir – Mind if I move a little closer
Aaaaannnnd he’s spiked her drink. At worst he’s roofied her. At best he’s plying her up with liquor she never asked for. He ignored her question completely and instead tries to “move a little closer”. On another note ladies and gentlemen, here’s a big red flag that you’re date might not be the most savoury of sorts: cabs refuse to come to their house. Also he uses the word ‘swell’.
I simply must go – Baby, it’s cold outside
The answer is no – Ooh baby, it’s cold outside
This welcome has been – I’m lucky that you dropped in
So nice and warm — Look out the window at that storm
My sister will be suspicious – Man, your lips look so delicious
“The answer is no” is a pretty forceful way to say that she does not consent. She’s uncomfortable, irritated, and probably scared as shit. Telling a person “man, your lips look delicious” has to be one of the worst ways to quell someones fears that you might rape them.
There’s bound to be talk tomorrow – Making my life long sorrow
At least there will be plenty implied – If you caught pneumonia and died
I really can’t stay – Get over that old out Ahh, but it’s cold outside
This last verse is some mastery of subtlety on both sides. She warns him that there will “be talk tomorrow”, from her most likely to the authorities, to which he responds with a threat of her dying of pneumonia after he’s had his way with her and tosses her outside into the snow where no one will find her.
‘Santa Baby’ – Eartha Kit Wants The D for Christmas
Is no one else thrown off by hearing Santa Claus called “baby”? It’s weird isn’t it? Who in their night mind decides that a jolly old man who commits mass, annual, B&Es is the kind of guy that you should call “baby”? I don’t think even think Mrs. Claus calls Santa “baby”.
It’s more than just the uses of the traditionally romantic pet name “baby”. The whole song reads like a sting of innuendo. You’re supposed to leave Santa milk and cookies, maybe some carrots for the reindeer, not double entendres.
Santa Baby, slip a sable under the tree, For me.
Been an awful good girl,
Santa baby, so hurry down the chimney tonight.
I could pretend that that was perfectly innocent were it not for the flirty vocal stylings and of Eartha Kit. There’s something fundamentally wrong about sexualizing Saint Nicholas. For one thing he’s a Saint and the catholics are pretty notoriously anti-sex and anti-fun. For another, if I were to make a list of beloved childhood figures that I never want to see tainted by rule 34 the top three would be: Santa Claus, Lunette The Clown, and the entire Wizarding World from Harry Potter. Understandably this is why I avoid most forms of fan fiction.
Santa baby, a 54 convertible too, Light blue.
I’ll wait up for you dear,
Santa baby, so hurry down the chimney tonight.
So that’s her game. She’s trying to seduce old Kris Kringle into bringing her outlandishly expensive goods instead of toys this christmas.
Think of all the fun I’ve missed,
Think of all the fellas that I haven’t kissed,
Next year I could be just as good,
If you’ll check off my Christmas list,
Are they lovers? Has she been saving herself for Santa Claus? Why the hell else would he care how many boys she’s “kissed” this year? Santa seems like a pretty fair and progressive guy. There’s no way he participates in slut shaming.
Santa cutie, and fill my stocking with a duplex,
And checks. Sign your ‘X’ on the line,
Santa cutie, and hurry down the chimney tonight. Cutie? Cutie!
Santa Claus is an old (read: ancient) man with a belly that shakes like a great bowl of jelly, a bushy, white beard, and no fashion sense. Then man can be described as festive or whimsical. Never cute. She is really piling it on here.
Come and trim my Christmas tree,
With some decorations bought at Tiffany’s,
I really do believe in you,
Let’s see if you believe in me,
Have you no pride woman? You’re digging for gold with Santa Claus.
Santa baby, forgot to mention one little thing, A ring.
I don’t mean on the phone,
Santa baby, so hurry down the chimney tonight,
And that last request is were she learned the tough lesson that many mistresses before and after her have had to accept. The married man you’re fucking will probably never leave his wife for you no matter how often he insists he’ll end his marriage and run away with you. He has elves to think of.
‘I’m Getting Nuttin’ For Christmas’ – Chronicles The Early Years Of A Serial Killer
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TND56ejLAUU
I’m not sure what the original intent was for this tune. It was either meant to be an ode to the naughty list or a way for passive aggressive parents to threaten Santa wont come if their kids don’t stop being little shits. Whatever the initial basis was supposed to be it was surely written from the mad recordings of some severely disturbed murder’s therapy sessions.
I broke my bat on Johnny’s head;
Somebody snitched on me.
Hitting the ground there eh kid? The little bastard broke a bat over someone’s head. Breaking a bat is no easy feat seeing as bats are meant to hit balls hurling towards people twenty miles an hour. Most adults couldn’t break a bat. In order for a child to go Hulk like that he’d have spent weeks or months preparing his batters arm.
I hid a frog in sister’s bed;
Somebody snitched on me.
I spilled some ink on Mommy’s rug;
I made Tommy eat a bug;
Bought some gum with a penny slug;
Somebody snitched on me.
There’s our mandatory tortures animals criteria met. Of course making other children eat bugs shows he’s moved on to human torture. I did have to look up “penny slug” and it turns out our future psycho is also involved in counterfeit money operations. At least he’s not a one trick criminal I guess.
I put a tack on teacher’s chair
Somebody snitched on me.
I tied a knot in Susie’s hair
Somebody snitched on me.
I like how he thinks his biggest problem is that “somebody snitched” on him. This kid feels no remorse.
I did a dance on Mommy’s plants
Climbed a tree and tore my pants
Filled the sugar bowl with ants
Somebody snitched on me.
So this just a signed confession of all the shitty things this kid has done this year. He obviously took gleeful delight in dancing on his mother’s garden or why else would he have done it. It was probably as close as he could get to dancing on her grave seeing how she’s still alive. How he thinks accidentally tearing his pants is as bad as filling a sugar bowl with ants (probably of the fire variety) is beyond me.
I won’t be seeing Santa Claus;
Somebody snitched on me.
He won’t come visit me because
Somebody snitched on me.
Next year I’ll be going straight;
Next year I’ll be good,
Just wait I’d start now, but it’s too late;
Somebody snitched on me.
He clearly doesn’t understand how Santa works if he thinks someone needed to tell Santa what a raging sociopath he’s been this year. And he’s still got until the end of the month to ruin everyones personal property and feeling of security before he starts his New Years resolution.
Wait a second. Is it just me or does it sound an awful lot like this child is plotting revenge on Santa? He’s gonna be good all year to lure him into his home so he can extract sweet, sweet, bloody vengeance. You just know he’s gonna be asking for a new baseball bat for Christmas.
Some Offense Intended 