Christmas is the Time to Say I Love You
The year is 1981 and Billy Squier has had exactly two Billboard hits, and only one has survived into the twentieth-century: “The Stroke.” Which, while an absolute banger, includes lines like ‘keep your contributions by your side,’ and ‘work your way right into my face.’ Like, it’s not about that…but it’s totally about that.
Oh, I guess “Lonely is the Night” didn’t get released as a single but ended up blowing up on the radio anyway? Which is completely deserved because “Lonely is the Night” is easily his best song and it’s not even close.
Anyway, someone looked at “The Stroke” and this fucking guy with this fucking hair, and went, “yeah, that dude should totally write a Christmas song.”
Look, okay, it was the beginning of the ‘80s. An entire generation of people had climbed out of the ‘70s and decided that they were going to be extra about literally every little thing. Like, there was no such thing as ‘a little bit’ for an entire fucking decade. Synthesizers are new? Better put, like, seven different ones in every single song. Muted colors? Fuck you, I want to be seen from space. Ronald Reagan is the greatest American president ever and definitely isn’t already implementing a bunch of fucked up policies that will increase the distance between the rich and the poor and destroy the very concept of the middle class as we know it, while at the same time ignoring the AIDS crisis because if he keeps ignoring it more people he hates dies. I want my MTV!
Honest to God I’m actually shocked humanity didn’t blow itself up in the eighties and I’m not surprised that a lot of the currently terrible things can be traced directly back to this fucking decade.
So anyway, someone had the great idea that this guy:
Should do a Christmas song and he did, releasing it as a B side to a song called “My Kinda Lover” because of fucking course, and the only surprise in any of this is that the Christmas song he made is sort wholesome, and it fucking slaps.
Also, friendly reminder that a lot of the nerds in this video were considered, at the time, to be the coolest fucking people on the planet.
Santa Baby
Okay, here’s my deal with this song: if you’re going to write an entire fucking song about how you’re willing to trade sexual favors in exchange for expensive gifts from Santa! Of all fucking people! Lady, you do understand that giving shit away for free is, like, Santa’s whole bag right? He’s also happily married. He’ll just give you a Tiffany watch if that’s what you want, you don’t have to promise to give him a handy in the back of his sleigh. I’m not kink shaming, I just need you to admit that you have a Santa fetish and you would be getting way more out of this deal than old Mr. K.
If you’re going to sing that song, I need you to sing it like you’re a fully grown-up woman making consensual decisions, okay? I need you to be proud of the freak that you are. I absolutely hate the versions of this song where they sing it like some Born Sexy Yesterday Bettie Boop character. This song is not creepy until you make yourself sound like a child singing it.
In conclusion, Eartha Kitt’s version is the only valid one. This woman is willing and ready to do some disgusting things for a yacht, and not only is she not hiding behind a veneer of innocence to hide that fact, she’s honestly looking forward to the disgusting stuff way more than the boat.
The No Homo Version of “Santa Baby” by Michael Buble
This feels like a hate crime.
Christmas Island
I love how writers will-
No, wait, go back.
The No Homo Version of “Santa Baby” by Michael Buble
Is it a No-Homo? Because, yeah, he’s constantly calling Santa “Buddy” or “Pally” or “Dude,” and he begs Santa to think of all the ‘hotties’ he’s deprived of his attention all year, he’s obviously trying to form some sort of emotional and physical distance between Santa…
But he also refers to himself as a “sweetie,” and then he calls Santa “Papi?” And the undertones. He does nothing to speed up the tempo or make the whole transaction sound even remotely innocent. He’s crooning these words out with almost as much sexual tension as Eartha Kitt in her version.
So, what the fuck Michael? Do you want Santa’s D or not?
Is…is this queerbaiting?
I’m so confused. Almost as confused as Michael, apparently.
Anyway.
Christmas Island
I love how writers will absolutely obsess about placenames in their worldbuilding, breaking their backs in mental gymnastics to name every single continent, country, and village in their world something that sounds appropriate and also has hidden meaning. Meanwhile this rock in the Indian Ocean is so name because white people found it Christmas Day.
Human beings are so, so lazy, writers, you can absolutely have a world with, like, fifteen different places named ‘Queensland.’
The song came about in the forties right around the time America went insane for Tiki and Pacific Island culture. But not real Pacific Island culture. Just whatever they wanted it to be. So, hula in grass skirts, colorful rum drinks, and ukulele but also a lot of steel guitar? And definitely, absolutely, no doubt about it, reverence for the same Christian holidays.
Anyway, if you really want to spend time on Christmas Island I hope you fucking love crabs. Every year millions of large red crabs decide the forest fucking sucks and makes tracks for the ocean. All at the same time.
It usually happens in October but can happen as late as December, so Christmas on Christmas Island is less waiting for Santa to show up with new stuff and more watching the crabs take away all your current stuff. You weren’t using it anyway.
Dominic The Donkey
Some of you didn’t grow up in an Italian-American household and it fucking shows.
I swear to fucking God Italians have spent the last hundred years hate criming themselves.
Also the line “Because the reindeer they cannot climb the hills of Italy,” like…??? What the fuck are you talking about Lou? Reindeer fucking fly.
High Urban Fantasy Jazz 