From: owner-fegmaniax-digest@smoe.org (fegmaniax-digest) To: fegmaniax-digest@smoe.org Subject: fegmaniax-digest V7 #485 Reply-To: fegmaniax@smoe.org Sender: owner-fegmaniax-digest@smoe.org Errors-To: owner-fegmaniax-digest@smoe.org Precedence: bulk fegmaniax-digest Friday, December 25 1998 Volume 07 : Number 485 Today's Subjects: ----------------- Christmas Wishes [Jon Fetter ] quails, balloons, writing in the snow... [Mark_Gloster@3com.com] A Fegmas Carol, Prologue & Chapter 1 [The Great Quail ] A Fegmas Carol, Chapter 2 [The Great Quail ] Cheese Alarm (Re: Hey Eddie) [Tom Clark ] Re: An Introduction [Tom Clark ] Re: fun for the entire family! [Capuchin ] seazzzon's greetings.. [Christy Cohen ] Merry X-mas and lots of stuff!!! (capitalism can be cool) [Eleanore Adams] Re: Merry X-mas and lots of stuff!!! (capitalism can be cool) [Joel Mulli] Songs of Christmas [dsaunder@islandnet.com (Daniel Saunders)] Re: Songs of Christmas [West ] ---------------------------------------------------------------------- Date: Thu, 24 Dec 1998 14:23:54 +0800 From: Jon Fetter Subject: Christmas Wishes There were three of them: the husband, the wife, and the lover of stick-insects. There were four if you counted the percolating ink tripod. It was neither large nor small, and its indeterminancy of size cast a constant pall over the room in which they sat on crystal chairs. Their house from the outside was a run-down two-roomer covered by a thick canopy of evergreen raspberry bushes. The police car which had chased the three of them into the house some 20-odd years ago still sat with its radio on in the driveway, a pile of rusted frustration. The inside of the house was totally covered by empty mantis egg cases. The other room was empty except for a sofa of such obscene cleverness of design that none dared sit near it much less in it. It had been the same day for quite a while now--an invisible day with the unmistakable taste of a tall, creamy glass of milk with pepper floating on the top, and which would announce itself occasionally at the door with a crash of cymbals, only to be turned away by the three. The husband exhaled a purple belch. The wife studied him, and for the first time she noticed that he was made of millions of tiny Chinese people taped together. He also reeked of old carpeting and rubbing alcohol. She was mildly repulsed. The belch refused to dissipiate, and took the center of the room for its own. The wife and the stick-insect lover looked at each other. Their mouths opened simultaneously, and both emitted the same purple gas. The iridescent belches formed into three floating balls jostling each other for the center of the room. WIth a clap of unseen hands they formed into one large purple pillar that glowed with a heart of fiberglass and tacks. The percolating ink tripod, long forgotten, was finally given scale and came to life, "Ho-Ho"ing like a mechanical Santa. The sound became shrill as it warmed up. Suddenly the pillar formed into one magna-volvoid and began splitting off buds and turning itself inside out through a hole in its southern hemisphere. Three of the buds formed into perfect, purple likenesses of the wife, the husband and the lover of stick-insects. The other buds scurried off to do unspeakable things on the sofa. The three simalacrums opened the front door. The moon was a luminous banana that shone through them as they walked out past the aging policemen, who wished them a "Merry Christmas!" And may all you in Fegland have a Merry Christmas, too. Jon __________________________________________________________________ "Hah, Bumhug!" --Roger Jackson ------------------------------ Date: Thu, 24 Dec 1998 10:05:14 -0800 From: Mark_Gloster@3com.com Subject: quails, balloons, writing in the snow... I was playing with the form while I was working this morning..... Apologies, it's not about politics or placentas or urinal cakes (for the most part.) This was mostly for my amusement. If you enjoy it-- you know the drill, see a trained health professional... fegnights before boxing day or kwanza or whatever 'twas two nights before boxing day and all through the world even by the mirror where the statues unfurled the feggies were snuggling asleep in their beds with visions of insects vibrating in their heads I awoke in my dream full of bright perspex fish to the sound of something breaking my satellite dish I got up to look for the source of the racket and somehow expected to see buddy hackett Something fell down the chimney and did flail and said "help me right now I am the great quail" I picked him up and dusted him off grit got up my nose and I started to cough And as I thought things just couldn't get worse he started to edit my trite little verse he put in colons and pancreas and tentacles lungs and teeth and a heart with nine ventricles So I am standing with this creature quite manic his antics grew ugly I began to panic I shouted for him to decist from this action and looked for some object to put him in traction a big red ballon fellow did suddenly appear and said "goodness what is that bird doing here" I've been chasing him from gotham and over the poles through storms and bad movies up hills and down holes his face turned all red and seemed quite enraged he said "help me right now that quail has to be caged" we chased him around over cabinets and tables over cases full of books full of nerdy science fables we caught him with ease, and I wondered why the balloon man smiled and said "forgot to fly" we laughed as we wrapped him in Jeme's duct tape and had eddie pack him so he'd never escape He thanked me for helping and asked for some drink said "tomorrow I'll be hung over with my head in the sink" he tried to explain why he makes silly treks to see those on the list, even those in Tex I travel the world to bring feggies good cheer to spread news of Robyn and drink lots of beer he guzzled the last drop of my mossy elixir and said sorry about the dish I'll make sure to fix 'er He made fast work of my receiving apparatus and ventillated his gargantuan flatus Too many beers and he really had to go he relieved himself right there in the snow "Warm feggie feelings to you," he wrote all in cursive but wanted to write something really subversive so he pondered right there as he paused his grand flows "Robyn Hitchcock rules and capitalism blows!" He slid into his Nash which was fastened to fegs that were all neatly harnessed with ropes on their legs An amazing vision awaited my eye to see computer potatoes that could actually fly He used not a whip as they rose into the air I couldn't blink I could only stare like a rocket the swooped and they banked and they climbed inflatable dude shouting from clear back behind "on eb on marcy on cappuchin on eddie is that susan up there in her letherette teddy? (sorry) on woj on bayard on carole on steve try to fly straight! stop making us weave on carrie on jason on dave on dede hurry up quick, we've got smiles for the needy on ken on katherine on jon on karmafuzz we're doing this all, well, just because on chris on charles on danielle on luther to pendragons who, might be named uther on eleanor on dan on ed on lurkers some of whom could be real berserkers on joel on jeffrey on kim on holly chins up all you, this has got to be jolly on eric on fred on gary on john we'll get there soon, but this list is too long on marshall on matt on nat on nigel hold off on the speed, or we'll run into rigel on nur on pat on paul on rob I've eaten too much, I'm like a big blob on tim on toby on vicci on zloduska I'm stumped because nothing rhymes with zloduska on hal on griffith on glen on gregory we have to see all of the great world feggery on miles on dolph on kay on terry if we get home in time we can watch tom and jerry on karen on michael on susan on seth this better end soon, I'm all out of breath on tom on nick on viv on russ next time I'm going to just take the bus on hedblade on randi on sydney on breen I can't find them anywhere, have they been seen? on lj on ross on ben on james on the rest of you dammit, I can't think of your names" This odd tale ends abruptly it seems they all blew up suddenly as I woke from both dreams In any case I wish you a really great season from a crazy shark boy in a house that is freezin' Let's not forget the ones who used to be here we'll each raise a glass for them before the new year One final thought if anyone cares pizza too close to bed will give you nightmares Happies, - -markg I would have put in more of your names if my brain was bigger and I had more time. ------------------------------ Date: Thu, 24 Dec 98 13:21:16 -0500 From: The Great Quail Subject: A Fegmas Carol, Prologue & Chapter 1 A FEGMAS CAROL ______Prologue______ EB WAS DEAD, dead as a doornail, that much must be understood. His business partner in the Fashion Industry for these twenty long years, Eb Broomly fairly taught Quailbeneezer Scrooge everything he knew about running an effective business. Side by side they constructed an empire that spanned across all of Fegdom from its heart in the Empire State Building -- together they set the trends, raising and lowering hemlines at the slightest whim, determining when Bee Outfits would come in and out of vogue, and even what artists were to play at the VH1 Fashion Awards and thereby become top celebrities overnight. (Ah, who could forget when the Prime Minister of Canada was just a semi-obscure singer and piano player?) But now Eb was dead this last year, And Quailbeneezer Scrooge carried on the torch without him, tightening the noose even more on his vast empire. . . . ______Chapter One______ "Sir . . . " said Bayrd Kratchit, shivering from the corner of the vast marbled office. Scrooge looked up in irritation, his fingers posed on the keyboard. Damn Fegs were at it again. Three glorious months of political postings, and they were bitching that it was time to discuss the meaing of an obscure Robyn lyric from 1982; something about a mucky swine or a plucky pig or whatnot. Bah! Well, Scrooge would show them! After this fifty-eight long tirade against Harp Seal rights, no one would dare a peep of complaint for a long time indeed! He fixed his shivering employee in his beady gaze. "Yessss . . .?" "Well, Mr. Scrooge sir, If I may, 'tis a bit cold in here, sir?" Bayrd Kratchit glanced over meaningfully at the space heater, the cord removed from the socket and resting seductively on the long rubber coil. His words echoed feebly in the vast marble hall of the Empire State Building, hollowed out to give visitors a proper sense of scale. "You may *not.* Electricity costs money, and I need all the juice I can get to argue this crucial point." "Yes, sir. I shall shiver harder, perhaps then I shall not freeze. Thank you for hearing me out, sir." Bayrd looked forlornly at the pictures of his family on his desk. Ahhh . . . his family. . . . tomorrow was Chrsitmastime, and even now LJ Kratchit would be cooking the Christmas Goose! Scrooge shot him a frog-strangling look and bent back to his task, only to hear the buzzer ring. Visitors? Bah! The door opened up and who should enter but his nephew, Mark of Glostershire. Tall and gangly with an impossible head of hair, Mark bounced irrepressibly into the hall and fairly jingled with anticipation. "Merry Christmas, Uncle!" "What's so damn merry about it? We're bombing Quebec; the Tewsian Socialists are at it again with the Libersquidtarians, everyone I know is getting stung by bees, and my dear old partner's only son, Ebbles Broomley, is fighting to maintain his father's Feg-hood in the Feg Senate. Oh, yes, and they just impeached the President because they found her bondage gear in the Oval Office closet! So, what's so merry, I ask you?" Mark smiled cheerfully. "Well, Uncle, that may all be true, but I say we should celebrate the holidays anyway! It's one time of year where we can openly reach out to our brothers and sisters and wish them joy and peace, selflessly give them gifts, enjoy being alive even here, in the dead of Winter, and we can do all this without looking bizarre, getting beaten up as gay, or being carted off to the Loony bin. It is a time to get together with friends and to *love* them, to force them to drink until they get silly, to stuff them with feggy pudding, pass out copies of fine Tigermonkey products, and to hold them so tightly against your heart that even Time and Decay themselves would dare not touch them for just those few golden moments! I say, at Chrsitmastime we should fling ourselves laughing into the whirlwind of life! We should get dizzy with light and music and wine and dance! We sould set aside our problems and differences and we should throw open the shutters upon our souls, and we should pay no heed to embrarassment, but rather trust that the universe will catch us as we fall, keeping us aloft on wings of grace and wonder!" "Hear hear!" burst Bayrd Kratchit, only to quicky lower his eyes to his terminal at a withering stare from his boss. The glare then fixed upon his delusional (but tall) nephew. "Uh-huh, and what New Age Hallmark card did you crib that from, Sharkboy?" Mark's witty reply was interrupted by two new callers, gentlemen dressed in humble cloths and carrying their hats in the hands. "Is this the residence of Scrooge and Broomly?" "Yes! And what, may I ask, do *you* want!" "Well, sir, I am Mikey Runion and this is Jimmy Dignan, and we are collecting for the poor, sir, this being the Christmas season and all." The two men stood, one bearded and one Enoesque, smiling inanely and trying not to be impressed by the size of the marble hall or the collection of Grateful Dead bootlegs lining the shelves. "Is either Mr. Scrooge or Mr. Broomly in?" "Bah! I am Quailbeneezer Scrooge, and Eb is dead as a doornail. Didn't you read the prologue?" Jimmy Dignan stepped forward eagerly. "Sir, that is a shame, because he always contributed so much to our cause!" "He was weak!" Scrooge growled. As much as Eb liked to play the gruff one, his exterior was marred by a troublesome heart of gold. Ha! If only Eb knew that all that inheritance money earmarked for the Claudine Longet Preservation Society was really going to the Get Greg Dulli an Iron Lung Fund, well. . . . "So . . . do the poorhouses still stand?" "Oh, yes sir . . . terrible places filled with ex-Spice Girls, Fegs who blew all their money on extra LP-only releases, and drummers, sir." Scrooge nodded sagely, his brows beetling in mock concern. "And are there no more who don't like to read fifty-page off-topic posts about genetics, bondage, and tired old faux Chrsitmas parodies?" "Oh, sir, 'tis true. The wee waifs, sir . . . they are barely holding on!" Scrooge stood tall and summoned up all his indignant ire. "Good! Then I wish them to drop off the List and decrease the surplus population! Now get out, for you get nothing from me! Bah! Humbug!" Nephew Mark and Bayrd Kratchit looked up in chagrined horror as the two men scuttled out, Scrooge shouting after them and flingling his mousepad at Runion's head. His nephew laughed nervously, "Uncle? I say, Merry Chrsitmas anyway, you old ogre, and please come to my house for Christmas Dinner. My wife, Danielle, and I would love to have you!" "Bah! I say, any fool how goes around with Merry Chrisitmas on his lips should be boiled in his feggy pudding and buried with a lick of buddy holly through his heart!" Mark left, leaving only a free trial copy of "Monday's Lunch" on the desk, and Bayrd glanced up, words forming on his lips -- "Don't say it, Frog-boy. I know what you want, so take the damn day off tomorrow. I've seen this movie before, too. But be in here EXTRA EARLY the next day -- I have a thirty-two page posting about the unfair economic politics of record companies all ready to send, and by golly, you are going to proofread it *all!*" Bayrd Kratchit, a little unsure why his boss felt the need to punctuate things with trendy self-referntial postmodernisms, picked up his hat, shut down his tcMac, and left for home. . . . to his loving family. Scrooge looked around the empty hall, watching a few flakes of snow swirl across the foyer as Bayrd shut the door. "Christmas! Bah. . . . ." ------------------------------ Date: Thu, 24 Dec 98 14:18:44 -0500 From: The Great Quail Subject: A Fegmas Carol, Chapter 2 ________Chapter Two_________ Quailbeneezer Scrooge paused at the doorknocker, frowning. What . . . ? It normally looked like a Jerry Garcia head, but something was not right - -- ? It almost looked like-- Yikes! It was moving, and it was Eb!!!! "ScrooooOOOoooge. . . . " No, impossible! Scrooge shook his head, the cup of soup he bought from Tom Clarkins the Soup man trembling in his hand. No, the doorknocker was . . .normal after all. What was that all about? A hallucination? A flashback? Producing a key, he went upstairs and put on his nightgown. It was stress, that was it. Or at least a flashback -- that chocolate chip brown acid, that must have been it. And stress -- I mean, he couldn't even walk home in peace, he had to personally go to a few people and curtail their postings. Those sisters, Randi and Marcy! They haven't posted in a while, and they were due for some "Yes we worship the Quail" mail. And then, of course, Tom Clarkins the soup man! Imagine, he wanted an *extension* on when he should post the next Anti-Microsoft tirade. Well, Scrooge was a kind bird -- so he gave him another week; but by damn the post better be twice as long! Scrooge lit a fire and began sipping his soup . . . "SsssssScroooOOOooOOooOoooOOge!" "Yikes!" Soup tumbled across his nightie as he stood up alarmed. "What?!" Chains rattled . . . then came a heavy, ponderous knock at the door. "ScrrRRroooge, let me Innnn!" "No, I shall not, Eb! You're DEAD, you dead bastard! Stay dead! Please!" Scrooge watched in horrified amazement as a ghost entered his world through, yes, literally, through the front door. Oh, it was Eb alright. But what was wrong? He stood there, hovering, the firelight playing on the highlights of his green and white striped shirt. But he was weighted with chains! Huge, spectral chains wrapped around his old partner, trailing to the floor and rattling. "No -- Eb! It *can't* be you!" Eb hissed. "Do you doubt the evidence of your own senses?" "No, it's not that, it's just -- well, the shirt. What happened to the yellow stripes?" Eb rattled his chains furiously and howled; Scrooge had to cover his ears. It was a terrible sound, a ghastly sound, like Mercury Rev doing a soundcheck over a blaring copy of Metal Machine Music. The howl wavered in the air for a few moments, then mercifully faded. "SCROOGE! You think that I'm Charlie Brown, that I never change my SHIRT?" "No . . . no . . but Jesus, I mean I hate to point out the obvious, but you're, um, dead. You must be a piece of undigested Taco Bell, that's it, yes! I'm not afraid of you! You must be a flashback, because you know, the doornail thing! The Prolo--" Rattling chains shut him up about the damn Prologue. "Oh, Quailbeneezer, I am here from beyond to inform you that you are heading for HELL! In life, I was your business partner Eb Broomly; in death, I am TORTURED! The pain! The suffering! Oh oh, there is no taste in music in the Afterword! The Afghan Whigs! Phish! Even, ferchrissakes, TOOL!" "That doesn't sound so -- " "ANI DI FRANCO!!!!" "Oh. I see." Quailbeneezer shut up. "But that's not why I'm here. I'm here to tell you that you can avoid this fate . . . see these chains?" Rattle. Rattle. "I forged these in Life . . . each post I made that offended, each off-topic discussion, each time I knocked Robyn, each time I went over 10k -- another link in this God-forsaken burden!" "But Eb -- you avoided politics, and your posts were fairly short. And yet -- " He motioned to the chain. "And yet, that's pretty damn long, and - --" Suddenly the hand of terror gripped Scrooge's heart. "Oh my God -- but me! Quailspew! Politics! Posts that babbled on for 125 pages! My chain must be -- " "Longer than EDDIE'S, but Eddie lead the ironworkers of Hell in a strike that brought about a Union, so they kicked him out of the Afterworld. You, however, have some people waiting to get even with you . . . Debbie "Chairman Mao" Flosshilde, Professor Oswald Fane, the Bee King, Woj Sven Woj, Dan-Yell, Helen Percival. . . ." "But -- but -- none of them were -- " "SILENCE!!! You made your bed, no you are going to lay in it, unless . . . OO-O-OoooOOOoh" Rattle. Rattle. "Stop the spooky noises, Eb, it's scary. Unless what?" "Well, you're Postmodern Boy, you know what's coming. You will be visited by THREE APPARITIONS! One each hour on the hour after Midnight!" Scrooge backed against the wall, shaking in fear, holding his hands in front of his face. "No! I'd rather not. No -- ghosts are scary, even the friendly ones!" Suddenly Eb rushed forward and scooped up the trembling Scrooge, and the windows blew open in a burst of sound and visuals that would make Steven Spielberg blush. Whoooooosh -- they were out, flying above Fegdom. But they were not alone. Ghosts, lost souls, swarmed in the air -- pale and driven, howling, a net of undead oblivion cast across a dark sky bruised by sodium and punctured by dying stars. It was the hosts of hell, or worse: Limbo. "Oh Eb, who are all these tortured souls?" "You should recognize them, Quailbeneezer! You drove them all off the List!" And it was true -- there was Jay Hedblade, Dave Blatzman, Susan Even, Tracy Aileen Copeland; Jon Fetter, Jeffrey Vaska, Glen Uber, Vashty Hawkins, Steven Matrick, Mike Breen, Sydney, Nick Winkworth, LSDiamond, Roger Jackson . . . . "No! It can't be!" "Well, it is. Except for Jon Fetter; that's just wishful thinking on your part." The sheer horror of it all rushed into Scrooge and he screamed -- Only to wake up in his bed in a cold sweat. The clock chimed: !!BONG!! One O'clock. . . . A female voice came drifting in from the study . . . a glowing light . . . strains of XTC . . . . "Scrooge . . . ?" ________________to be continued in a few days___________ ------------------------------ Date: Thu, 24 Dec 1998 11:20:27 -0800 From: Tom Clark Subject: Cheese Alarm (Re: Hey Eddie) On 12/23/98 4:02 PM, Bayard Catron wrote: >Did you see that levi's commercial last night, the one with the girl who >says proudly "I take full advantage of capitalism. It's a good system, >because if you work hard, you should have nice things." Or something to >that effect. How 'bout the Levi's ad with the wannabe clarinet player who works in a cheese shop? He starts naming 50 cheeses, but never mentions a chedder in a muslin rind! Oh please... - -tc ------------------------------ Date: Thu, 24 Dec 1998 11:29:07 -0800 From: Tom Clark Subject: Re: An Introduction On 12/23/98 11:48 AM, Bayard Catron wrote: >I applied for membership, but apparently "Tom-Tom Club" only allows >members with names of five letters or less! Dough! > No No, Bay-O. That's not it at all. First of all your application was written in ink, when the instructions clearly state crayon is preferred. Plus, you answered question #15 - "What can I do to become more like tc?" - - by responding "Drink a gallon of cheap scotch and run head first into a cement wall while huffing a bag of kerosene fumes." C'mon man! You know I *hate* scotch!! Do not taunt Happy Fun Ball! - -tc ------------------------------ Date: Thu, 24 Dec 1998 13:52:29 -0800 (PST) From: Capuchin Subject: Re: fun for the entire family! On Thu, 24 Dec 1998, Bayard Catron wrote: > by "its kind" i think i meant the kind of long, inspirational, > long, feelgood fegfest travelogue we all aspire to, that's really very > long. That Bumbershoot travelogue was the first I called a travelogue but by no means my first written for this list. And yeah... there's one coming. (ok, I said it... now I'm stuck to it). Just don't hate me if it stinks. > BTW, who holds the record for longest post ever - Jeme or the > Quail? A long time ago I posted the 30k songlist, but that's cheating. > I guess this honor goes to the Quail. I wonder who has the biggest total > k posted? Hang on, I'll go download the archives. Quail posted something longer than my SF travelogue? Was it one of the diaries? I mean, that three part travelogue was HUGE. Um... I have all the archives, but I haven't yet finished an interface for them or even a parser that makes them readable that way. Hmm... I should get to work. Je. ________________________________________________________ J A Brelin Capuchin ________________________________________________________ ------------------------------ Date: Thu, 24 Dec 1998 17:46:46 -0500 From: Christy Cohen Subject: seazzzon's greetings.. Hope everybody has a safe and happy holiday, and just wanted to share a stanza from a book I received as a gift today: "That bee was still gaining, I'm sorry to say, when a Red-bearded Bee-eater fluttered his way. When the bee got one look at that oncoming beak, he started to shake and his stomach got weak. He no longer wanted to chase me, I feel. He was scared of becoming a bee-eater's meal!" Christy ------------------------------ Date: Thu, 24 Dec 1998 21:20:59 +0000 From: Eleanore Adams Subject: Merry X-mas and lots of stuff!!! (capitalism can be cool) Merry X-mas fegs! i just got a new CD-walkman for x-mas and the first 2 cd I have listened to in it, with great sound quality are George Harrison's "All thing's must pass" and Soft Boy's 1976-81 dist one. Gosh i love "I want to be an Anglepost Lamp' and "Where are the Prawns". Hope you guys get good stuff and do good works for others. eleanore ------------------------------ Date: Thu, 24 Dec 1998 23:30:05 -0800 From: Joel Mullins Subject: Re: Merry X-mas and lots of stuff!!! (capitalism can be cool) Eleanore Adams wrote: > > Merry X-mas fegs! > > i just got a new CD-walkman for x-mas and the first 2 cd I have listened > to in it, with great sound quality are George Harrison's "All thing's > must pass" and Soft Boy's 1976-81 dist one. Gosh i love "I want to be > an Anglepost Lamp' and "Where are the Prawns". > > Hope you guys get good stuff and do good works for others. > > eleanore I got some good stuff too: Elliot Smith - XO John Lennon Anthology John Cale - The Island Years ...well those are my favorites so far. - --Joel ------------------------------ Date: Thu, 24 Dec 1998 23:43:09 -0800 From: dsaunder@islandnet.com (Daniel Saunders) Subject: Songs of Christmas As I sit here, 30 minutes before Christmas day, I get to thinking about christmas music. No, not fucking "parapapumpum". I mean good music, music you can relate to. Every year I plan to make a christmas mix tape, but I can never assemble enough titles. I was hoping you guys might be able to help me out. Here's what I've got so far: * Fairytale of New York - the Pogues * I Saw My Baby Wearing Santa's Beard, The Bells are Ringing - They Might Be Giants * Santa's Gonna Kick Your Ass - The Arrogant Worms * It Just Wouldn't Be Christmas - The Loud Family * Christmas with Satan - Spinal Tap * Christmas At Ground Zero, The Night Santa Went Crazy - "Weird" Al Yankovic * Thanks for Christmas - XTC (only heard about this one) * The First Noel - Crash Test Dummies * Santa Claus Goes Straight To the Ghetto - Snoop Doggy Dog (seek this one out. Seriously. Appears on "Christmas on Death Row") It's a pity I couldn't include any Robyn Hitchcock in there. As far as I know, he's never recorded anything even remotely resembling a Christmas song, unless you count Winter Love ("It's the darkest time of year..."). Of course all this will be rectified with his next studio release, "Robyn Hitchcock's Christmas Party". Happy midwinter festival, everyone! - -- Daniel Saunders Reality is that which when you stop believing in it, it doesn't go away. - Philip "hohoho" Dick Any guesses as to how long I was fooled by "Santa"? ------------------------------ Date: Fri, 25 Dec 1998 02:16:34 -0800 From: West Subject: Re: Songs of Christmas Daniel Saunders wrote: > As I sit here, 30 minutes before Christmas day, I get to thinking about > christmas music. No, not fucking "parapapumpum". I mean good music, > music you can relate to. Every year I plan to make a christmas mix tape, > but I can never assemble enough titles. I was hoping you guys might be > able to help me out. Here's what I've got so far: > > * Fairytale of New York - the Pogues > * I Saw My Baby Wearing Santa's Beard, The Bells are Ringing - They > Might Be Giants > * Santa's Gonna Kick Your Ass - The Arrogant Worms > * It Just Wouldn't Be Christmas - The Loud Family > * Christmas with Satan - Spinal Tap > * Christmas At Ground Zero, The Night Santa Went Crazy - "Weird" Al > Yankovic > * Thanks for Christmas - XTC (only heard about this one) > * The First Noel - Crash Test Dummies > * Santa Claus Goes Straight To the Ghetto - Snoop Doggy Dog (seek this > one out. Seriously. Appears on "Christmas on Death Row") > > It's a pity I couldn't include any Robyn Hitchcock in there. As far as I > know, he's never recorded anything even remotely resembling a Christmas > song, unless you count Winter Love ("It's the darkest time of year..."). > Of course all this will be rectified with his next studio release, > "Robyn Hitchcock's Christmas Party". I sympathize completely. I have gathered Christmas music from many disparate sources over the years, put together a mix-tape track list in March, and only got around to recording it a couple of weeks ago. Having put the finishing touches on it just yesterday, I must say I'm pleased with it. It goes like this: WEST'S CHRISTMAS IMPLOSION PART ONE: BLUE CHRISTMAS ELVIS PRESLEY / BLUE CHRISTMAS CANDY BUTCHERS / GIVE ME A SECOND CHANCE (FOR CHRISTMAS) CARLA THOMAS / GEE WHIZ IT'S CHRISTMAS THE BEACH BOYS / SANTA'S BEARD CHARLES BROWN / PLEASE COME HOME FOR CHRISTMAS SHELLEYAN ORPHAN / ICE MICHAEL PENN & AIMEE MANN / JUST BECAUSE IT'S CHRISTMAS DEAN MARTIN / THE CHRISTMAS BLUES BRIAN DEWAN / THE ISLAND OF MISFIT TOYS CARLA THOMAS / ALL I WANT FOR CHRISTMAS IS YOU AMY ALLISON AND THE MAUDLINS / TOYLAND JOHN LENNON / HAPPY XMAS (WAR IS OVER) SIMON & GARFUNKEL / 7 O'CLOCK NEWS/SILENT NIGHT T-BONE BURNETT / GOD REST YE MERRY GENTLEMEN SQUIRREL NUT ZIPPERS / GIFT OF THE MAGI THE POGUES & KIRSTY MacCOLL / FAIRYTALE OF NEW YORK THE PRETENDERS / 2000 MILES DARLENE LOVE / CHRISTMAS (BABY PLEASE COME HOME) PAUL KELLY / HOW TO MAKE GRAVY PART TWO: RED CHRISTMAS FISHBONE / IT'S A WONDERFUL LIFE (GONNA HAVE A GOOD TIME) THROWING MUSES / SANTA CLAUS MOJO NIXON AND THE TOADLIQUORS / GOOD KING WENCESLAS DANCE HALL CRASHERS / I DID IT FOR THE TOYS THEY MIGHT BE GIANTS / SANTA'S BEARD DANNY ELFMAN / WHAT'S THIS? BARRY GORDON / NUTTIN' FOR CHRISTMAS CAPTAIN SENSIBLE / ONE CHRISTMAS CATALOGUE HENRY ROLLINS / 'TWAS THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS TIMBUK 3 / ALL I WANT FOR CHRISTMAS FISHBONE / SLICK NICK, YOU DEVIL YOU WALL OF VOODOO / SHOULDN'T HAVE GIVEN HIM A GUN FOR CHRISTMAS ELMO 'N PATSY / GRANDMA GOT RUN OVER BY A REINDEER SQUIRREL NUT ZIPPERS / SANTA CLAUS IS SMOKING REEFER FISHBONE / JUST CALL ME SCROOGE DANNY ELFMAN / TOWN MEETING SONG MST3K / (LET'S HAVE) A PATRICK SWAYZE CHRISTMAS SUN 60 / MARY XMESS MONO PUFF / CARELESS SANTA STAN FREBERG / GREEN CHRI$TMA$ KING MISSILE / JESUS WAS WAY COOL PART THREE: WHITE CHRISTMAS BOBBY HELMS / JINGLE BELL ROCK CHRIS STAMEY GROUP / CHRISTMAS TIME BRENDA LEE / ROCKIN' AROUND THE CHRISTMAS TREE SYD STRAW / THE CHRISTMAS TWIST THE BEACH BOYS / THE MAN WITH ALL THE TOYS SHONEN KNIFE / SPACE CHRISTMAS BOOKER T. & THE MG'S / JINGLE BELLS THE BEATLES / CHRISTMAS TIME (IS HERE AGAIN) POI DOG PONDERING & THE DIRTY DOZEN BRASS BAND / MELE KALIKIMAKA THE BUZZ OF DELIGHT / CHRISTMAS THE SMITHEREENS / RUDOLPH THE RED-NOSED REINDEER SQUEEZE / CHRISTMAS DAY THE dB'S / HOME FOR THE HOLIDAYS DAVE EDMUNDS / RUN, RUDOLPH, RUN NRBQ / CHRISTMAS WISH MIKLOS ROZSA / ADORATION OF THE MAGI SHAWN COLVIN / HAVE YOURSELF A MERRY LITTLE CHRISTMAS VINCE GUARALDI / CHRISTMAS TIME IS HERE THE CHIPMUNKS / THE CHIPMUNK SONG THE DRIFTERS / WHITE CHRISTMAS THE VENTURES / SNOW FLAKES THE BEACH BOYS / LITTLE SAINT NICK XTC / THANKS FOR CHRISTMAS TOM PETTY & THE HEARTBREAKERS / CHRISTMAS ALL OVER AGAIN Incidentally, How The Grinch Stole Christmas is interwoven throughout all three parts. When I make a mix tape, I don't fuck around. Come Valentine's Day, somebody remind me to show you the track list for my homemade box set, What We Talk About When We Talk About Love. In the meantime, I hope I've been helpful. Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night. Somethingly, West. - -- *********************************************************************** West E-mail: ipalindromei@earthlink.net "...No beast so fierce but knows some touch of pity." "But I know none, and therefore am no beast." --William Shakespeare, "Richard III". ------------------------------ End of fegmaniax-digest V7 #485 *******************************