When you're one half of a couple, you don't take as much notice to the rest of the pairings you're amid. However, when you find yourself single, alone, the one and only, it seems you can't go anywhere without seeing two people holding hands, or, in the worst case scenario, sucking face.
And as if its not bad enough seeing those things every time you go out in public, due to the insane Christmas libido that is heightened with the sound of jingle bells and the presence of Satan's---er Santa's---sleigh, you have Christmas carols and Hallmark cards to constantly remind you, not praise you, but to remind you, that you are--shudders-- alone.
Take that worn-out, tedious ol' tune The 12 Days of Christmas, for example. All the even numbers, 2,4,6,8,10,12, it can be inferred, are matched up, together. The turtle doves are shmoozing under the mistletoe (and I heard the female turtle dove is a mistleho, if you know what I mean,) the four calling birds are all calling each other, conveniently, I imagine, if they are "in" (cellularly speaking, of course,) the six geese-a-laying are, a-laying all over the place with their significant other, the eight maids-a-milking are essentially comprised of four horny moms-to-be and their four dads-to-be, who serve not only as their next orgasm but also as their houseboy. Delving into the double digits now, we have the ten lords-a-leaping, which is basically the final hoorah of the aforementioned dads-to-be, consider it the quadruple bachelor party with six guests and a hooker. That'll get any ol' lord-a-leaping. And finally, the twelve drummers drumming are not bangin' on no percussion, they're screwing the piccolo players on the holiday float in the town's parade.
But what about those in the odd pairings, 1,3,5,7,9,11? Ever heard of the third wheel? I'm sure Bessie, the third french hen has. While her other friends, the hens, Lola and Pat are busy dyking it out at the movies, Bessie munches on something else---bon bons. And what about that fifth golden ring? Sure it gets alot of play in the Olympics, but in this case, like the cheese, it stands alone. Presumably on a middle finger. And those seven swimming swans? Tragic story, really. Rumor has it that there were actually eight swans-a-swimming, but since the eight maids-a-milking were already under strict contract, the head of the Craptastic Tunes, Inc. actually drowned one of the swans-a-swimming. And the nine ladies dancing, well, you know how it is. It's a big Friday night at the line-dancing club, Lesbian Lounge, and there's always that one not-so-hot friend that you feel bad for so you bring her and she just ends up dancing by herself in the corner to Endless Love by Luther Vandross. Next we have the eleven pipers piping. Consider this a bulk version of Half-Baked. Picture it: passing the peace-pipe around the circle and by the time it gets to you, numero eleven, the hash has turned to ash. Poor bastard. And finally, that god-forsaken partridge in a pear tree. ONE bird in a PAIR tree. Anyone catch the irony? It doesn't get any more pathetic that that.
And do you think the Hallmarketeers would, I don't know, maybe create a card that celebrates singledom? You see Anniversary cards, I Love You cards, Thinking About You cards and especially now, Merry Christmas, My Love cards. Pssssh! Who needs it? Although I did see one lonely Chanukah card specifically designed for someone not of the coupling persuasion, it read: Happy Chanukah to Jew! Not Jews, just Jew!
And the rest of those songs could use a little tweaking, I think, to make them more viable for those who are SBC, single by choice.
One of the ones I started working on was Walking in a Winter Wonderland - In the meadow I can build a snowman, and alone, I will pretend that he is ...Carson Daly.
I think it's coming out good so far.
I was also thinking of redoing Baby it's Cold Outside, by making it just the one person singing instead of two. I'm not quite sure how that will work out though.
I've been working on a few other songs as well:
Sidney, the fake man I created out of snow.
What I really want for Christmas is a new toaster.
Dear Santa, Your Mother.
Slip, slidin' away (not to be confused with Simon and Garfunkel's version, this one is about a man driving home after work during a snowstorm who loses control of his car and slides into oblivion. I was thinking about having children sing it.)
O, who shall I regift this to?
And finally, the one lonely Jewish song of the myriad:
Damn, this is a good latke.
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Merry Christmas to all and to all...a pleasant sundown.
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