‘Tis The Season. Well, ‘Tis, Isn’t Tit?

That’s an offensive title. It’s a warning. My old brain is rotting. Sense of humor… warped. I don’t mean to be offensive, really I don’t, and tits are not visible this time of year or on my list of current preoccupations. No, really.

And not to rag on my own roots, but why are we still singing songs with Olde English words in them? Nobody says “’tis” anyway, or if they do, there’s medicines. And wait. What the fuck, man?

I found the full lyrics here. If you wanna sing this song, do so at your own risk.

Deck the halls with boughs of holly, Fa la la la la la la la! (what the fuck is a bough, anyway? It reminds me of the Rock-a-by-baby song mothers used to sing to their kids to make em sleep, which of course it didn’t do because now the poor kid is scared of falling from some fuckin thing, it doesn’t matter what. This of course was terrorism and child abuse but maybe that’s why yuppies stopped that dumb shit and made their kids watch Thirtysomething to fall asleep. Which of course was nihilism)

‘Tis the season to be jolly, Fa la la la la la la la! (Really? We have more poor in the streets including children, more people sick, more people armed to the teeth or dentures, more crime and more incarceration than Ebenezer Scrooge could have dreamed about if he did have food poisoning and was shroomed out of his mind. So jolly, I’ll skip. Even on increased medication, I can’t manage jolly.)

Don we now our gay apparel, (If you sing this in certain places, people may think you’re a drag queen. Or a fetishist. That’s cool. But in other places, like where people still wear Stetson hats and cologne, you’d best skip this lyric. Elsewise, partner, ya might just get introduced to something we know as a Henry Rifle) Fa la la la la la la la!

Troll the ancient Yuletide carol (Hold up! Wait a fucking minute! We know what trolls are, and they ain’t in no Harry Potter movie. Why glorify trolls when they make life so miserable, and what the fuck is a yuletide, anyway? Is that like some freak rip tide in the Thames after everyone has finished eating roasted geese, blood pudding and mulled cider, and are taking turns in the loo? Stop it, stop I say!), Fa la la la la la la la!

See the blazing yule before us (I’m not sure here. Did the Thames ever catch fire?), Fa la la la la la la

Strike the harp and join the chorus (Yeah. I don’t know about this one, either. Harps are very expensive, costing more to insure than the average Joe or Jane’s life insurance policy, so why hit one? You’ll be sued!) Fa la la la la la la la!

Follow me in merry measure (Oh come on now! What the fuck does this mean?) Fa la la la la la la la!

While I tell of Yuletide treasure (Again, I think this refers to some freaky aquatic event that follows Christmas dinner and I’m suspicious as to what treasure you can find in all that shit) Fa la la la la la la la!

Fast away the old year passes (Well now it does with about a week left, duh), Fa la la la la la la la!

Hail the new, ye lads and lasses (You know what? Fuck this), Fa la la la la la la la!

Sing we joyous all together (sure, I hear them. In tents that are going to be trashed by coppers, under bridges and hunched in doorways. They’re sure fucking letting you hear all about their joy as junior opens his new iPhone and daughter Missy is angry and pouting that she got a Dell when she told you a million times that she wanted an iPad. You hear the inmates? The homeless veterans? Don’t strain your ears)! Fa la la la la la la la!

Heedless of the wind and weather (Fuck anyone who sings this inside their warm home or while caroling after which there will be hot cocoa), Fa la la la la la la la!

I’m being harsh. Sarcastic. But I know how life is. It ain’t fair, and sometimes, or mostly, more unfair to more people than not. I don’t like it. There are Christmas songs I like, but I never could hear them and not think of those who will spend the holidays cold, hungry, withdrawing from a substance, or jailed for a joint or dime bag because of their color, or those in the hospitals or nursing homes who remember Christmas days long ago and how family always came to visit for a sumptuous meal and gifts, but will be alone and suffering this holiday because hey, who needs them now?

I’m not going to be unhappy for myself. Personally I’m at peace. But they weigh heavily on my every thought and I can’t help any of them. Neither can you. You can sing if you like. Knowing we just can’t fix the world no matter how we wish to.

But can we at least fix fucked-up songs like this one?

Because damn it, it doesn’t make sense!