The Fifth Day of Christmas

Art in it’s highest form

On the fifth day of Christmas my true love gave to me, WHAM!’s “Last Christmas”. I say with utmost sincerity and vehemence, if you don’t like–no not like, but love–WHAM! “Last Christmas”, you can take your pinko commie gold-brickin’ fuckin’ ass to Canada, or Moscow, or wherever shitheel losers go because America don’t need ya no more. If you don’t click on the link and watch the YouTube, you are yellow, a traitor to your country, you have shit for taste and you might be a pedophile. Not like the respectable pedophile in the Santa hat above, but a scummy one. When Aaron Ridgely and George Michael sing about Christmas love from a ch√Ęteau in the Alps, I fucking listen. This is the awesomest Christmas song ever and I will fight any two-bit desert dwelling terrorist who disagrees. This is when men were men and men sang Christmas songs with true meaning while rocking dominant hair.

“Last Christmas I gave you my heart. But the very next day, you gave it away.”

The fucking raw emotional power is more than I can bear. I want to cry, I wan to run, I want to brutalize a vagrant, I want to find true love. I want it all man. I want George Michael’s hair. Sometimes a song just charges through the gates of your heart, rapes your women, murders your servants, and makes you do it’s bidding for the rest of your days. Goddamnit this is that song. If you listen to this musical tour de force and do not want to immediately start making love to something next to a roaring fire on a bear skin rug while snow falls heavily from a leaden December sky, then you are dead and fucking gone my friend. No hope left for you.

“This year, to save me from tears….I give it to someone special”

You black-hearted bitch! Who are you to deny the Christmas advances of either of these minstrels? Have you ever listened to Faith? Well, have you? This song is not about Christmas; it is Christmas. I don’t understand why 93.9 FM bothers to play any other songs, what’s the point? I just snorted 5 lines of peppermint bark, smoked a mistletoe joint, pounded two egg nogs, and turned “Last Christmas” up to 11 man! I want to go outside and start screaming this shit in someone’s face. Maybe tackle some neighborhood kids in the snow and put them in a choke hold until they can recite the whole fucking thing!

“Once bitten and twice shy. I keep my distance but you still catch my eye. Tell me baby, do you recognize me?”

Are your clothes still on? Mine sure as shit are NOT. If Eros and Cupid banged out and had a kid, and that kid ate an entire book of love poems and another of Christmas stories, then took a huge dump, that dump would be this song. No doubt in my fucking mind. If you close your eyes during “Last Christmas” and inhale deeply three times, you will actually smell ski chalet pine bunk-bed sex. Go ahead, try, we’ll wait……

“A crowded room, friends with tired eyes. I’m hiding from you, and your soul of ice. My God I thought you were someone to rely on. Me? I guess I was a shoulder to cry on.”

I’m crying AND horny. When she locks eyes in the video with George Michael across the crowded ski chalet dinner table, my pants melt into a pool of corduroy at my feet. George doesn’t have a passionate look in his eyes; his steely gaze IS passion. Talk about a face that could launch a thousand ships…..Helen ain’t got shit on George Michael. When he chases her down in the snow wearing a full-length deer skin coat you know you are watching one of the world’s most deadly predators. Pussy stands no chance against George the lion and his beautifully coiffed mane.

There may be other Christmas carols and songs but they are child’s play compared to this. If Shakespeare himself were alive today and heard “Last Christmas” the old bard would be forced to light fire to his own catalog and start anew. The damnable thing about this song is that once December 25th ends, so to does the airplay. I could of course listen to it four seasons but to do so would lessen the impact come the day after Thanksgiving. Sometimes in life we must deny ourselves that which makes us happiest so as to better appreciate it at the appropriate time. Sadly “Last Christmas” is exactly this type of experience. Until December 26th rears its ugly head I will be guns blazing full volume WHAM! and fuck the world if they don’t like it.

“A face on a lover with a fire in his heart (I gave you my heart). A man under cover but you tore him apart. Maybe next year I’ll give it to someone, I’ll give it to someone special. Special…..Someone.”

Mutherfucker. I’m but a man cast about in a small raft upon a roiling sea of Christmas and love. Merry Christmas everyone, I’m too torn apart to go on…….The music is the perfect backdrop to consider other days of Christmas:

A Disney movie full of princesses
A simultaneously puking yet wild-as-shit toddler

A two-day hangover at age 35 and an
Arctic blast right up the ass

About Zach

Male homo sapien. Warrior poet. I live in Chicago with one wife, one offspring, and Scout the dog. I enjoy various stuff. Besides skinny skiing and going to bullfights on acid, I also enjoy running, reading, drinking, eating and procrastinating on many things, such as starting this blog. I have a mom, a dad, and a younger brother who recently produced a sister-in-law. I'm the only person in my family, sister-in-law included, who doesn't have a post-graduate degree. I guess that makes me special. I grew up in a small to medium sized town in the middle of Ohio. In fact the even smaller town next door has a sign which reads "The Geographic Center of Ohio". Given this is what they choose to boast you can only imagine how exciting that town is. My town is infinitely cooler. For example on weekend nights people from my town and the surrounding villages and hamlets converge on the public square to "cruise" in their souped-up mini trucks, some bearing Confederate flags, despite growing up and living rather safely north of the Mason-Dixon line. This is high-minded stuff we're talking about here. I graduated sometime during the Clinton presidency from the local high school where I played football and participated in absolutely nothing else. This strategy paid huge dividends when I applied to numerous colleges on the eastern seaboard which were highly selective. When you show up to the admissions table with "HIgh School Football and Nothing Else" on your application, you get respect. After graduating from Ohio University with a degree in Economics that I've used for absolutely nothing, I moved to Boston. Boston is a lovely city. I was doing things I'm not proud of for beer money and I left after 16 months. My next move was to Chicago and 10+ years later there I still reside. I write this blog for therapeutic reasons. Much like some people paint to relax or smoke crack to unwind after a stressful day, I record my thoughts on Al Gore's World Wide Web for 9 friends, 4 family members, 1 person who accidentally clicked through after an unsuccessful Google search for something else, and a guy named Patriot1 who lives in a silver Air Stream in the Nevada desert and broadcasts his own radio show. Is there a point to all of this? I doubt it. Years ago and in a galaxy far, far away (College Park, Maryland, then Athens, Ohio) I was toying with the idea of being a journalism major. I enjoyed writing so it seemed the obvious fit. Then I attended career day and learned that journalism majors could look forward to a salary of $EA,TSH.IT per year with the promise of a fatal heart attack at 47 years of age. I'm not falling for that trick, I told them (them being no one, and told being saying it in my own mind in the shower). Approximately 15 years later here I sit declared the big winner in that battle: I never made any money doing anything else and now I'm writing entirely for free. So suck balls, journalism career day. The views expressed in this website are mine and mine entirely. I don't wish to be an even bigger black eye to my family than I probably already am. As a result of this I will never be able to run for public office and I accept that reality. But this website is a very dignified, well-dressed skeleton full of witty retorts and honorable deeds compared to the disheveled, stenching, staggering and loud skeletons who would come marching out of the closet to White Zombie's "Thunderkiss '65" if they ever unearthed the college years. So enjoy your train ride, your hangover day at work, your AA meeting or your dump. I'm here to serve.
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