Ah-hoy-hoy! Or perhaps I should say “Ah-hoy-hoy-hoy!” Ah yes how amusing. I really must start paying my writers. What do you mean, pay them
more? No, no, my friend: I mean pay them
at all. Well they have to work off their little bursts of creativity somewhere now don’t they? And I do have those photographs…
Quite. So just remember that, all right? Now, let me just sit down a moment. All this running from journal to journal tires an old man out, you know! I’m not the spry seventy-eight-year-old I once was! But it’s worth it if it means I can show you what Christmas
a la Burns is like. Time to have a peek at another one of those pesky Christmas songs, eh? You know the ones: always blasting at full volume out of the infernal wireless or tootling out of the tannoy whenever you go down to the local shopping auditorium to purchase some bengay and a bottle of catsup. Or is it ketchup? Catsup? Ketchup? Catsup? Ketchup? I get confused; well who wouldn’t? The blasted bottles look identical, for the love of Peter!
Anyway, where was I? Oh yes: those dratted Christmas songs. Can’t avoid them. Go shopping, there they are. Stay at home, there they are. Even if I switch off all forms of media in my mansion I can still hear their annoying croaking drifting up from the servants’ quarters --- what? I specifically told them there was to be NO entertainment this Christmas! Remind me to fire them, preferably on Christmas Eve. Bwa-ha-ha-ha!
Anyhoo, on with the show, as they say. Here’s our next cheery Christmas tune, just ripe for the picking apart.
[img]http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/e/ed/Iwi****couldbe.jpg[/img]
What? Where in blues blazes is my picture? Oh for the love of... Because the words "wish" and "it" come together the stupid Nanny system has decided the word is "****" and won't show the picture because the link is "asterisked" out in places! Bah! Release the hounds on these do-gooder, tree-hugging, save-the-whales hippies! I hate them all! Now I have to save the image on my own computator --- er, SMITHERS! Yes, it keeps saying "file not found". .. ah. Excellent. Most impressive. Now go home to your can of cold mushroom soup. I no longer need you.
Let's see now, upload. Upload? What in --- SMITHERS!! Ah yes, thank you once again. Most kind. Yes in fact the hounds HAVE been released: you know the distance to the wall, I'm sure a fit young fellow like you can make it in --- Hmm. I would advise you desist wasting time and --- Ah. Hello? Emergency Services? Yes. Ambulance please, post haste. Yes, Burns Manor. Yes, Smithers again. Yes, the Hounds. Look, I don't intend playing twenty questions with you young lady! Send the meat wagon immediately! Thank you. Oh yes, of course. Merry Christmas to you too. (Bah!)
Now let's just see if ... Huzzah! Success!
Ah yes, excellent! Wizzards eh? I could do with a new potion to extend my --- what?!! I’ve never heard such poppycock in all my days! You wish it could be Christmas every day, do you? Well, you’re the only one, matey! You seriously believe that the Sally Housewifes and Eddie Punchclocks of this world would enjoy queuing for presents, taking their squalling brats to see some old fool dressed as Santa Claus (it was a WAGER, all right? I lost a wager…), writing Christmas cards and running up credit card bills the size of a Central African country’s GDP do you? Every day? You would have this horrendous season every single day? Are you mad?
The mere logistics of such a thing boggle the mind! You would have to have had three hundred and sixty-five identitcal Saviours, each born in the same city one day apart, for that to work. Do you know the odds against that happening? And how would the economy fare, were your fond dream to come true, hmm? Hard-pressed employers like myself are forced by law to allow our lollygagging drones a day off for this momentous day, and you would have it every day, would you? So the organ banks would be off 365 days a year, ie there would be no work done. What utter nonsense!
Speaking of nonsense, let’s take a closer look at these so-called lyrics and see if they at least make some sort of --- what in the hellfires of damnation?? “When the snowman brings the snow”? Snowmen are MADE of snow, you bearded moron! They can’t BRING snow. Snow brings them. Assuming some snivelling little child has the time on his busy hands to create one! What else is there, let’s see… “Now the frosty paws appear, and they’ve frozen up my beard”... Were these chaps known to indulge in the “waccy baccy”, as I believe it’s referred to these days? Ah, they were? Explains a lot. Not that line though: what in the name of Samuel Hill are these frosty paws he’s talking about?
Oh dear, this is getting depressing. “When Santa brings his sleigh all along the Milky Way.” Santa lives in the North Pole, you fool! It’s on Earth! He doesn’t have to travel the galaxy, and he couldn’t anyway: how would those delightful (and delicious, take it from one who knows --- oh you thought there were only
eight reindeer, did you? That was the year SANTA lost the wager! ) reindeer breathe? Absolute balderdash! Oh, and look at the last line: “Why don’t you give your love for Christmas?” Capital idea! Find the cheapest, most meaningless present that is going to take you zero time to buy, wrap and give. Baste my steaming puddings! Can you imagine anyone offering their love as a Christmas present? And they call
me a miser!
Look, the biggest mistake I can see was when a band decided to record a Christmas song when previously their main area of interest had been in advising people to see their baby jive. Should have stuck to those sort of songs, my friends. Now we’re condemned to listen to this idiotic drivel every single Christmas till we die. So thank Satan that it isn’t Christmas every day, because if it was I think I would just have to end it all. And take Smithers with me of course. Smithers? Why are you looking at me like that? No no no! When I die, you’ll be buried alive with me! What? I thought you said you couldn’t bear to be separated? Well, this way that will never happen. It’s my gift to you, on this festive season of giving.
Merry Christmas Smithers! Of course I'll come to see you in hospital, my faithful lackey!
(Hah! Not bloody likely! Now, want ads, want ads ... faithful lackey required, must be able to run faster than the Hounds....)