Humor
Comments 2

Holly THIS, Frosty…

Can someone please explain to me why the diddly-dad-gum rackum smackum not by the hair of a billy goat’s chinny chin chin am I singing Christmas music inside my head on November the 3rd?
Have I lost my mind?

“Well, we can’t really say, for sure, Mr. Theory. Medical science has yet to explain the phenomenon of Christmas Music, in any meaningful, medically useful manner – ontologically and methodologically speaking. We’re much too busy making up very long and silly sounding names for the stuff we’ve convinced ourselves we DO understand. We don’t really have the time or the resources to tackle issues of such a dubious and unprofitable nature. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve other patients to attend to. Your bill for these three minutes comes to a grand total of $237,974.06. You can pay on your way out, and we would appreciate exact change. We also accept all major credit cards – first born children, 401K’s – that sort of thing…”

Okay, so the medical establishment is of no help.
Let’s see if I can retrace my steps.
I was vacuuming.
Doing some laundry.
I didn’t have the radio on.
Not even a CD or mp3.
And I haven’t thought of that particular song in years.

Still…
I did hear the years’ first iteration of “holiday cheer” on August 12.
Yes, you read that right.
August the 12th!
A week before National Aviation Day.
Talk about your flying in the face of tradition.
What were they thinking?
You can just imagine how I cheered-right-the-heck-up all over the place.

Still, why is that song going through my head now?
What did I do to deserve this blatant example of karma-gone-wild?
(Though to be perfectly candid, the version I heard went a bit more like this:)

This is how I imagine Burl Ives thought about singing that ding dang frickin’ frackin’ song, after about the seventy-eleven-squillionth time somebody asked him to “Do that Frosty song, Mister, um… Frosty. Do that Frosty shtick, that you shtick, SOOooo well…”

Shtick?
We don’t need no shtinkin’ shtick…

Oh, man, I am SO done with this holiday.
And it won’t even be here for another two months.
That’s, like, almost seventy-eleven-squillion days, in reindeer time.

That’s probably why Rudolph has a red nose.
I’ll bet he’s hopped up on reindeer rum.
Trying to drown out all the singing.
Which, in the North Pole, I would imagine, starts somewhere around February 7.
You know… National Wear Red Day.

I leave you with another version of this classic Christmas hit.
Produced in something of an extra less-than-classical fashion.

Me?
I’m with the baby.
The one hiding beside the couch… chewing on the electrical cord!

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