Ah, December! And that means Christmas music. Which means, once again, that it’s time for me to tell you what my favorite, and least favorite, Christmas songs are! But don’t think of this as me repeating myself, please. Think of it more as my own little Christmas tradition.
My favorite Christmas song is undoubtedly “A Marshmallow World.” Not so much because it’s good--though it is certainly catchy enough--but because it’s completely crack-smoking. And sometimes that’s a good thing.
Of course, one could argue that it’s not actually a Christmas song at all, since the lyrics only ever refer to winter. Of course, one could also argue that it sounds like the innermost thoughts of a junkie who just scored big on Christmas. Plus, there are Christmas bells in it--so shut up, you.
Those are marshmallow clouds being friendly / in the arms of the evergreen trees / and the sun is red, like a pumpkin head / it's shining so your nose won't freeze
In the imaginary video of this song that exists in my head, an alcoholic mouse puts down his bottle and swears the stuff off forever after Dean Martin walks by singing that.
My least favorite Christmas song, on the other hand, is a toss up between two particularly nasty concoctions: “I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus” and “Santa Baby.” Both have the same basic weakness: the incongruous inclusion of sex.
Don’t get me wrong. I like sex. When I see an advertisement for a new automobile, I expect there to be a half naked cheerleader draped across the hood. And if there’s any hope at all of getting me to watch a romantic comedy, it damned well better have Katherine Heigl in it and not Renee Zellweger. But if there’s one thing that sex doesn’t need to be a part of, it’s Christmas songs--especially if it’s going to be done this ham-handedly.
“Santa Baby” always sounds to me like a prostitute explaining her price list. And to make matters worse, the lyrics read like they were constructed by HP Lovecraft on a dare:
Santa cutie / fill my stocking with a duplex / and checks / sign your 'X' on the line / Santa cutie / and hurry down the chimney tonight
I mean, I guess “duplex” rhymes with “checks.” But after that, you’re pretty much on your own.
The sex element in “I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus” is far more chaste, but it cranks up the creepiness factor to 11 by having its young protagonist ponder how amusing it would be to watch his parents’ marriage destroyed:
Oh, what a laugh it would have been / if daddy had only seen / mommy kissing Santa Claus last night
Yeah, that would’ve been awesome, kid. Now go back to bed and resume dreaming of torturing small animals.
Objectively, I’m sure there are worse Christmas songs out there. There can always be something “worse” of anything. No doubt “Larry the Cable Guy” is working on an all fart noise version of Carol of the Bells right now. But, at the moment, these two are the worst, most popular, most I’m-completely-sick-of-hearing-them Christmas songs in Erikland--where it is also, coincidentally, a marshmallow world.