If I Can Be Serious for a Minute...
Your stomach turns upside down and you get so antsy, you wear a hole in the carpet while looking for a protective rock to hide under? Well, it happens to me pretty much once a year. I know it is coming, but I don’t know when exactly…until it is too late. Then, my eyes lock on it. It senses me. And I run wildly through the darkness seeking a safe haven. It catches my scent and chases after me. My heart races. I know what it is. I know it will find me. Or, worse, I will find it. Blindly, I run into an opaque alleyway, clutching randomly at trash cans, cardboard boxes, anything I can find to hide behind. Then, like a hellhound on my trail, it stalks me slowly. I can see its eyes. I can see the foam dripping from its waiting fangs. I can smell the death it ruthlessly levies. I am consumed by this paralyzing anxiety as I slip down into nothingness. It has entrapped me since I was a child and continues to do so to this day. I am forced to face the thing I have been petrified of beyond comprehension for most of my life. I would be calmer in the face of the Devil incarnate that I am when I am forced to look…at…THIS!!!
Now, I could give a rat’s ass that he turns out to be a warm, cuddly albino teddy bear once that cranky little Hermie yanks out the thing’s bum tooth. The thing is called, in legend, the Abominable Snowman. “Abominable”, as in, "detestable", "loathsome". It’s not the Kind-of-a-Little-Pissy-When-He’s-Suffering-From-The-Cavity-Creeps-But-Simply-A-Doll-Once-His-Dental-Hygiene-Is-Taken-Care-Of Snowman. Abominable. This thing rips limbs from bodies, flesh from bones. It has an insatiable bloodlust that can only be satisfied by tearing apart backpackers in the isolated, snowy woods of my backyard. I don’t think the Nepalese ever saw this thing get all googly-eyed and then put a star on top of a pine tree. Unless it was accompanied with the endoskeleton of some dude in a parka and snow shoes. And his googly-eyed son of a bitch has scared the ever living hell out of me ever since I was in Garanimals.
I put on the TV tonight and it was there. I cowered in a fetal position, fully dressed, in my bathtub, not unlike Diane Court’s father in Say Anything…when they figured out he was ripping off all the old people.
So, to take my mind off of this hideous creature, I decided to play both Siskel and Ebert to some classic Christmas specials. Sit back and enjoy. Unlike me...who is scarred for life.
Rudolph, the Red-Nosed Reindeer - This one sucks and you have to believe me that it is not just because of that terrifying brute that scares me to near-incontinence. I said NEAR-incontinence. Let’s look at this one a little closer. First, there’s some weird talking snowman that’s supposed to be Burl Ives. I don’t remember Burl Ives looking like Charlie Chan. Ah so. To boot, this one really provides a great lesson for all the kids out there…bitch and whine all you want, preferably in an annoyingly nasal voice of undetermined gender, about your lot in life (after trying to deceive everyone) and then get your dream job handed to you on a flourescent red platter. Who does this reindeer think he is? Terrell Owens? The only worse lesson in this crappy special is the idea that elves can be dentists. Give me a break. And what’s with this Island of Misfit Toys? I’ve seen the real-life equivalent of these things…they’re called carnies. Final grade: F-minus.
Frosty the Snowman - Sucked. First of all, it masquerades as a Christmas special even though the only thing it has in common with Christmas is that they both take place in the winter. Good job, guys! You nailed the season! Only had a 25% chance of doing that. Second, Jimmy Durante flying around telling the story of some snowman trying to keep from melting? JIMMY DURANTE?!?! Methinks it is time to update some of these specials. How about Tony Montana narrates "Frosty the Abominable Snowman", where, instead of a button nose and two eyes made out of coal, it is the actual proboscis and torn out retinas, corneas, and irises of poor climbers of whatever mountain the horrid beast currently haunts? And instead of keeping it from melting, they are desperately trying to rid the world from this scourge, this menace, this thing that makes me nervous. "Say ‘ello to my li’l flamethrower, snow person!" I have issues. Oh yeah. Final grade for Frosty: F. As in, F-off.
Fat Albert Christmas Special - Loved it. One word: Mushmouth. Four more words for you: Mebby Chribsmabs Fabt Alberbt! Final grade for Fat Albert: I’ve love to give it a "Hey hey hey!", but will have to settle for a Beeebee Plubs.
Dr. Seuss’ How the Grinch Stole Christmas! - Call me cliché, but it still kicks ass. Best. Casting. Ever. Boris rules. Oh and yes, I like Nirvana’s "Nevermind" too. So piss off. Final grade: A friggin plus.
A Charlie Brown Christmas - Despite the facts that the title character is an unpleasant, moaning pain in the ass, I get an ice cream headache trying to figure out what team Peppermint Patty is on, and if Snoopy is a beagle, then I am an Affenpinscher, this is another classic. Linus’ soliloquy about the meaning of Christmas is on par with Samuel L. Jackson’s diatribes in Pulp Fiction (but with slightly more heart) and the show also features a shamefully underutilized insult: “blockhead”. Charlie’s final grade: A-. Or as Woodstock would say: "'''""''""''. And I’m just waiting for that blockhead to start crying about not getting as good a grade as The Grinch. Save it, Big Head with One Squiggle Hair Boy.
Mr. Magoo’s Christmas Carol - Charles Dickens and Thurston Howell III go together like Simon and Simon. I dig it. Final grade: B+.
The Year Without a Santa Claus - First of all, what's with this "a" business? "A" Santa Claus? I was under the impression that there is only ONE Santa Claus when you don't count those winos that work at the mall. Well, most of this one sucks. Is this the one with Kris Kringle, bearer of the most ridiculously thick animated red beard in history? And then like a week goes by and he’s assumed his alter ego, lost most of his hair, the rest of which turned white, and packed on a couple of hundred? Yeah, most of this one sucks. The only good things about this one: Heat Miser and Snow Miser. They're rocking. And whacked out flap-door animated mouths rule too. Final Grade: The Year Without Santa Claus: C. The Year Without Santa Claus Without Heat Miser and Snow Miser: F-plus.
Santa Claus Is Comin’ To Town - Wait. Maybe this is the one with Kris Kringle, bearer of the most ridiculously thick animated red beard in history. And then like a week goes by and he’s assumed his alter ego, lost most of his hair, the rest of which turned white, and packed on a couple of hundred. First of all, Dim don't do needless apostrophes in titles. Steee-rike one. And what in the name of the Magi is Fred Astaire doing narrating this? FRED ASTAIRE?! We need to update this bad-boy. Get me John O’Hurley from Dancing with the Stars stat. The only thing this special has worth its weight in coal is Burgermeister Meisterburger. The best Christmas special bad guy after the Grinch, of course, and he who shall not be named…Final grade: C-minus.
‘Twas the Night Before Christmas - The apostrophe here is OK, since it is in title of the Clement Moore poem of the same name. This is the same Moore who rolls around like a tumbleweed inside his coffin every year when this dreck is shown. When I think of a great holiday combo, I think of candy canes and sugar plums (whatever the hell they are). I don’t think of creepy animation and a talking rat. Final grade: F.
Little Drummer Boy - Funny, the one Christmas special that actually kinda deals with the events around Christmas and why we celebrate is also one of the ones that sucks an amazing amount of ox and ass. Don’t you get me wrong (don’t you get me wrong) <=subtle lyrical nod to my cyberpals Rust and JG and a movie they like, the whole Jesus being born thing is a great story. Dare I say, the Greatest Story Ever Told? Mmm? But the drummer boy really takes the pipe. Great, you can’t afford gold (understandable), frankincense (OK, maybe it was expensive back then), or myrrh (no one even knows what the hell that is, so you could pass ANYTHING off as myrrh!), so what else could a newborn baby use? A friggin drum serenade. Great job, Tommy Lee. Why don’t you just try to rock him to sleep in a jet propulsion laboratory while you are at it. The story behind TLDB: A++++ (Dim’s not down with eternal damnation, thank you very much). TLDB himself? He can kiss my pa-rump-pa-pum-pum. F-minus.
Oh, by the way, I just looooove being suffocated with these Christmas specials as early as November 25. Thanks network TV!
And don't you dare even get me started on Baby New Year...
Sleeping with the lights on,