Christmas song lyrics

This week's inductee into the "Overrated Hall of Fame" is ... Christmas song lyrics.

I'm no Scrooge, but many Christmas songs are downright stupid if you actually listen to the words. They don't give me the warm fuzzies. They give me the "What the fucks?"

Take "Little Drummer Boy." A poor carpenter is already dealing with a wife who got knocked up by another man. They've just birthed their first baby in a dirty barn and are contending with the bewildering presence of three creepy rich guys bringing expensive but basically useless gifts. ("Hey Balthasar, how about you scrap the myrrh shit and bring us something a little more useful, like, ohhh ... some MILK.") And now, just when the baby finally calms down, some ragamuffin little shit comes round banging on his goddamn drum. That's not charming, that's infuriating. But maybe I just never heard the last verse, the one in which Joseph throws a sandal at the pint-sized disturber of the peace and tells him to get the hell away from the goddamn barn.

Next we have the super sugary "I Saw Mommie Kissing Santa Claus." I find nothing quaint in a little kid being traumatized by the jarring image of seeing his slut of a mom lip-locked with an old fat guy in a hideous red suit in the middle of the night. If this song is "sweet," then maybe someone should pen a heartwarming sequel called, "I Saw Mommie Spread Eagle on the Couch while a Panting Santa Piledrived Ball Deep into Her Creamy Nether Regions." Yeah, that would make for a nice musical accompaniment to any Christmas breakfast.

"Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer" is another Christmas classic that sends a dubious message. Dickhead Santa lets the poor birth defected Rudolph suffer all sorts of verbal abuse at the hands of the other scumbag reindeer. The poor sap can't even join in on whatever stupid reindeer games they're playing. But the minute that fat bastard Santa needs Rudolph's services, he turns warm and friendly and sucks up to the red-nosed pussy. If the North Pole had better labor lawyers, Rudolph could have owned not only Santa's castle but his whole damn franchise. Then we'd have a song called, "I Saw Mommie Getting Bent Over the Couch by A Rutting Reindeer."

How does anyone not gag every time they hear "It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year"? Um, this most wonderful time of the year ... would that be December, the once-a-year miasma of crowded stores, stifling traffic, family tension, alcohol abuse, weight gain, growing debt, and the annual realization that one's life is basically a perfect storm of unrealized dreams and crushing emptiness? Why, yes it is. Wonderful indeed!

But the absolute worst Christmas song ever recorded is a recent country tune that should serve as an idiot litmus test. If you are moved by this song in any way, you are a fucking idiot. This song is "Christmas Shoes."

If you've never heard it, here's the song in a nutshell. A little boy is trying to buy a nice pair of shoes for his soon-to-be-dead mom. He lacks the proper funds. The narrator pays the difference, and the kid gets to give his mom the shoes. Let me break down some of the most absurd Christmas lyrics ever.

The boy is described thusly: "His clothes were worn and old. He was dirty from head to toe."

If this is supposed to make me like the little bastard, it doesn't. I just see evidence of shitty parenting. Kids' clothes can be bought on the cheap as long as you don't feel the need to dress your child as a human billboard with Nike swooshes and Oshkosh labels. Take him to the local Wal-mart, buy him some generic clothes and make him take a bath. Or hell, if you can't even afford Wal-mart clothes, spring for a bottle of Cheer and do a wash before you let your filthy kid out of the house.

But this kid has no business even being out of the house. The reason the kid is so intent on buying these pretty shoes is because his mom is about to check out of Earth Central. He tells the clerk to hurry because "Daddy says there's not much time. You see, she's been sick for quite a while." (Gee, I don't know about you, but nothing puts me in the Christmas spirit more than the image of a frail, struggling-for-breath young mother about to die on Christmas Eve. Pass the eggnog!) Again, this is another reason why the song should be called "Slipshod Parenting." The kid's mom is going to die any minute, and her son is shopping? Not only that, but shopping for the most impractical gift he could buy - clothes for his mom. I think the money might be better spent on a new black tie for dad, if you catch my drift.

The kid also tells the clerk that "I know these shoes will make her smile." What kind of shallow bitch must this woman be? She's at death's door and she's still hot for some sexy new shoes?

Maybe she has a point though. The kid says, "I want her to look beautiful if Momma meets Jesus tonight." I guess we're left to believe that heaven isn't that much different from earth. If you dress for success, you'll gain all kinds of advantages. So much for all that "the meek and poor" shit in the Bible. Sounds to me like Jesus is a playa, and if a woman shows up sporting sexy bare toe in some hot fuck-me pumps, Jesus will slip her in the side door and escort her right to the VIP room.

Once the underfunded kid finds out he doesn't have the scratch to afford the shoes, he tries to manipulate the clerk with a plaintive "What am I gonna do?" This is an opportunity for the clerk to lecture the kid on the truly important things in life, such as, ohhh ... being with your mom during her final hours or believing that any savior worth a good squirt of piss wouldn't care about your attire when you show up the final destination and how you just can't have things that you can't fucking afford.

Near the end of the song, the narrator claims that God sent the little boy to remind him of "what Christmas is all about." So this guy believes in a god that would kill a woman and send her dirty, poor little kid out to buy shoes he can't afford just to teach a grown man the true meaning of Christmas, which apparently is gross consumerism and the incurable shallowness of most people.

Hey, I feel for the little dude. I'm sure the poor kid will need years of therapy to help him deal with his mom's Christmas death. But his Christmas trauma could have been even worse, and this, too, would have no doubt been turned into another yuletide ditty: "I Saw Daddy Kissing Santa Claus."

Ned Bitters is, in fact, overrated. You can contact him at teacherslounge@hobotrashcan.com.