It's impossible to escape it. Give up. There is no denying the power of Christmas. Everywhere you go, it shall follow. Even in the deepest dens of the most solitary of recluses, there still looms the threat of holiday cheer, be they from some cavalcade of carol singers who have traveled through time to sing at their doorstep, or some conspiracy kook trying to elaborate on his theories that our crude consumerism is a vast plot put into play by Soviet mind-control devices.
I'm already indoctrinated. It's too late for me. I think what did it was Afroman's warbling phrase "You better not pout, you better not shout, I'll slap your grandmama's denture's out". And while this album has all the mature subtlety of a wet fart, it, also much like a wet fart, is fun, especially in the right company.
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