Okay, I’ll be the first to admit it.
I really need to stop looking through those catalogs piling up in my
apartment.
Because of all the snow yesterday I was stuck inside and, for some bizarre reason, spent a little while leafing through a few more of those catalogs I was talking about last week. And in one of them I cam across something that either delighted me to no end or blew
my mind. I can’t quite figure out which yet, although I am working
on figuring out which.
Now, those of you who know me really
well know that one of my little, uhm, peculiarities is that I make up
my own lyrics and own titles to existing songs, or just plain make up
my own songs. I hear some tunes so often that I just start to sing
my own versions for no particular reason, much to the eternal joy of
Loraine, who says that’s the reason she married me.
Well, it’s either the reason she
married me or the reason she constantly wants to slap some sense into
me. One of the two. And I‘ll figure THAT out once I figure out my
feeling about this catalog.
Anyway, the catalog belongs to
Collector's Choice Music,
a catalog and site where, in the past, I’ve purchased some
hard-to-find music. This particular edition of the catalog has a
holiday music section, and in that section I noticed a series of
Christmas albums from American Beat music. And when I saw the titles
of their versions of holiday classics, I knew that I had found out
someone much more talented and warped than I.
Because, you see, from albums with
titles like “Christmas at the Trailer Park, Y’all” and “If
Toothpaste Tasted Like Christmas Dinner”, you get songs like this--
“Rudy the Redneck Reindeer”,
“Frosty The Beer Mug”,
“We’re Having Roadkill For
Christmas Dinner”,
“We Wish You A Merry Mullet”
“All I Want For Christmas Is A New
Tattoo”
And, perhaps, my personal favorite,
“My Christmas Turkey Was Beef Jerky”.
Wow. After reading some of those song
titles, I just don’t know what to say. I feel like, all of a
sudden, the bar on absurdity has been raised so high that I have to
reconsider my place in the universe. I mean, I probably couldn’t
come up with song titles like that. Or, if I could, I probably
couldn’t put them in a blog that, on occasion, actually aspires to
good taste.
Artists of American Beat music, I stand
humbled before you. And I’m sure Loraine does, too. Either that,
or she’s really happy she’s not married to YOU.
One of the two.
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