Addictions and Saints

My wife has an addiction. Latching on to her subconscious mind, her addiction makes it impossible for her to operate at months at a time without her fix. The horror of this addiction keeps friends and neighbors away. She refuses to go for treatment and I am at the end of my rope. I do not know how to combat the addiction of Christmas music but if I hear "Most Wonderful Time of the Year" again there may be a two toed dog in the house. Any noise would be an improvement over those damned fake jingling sleigh bells which are apparently mandatory on every Christmas song, especially the parody ones.

I crawled into my house last night later than usual after an evening of poker with friends. Everyone who plays poker has a bad beat story. After enough of them, you stop sharing with others and just meditate on the loss. I try to figure out if the move I made which was my demise was the right one. What are the odds, etc. i was mulling over how a two outer could have taken me three times in one game. I tried to figure out the odds (5% three times) and couldn't do it. Besides my poor math skills, the incessant drone from the Christmas station was driving me crazy. Then it came on. The worst song ever. "Little Drummer Boy."

Not only is the song poor. Barump-a-bump-bumm. But this is a boy who should not be praised nor honored and certainly not at Christmas. This kid had the nerve to show up at the Son of God's barn days after birth. The poor mother is laying in straw, surrounded by noisy, stinky animals, half the population of Bethlehem showing up with lame gifts, a bright star that makes it impossible to get a good night's sleep, and a husband who seems not to talk. Now, this little prick brings a drum. Not as a gift. He's going to play a song. On a drum. Only.

I have seen a "song" on a drum. I called it a drum solo and it was not lullaby-ish. In fact, it was loud. Now this kid starts his Barump-a-bump-bump-ing around the baby and cows and sheep and what not. Joe doesn't make a peep. Not a "get the hell out of here, can't you see my son, the Son of God, is sleeping?" or even a broken drum to speak of. They sit there and watch the freaking ox and lamb tapping along to the never ending barumping and pounding and it makes me nervous. I do not like it.

And Mary puts up with it. The whole time. That lady must be a saint.

Other reasons to hate the song:

1. That horrible Bing Crosby David Bowie thing.
2. The Trapp Family singers sang this on their retirement album. They did make the "ox and lamb kept time" into "the ox and ass kept time" which although equally ridiculous still has the word ass in it so church could be alittle more fun.
3. Richard M. Nixon's favorite carol. Enough said.