Wrapping Up and Turning Off the Christmas Lights
That's right, kids. Another year's come and gone, and Mainlining Christmas is getting washed away like the batch of eggnog that went rancid before you got to it.
We had a lot of fun this year, though, didn't we? No. Not really. Mostly we just sat through an ass load of holiday specials that were, on average, even worse than the ones we sat through last Christmas. Sure, there were exceptions. The Kung Fu Panda Holiday Special, the Community Episodes, Futurama, Arthur Christmas... and so on and so forth. But, God, those didn't make up for the rest. If I never sit through another version of the Nutcracker, it'll be too damn soon. And you know what the difference is between a good version of A Christmas Carol and a bad one? NOTHING: there is no difference. THEY ARE ALL THE SAME.
We listened to more Christmas music than most people think exists. Hell, we're over 1200 tracks now, and still growing.
I forced more fiction down your throats. Or, I guess down your eyes. Maybe your eyeballs' throats? I don't know: there was fiction involved, and it was consumed. Metaphorically speaking.
But, most of all, we put Christ in Christmas. Then, just for kicks, we drugged him and stuck him in Chanukah and Kwanzaa, too. That was uncomfortable.
So, yeah. This is it. Time to say good-bye. We squeezed two years out of an awfully weak premise: that's more than most sitcoms can say. But now the joke's run its course, and we're done.
So, sayonara. Thanks for reading. Bye forever.
Although.
You know something? We never did get around to watching a single Barney Christmas special. Not one. Same with Veggie Tales. And that really bugs me. See, at the very beginning we said we'd tackle the absolute WORST of the holiday fare. And I don't know if we actually have.
And, sure, we've seen the first two installments of both the Home Alone and Santa Clause trilogies, but then we just stopped. Before part three. We never found out how it all ends. Plus we've only just scratched the surface of old movie musicals: I bet there are ones out there that could make the ones we sat through look good by comparison.
So, screw leaving them wanting more. Screw quitting while you're ahead. You know something? We're made of Christmas slush. And Christmas slush might get washed down into the sewers with the rest of the runoff, but that's not the end of the story. No, Christmas slush comes back. You know why? Because it's magic. It's a slurry more magical than a unicorn that's gone through a wood-chipper. It's pure, uncut Christmas magic.
And that kind of magic, it comes back every Christmas. So see you next year, kids. We'll be bigger and better than ever. We're going to be so festive, Santa's going to want to move his operation HERE. But we won't let him. You know why? Because of the goddamn elves. Filthy little bastards: spreading disease, not cleaning up after themselves... we don't want them here. It'll be just us. And maybe Jesus. And lots of booze.
Because the real meaning of Christmas is in here somewhere. And we won't rest until we've found it, mass produced it, and commercialized it.
Merry Christmas. See you next year.
We had a lot of fun this year, though, didn't we? No. Not really. Mostly we just sat through an ass load of holiday specials that were, on average, even worse than the ones we sat through last Christmas. Sure, there were exceptions. The Kung Fu Panda Holiday Special, the Community Episodes, Futurama, Arthur Christmas... and so on and so forth. But, God, those didn't make up for the rest. If I never sit through another version of the Nutcracker, it'll be too damn soon. And you know what the difference is between a good version of A Christmas Carol and a bad one? NOTHING: there is no difference. THEY ARE ALL THE SAME.
We listened to more Christmas music than most people think exists. Hell, we're over 1200 tracks now, and still growing.
I forced more fiction down your throats. Or, I guess down your eyes. Maybe your eyeballs' throats? I don't know: there was fiction involved, and it was consumed. Metaphorically speaking.
But, most of all, we put Christ in Christmas. Then, just for kicks, we drugged him and stuck him in Chanukah and Kwanzaa, too. That was uncomfortable.
So, yeah. This is it. Time to say good-bye. We squeezed two years out of an awfully weak premise: that's more than most sitcoms can say. But now the joke's run its course, and we're done.
So, sayonara. Thanks for reading. Bye forever.
Although.
You know something? We never did get around to watching a single Barney Christmas special. Not one. Same with Veggie Tales. And that really bugs me. See, at the very beginning we said we'd tackle the absolute WORST of the holiday fare. And I don't know if we actually have.
And, sure, we've seen the first two installments of both the Home Alone and Santa Clause trilogies, but then we just stopped. Before part three. We never found out how it all ends. Plus we've only just scratched the surface of old movie musicals: I bet there are ones out there that could make the ones we sat through look good by comparison.
So, screw leaving them wanting more. Screw quitting while you're ahead. You know something? We're made of Christmas slush. And Christmas slush might get washed down into the sewers with the rest of the runoff, but that's not the end of the story. No, Christmas slush comes back. You know why? Because it's magic. It's a slurry more magical than a unicorn that's gone through a wood-chipper. It's pure, uncut Christmas magic.
And that kind of magic, it comes back every Christmas. So see you next year, kids. We'll be bigger and better than ever. We're going to be so festive, Santa's going to want to move his operation HERE. But we won't let him. You know why? Because of the goddamn elves. Filthy little bastards: spreading disease, not cleaning up after themselves... we don't want them here. It'll be just us. And maybe Jesus. And lots of booze.
Because the real meaning of Christmas is in here somewhere. And we won't rest until we've found it, mass produced it, and commercialized it.
Merry Christmas. See you next year.
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