Wonkette
Finally. The children are nestled in stockings or whatever, asleep, and Christmas 2008 is over, and hopefully it was all right — jesus fucking christ and hopefully it did not go as horrifically wrong as this, or this, and what were we talking about again? Where is the bottle, of whisky? Let’s have a nice song from Mr. Tom Waits, about Minneapolis and hookers and Silent Night. We’ll see you later on Friday, and Truck Nutz 4 All.
I’m pretty sure Wonkette has no other reason to exist than to push Tom Waits and Peter Murphey’s Christmas duet: http://audio.isg.si/audiox/?q=node/7739.
A little heroin, a little silent night. All is calm…..
Got these diamonds on my windshield –
Tears from heaven.
Late night freeway driving
Always makes me sad.
As a student at the University of Wisconsin in the late 70s, I experienced the best three consecutive nights of live music in my life at a bar called The Church Key, to wit:
Night 1 : Leon Redbone
Night 2 : Bonnie Raitt (she drank an entire fifth of Jack Daniels over the course of her performance)
Night 3 : Tom Waits
Good times.
The Pogues and Tom Waits for Christmas! Somebody musta had too much Bong Crosby.
I’m increasingly convinced not to trust anyone ‘nice’, it seems if you are a bitterz and a meanie you are less likely to go postal –
“Bruce?” said an incredulous Jan Detanna, the head usher at the church, when told about the attack by a reporter on the phone. “I’m just — this is shocking. He was the nicest guy you could imagine. Always a pleasure to talk to, always a big smile.”
FORGET the Pogues and Tom Waits. The most horrifyingly REAL Christmas song
- er, dirge ever recorded was cut by those way-cool LA ska/punk misfits
in FISHBONE around 1987. You see, I have dreaded the last two weeks of December since
I was around two or three. My abusive, alcoholic, career military old man only got truly
falling-down shit-faced on just two days of the year- and guess which two they were?
Misty, happy childhood holiday memories? I don’t have any. And I’m guessing neither did the
guy who wrote “SLICK NICK (YOU DEVIL YOU)”. It could have been written yesterday
in West Covina:
Slick Nick stole his reindeer from the zoo
‘an fell down my chimney with a keg of brew
Put my dog out in the cold
Ripped off the candy from my socks
Smokin’ cloves and drinkin’ scotch
Slick Nick, you devil you
(devil you, devil you)
Slick Nick you devil you
(devil you, devil you)
Dressed in red and overweight to boot
Stole the tv and the stereo
And the toys
My toys were broken too
You devil you
Slick Nick, you devil you
I saw Slick Nick fall over our Christmas tree
He was a whole different man from
What Mom and Dad told me
Spillin’ Jack Daniels all over the drapes
Spray-painted a bad finger over our fireplace
Tattoos on his arms and knees
I never thought Santa Claus would be such a sleaze! but…
Slick Nick you devil you…
Cussin’ and coppin’ and playin’ punk-rock
And every once in a while you’d just scratch your jock
Hey! Slick Nick, where are my toys?
While you went out drinking with the boys?
You put Mad Dog in my sock
I wanted candy.
I wanted candy!
I wanted candy!
Oh, I thought you were my buddy and chum
But you’re just nothin’ but a downtown bum
Instead of putting presents in front of my eyes
You just told me a bunch of - lies…
Slick Nick, you devil you…
Santa Claus…huh !
Only John Waters could make Wonkette’s Very Special (??) Christmas Edition any better. Please tell me he’s got a video.
…
My Xmas is now complete:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FHHeGcD6o_E
It’s official: MSNBC.com has hereby made the Wonkette Late-Night Bitterz Christmas complete.
This just in: Suspect ID’d in Psycho Santa Christmas Party Murders
His eyes - how they burned! His dimples - how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
A hateful hot grimace drawn up like a bow,
Whilst the fist ’round his Uzi was as white as the snow;
Its spare magazine he held tight in his teeth,
Gunsmoke encircled his head like a wreath.
Now that’s what I call a “Visit from St. Nicolas.”
This is now officially my favorite version of “Silent Night.” Indeed, I have a feeling that the Tom Waites version is probably my favorite version of every Christmas song ever written (With the possible exception of The Kinks’ “Father Christmas”).
Allright, since Ken has so kindly ruined my boxing day already at 6:63 am by liking to that godawful story about a feller who forgot to put the Christ back in CHRISTmas by donning a Santa suit and killing his entire family, let me take this opportunity to make a serious point:
A couple of years ago a Moslem immigrant to Canada decided to murder his daughter because she ignored his prohibitions against dressing like a whore (read: ordinary Canadian teen) and dating. For the next few days, the newspapers were bursting with this story and going on and on about how this incident proved that Islam was rife with barbaric outmoded views of the role of women in society, and basically all the commentators splooged their ink all over their notebooks in self-righteous, masturbatory, self-congratulation about how much more civilized the West (i.e. Christendom) is than the barbaric, Islamic near-east. So I decided to run a few web searches, and guess what I found? Something quite (un)remarkable: men of all backgrounds sorta have this annoying tendency to off their wives and kids. There are even websites devoted to documenting the incidence of fathers who kill their children. Indeed, from reading these sites, you get the idea that dads off their kids just a bit less frequently than they scratch their nuts. It’s kinda like: do I have sausage with my eggs or bacon? But instead they go around asking themselves: do I off my ex-wife and kids or do I let them live? See, it’s not really an issue of religion. Religion sometimes serves as the excuse, but you know these fanatics would eventually end up doing their kids regardless. It’s an issue of control and power. There exists a certain population of men who don’t deal very well with the loss of their favorite punching bag when said punching bag gets fed up and finally files for divorce. And so these guys just lose it and react in the only way they know how: they off their family, because “If I can’t have them, then no one will.” End of story.
Sorry for the rant, but Goddamit, Ken, you started it.
Anyway, for the requisite lest-I-be-banned Wonkette snark, I present this quote from the above liked story:
“Bong Garcia, Pardo’s next-door neighbor, said he last saw Pardo between 9 and 10 p.m. Christmas Eve. Pardo, who was dressed in regular clothes, said he was on his way to a party.”
Good fucking God, Jerry. Do you really think this was the appropriate time to give a reporter who interviews you a ridiculous bullshit made-up name just to see if the papers will print it? I mean: “Bong?” Are you fucking serious? Why not just yourself “Heywood Jablomie.”
I wonder if anyone ever put on a crown of thorns before opening fire.
It was thought to be the worst single killing spree in the county this year.
America. Love it or leave it!
This Santa came packing a flamethrower:
“Amid the chaos, he doused the house with a flammable liquid contained in the package — a pressurized fuel tank, about 2 1/2 feet tall.”
“Pardo had fashioned a sort of home-made flame thrower to set the house on fire.”
Serolf Divad: Totally unimportant, but Bong probably is her(?) real name- my guess is that she’s Hmong. Hmong names, for some reason, frequently translate into hilariously inappropriate English words. Poon is one that I have encountered.
Thank you Wonkette! Nothing makes me bubble over with the spirit of Christmas like Tom Waits singing about hookers.