No Means No: The Newest Most-Disturbing Christmas Carol
Well, it happened. This morning, I finally heard that fury-spawning awfulness of a Christmas song. Thankfully I was not at the wheel but at my desk, so the most damage I could do was throw a few pens at my cubicle wall and gag a little.
However. I believe I have found an equally disturbing holiday song that – while it doesn’t come close to the moronic saccharine hack-job mess of those stupid fucking Christmas Shoes – has proven to be just as cringe-worthy in its own right: “Baby, It’s Cold Outside.”
I know – I KNOW! – it’s a classic, right? Sung by dozens of famous duets, including a really creepy version with Zooey Deschanel and LEON FUCKING REDBONE, my friends. Do you know what Leon Redbone looks like?
If Fidel Castro and Saddam Hussein had a baby, it would pretty much be Leon Redbone.
So, yeah, the Deschanel-Redbone version is pretty gross, considering the 3490875639465-year age difference between the two of them, and the fact that imagining Leon Redbone in any sort of romantic situation will cause your sexual organs to shrivel up like angry little raisins.
Which brings us to the crux of the problem: “Baby, It’s Cold Outside” is supposed to be a song about a romantic situation – a woman who is torn between venturing out in the snow and cold to go back home to her parents like the hypocritical little tease she is, or just staying in front of the fire with her boyfriend and putting out already. Simple enough. But…have you ever really listened to the lyrics?
Holy God, it’s a Christmas carol about date rape.
Seriously. She’s all “I have to go,” and he’s all, “yeah, sure, whatever – how do I get this damn bra off?” I think the line that really drives it home is when she says “Say – what’s in this drink?” NICE.
“Mr. Redbone, really, where are my car keysmmmmppph…”
I don’t know. Maybe I’m being overly sensitive, but when I hear this song, I just want the woman to GET UP AND LEAVE ALREADY. I mean, the guy is obviously a douchebag. Forever getting shit-faced and grabby, trying every pathetic line in the book to get in your pants, getting frustrated when you won’t comply and calling you a frigid bitch, then passing out face-down on his cell phone with his fly down. You know the type.
Call me a Scrooge, but Christmas carols that remind me of grope-happy frat guys or dying mothers in red pumps just don’t get me in the holiday mood. Is it so hard to write a damn song about snowflakes and sleigh rides? Is there not enough Jesus material in the Bible to work with? Can’t someone branch out into Hanukkah or Kwanzaa carols already? ANYTHING?
Oh well. I guess I’m just going to have to put up with it since I insist on listening to Christmas carols for a full four weeks. I just hope the music industry can deal with the fact that they have effectively destroyed my libido for the whole of December by allowing Leon Redbone to utter the words, “Your lips look delicious” on the airwaves.
Entry filed under: Gobble-gobble.