It's the end of the world as we know it

One last blog before the end of the world. I bet you want an end of the world blog don’t you? You greedy bugger. I’ve not blogged in a year and you’re telling me what to blog; unbelievable. Well just to spite you I’m not going to, and also because there’s nothing to blog about. It’s the end of the world; does it help if you knew?

Look at these guys. They know the end of the world is coming and they’re spending their time planning for it. Time that could be spent getting laid … well in their case, maybe thinking about it, or making a friend or two.

I’m not sure the Mayan calendar says anything about it being the end of the world for only the disorganised, but then I can’t read Mayan. Can anybody but Mel Gibson? We should ask him what to do.

I digress and I nearly stumbled into an end of world blog. I like what you did there, very sneaky.

No I must plough on, so here goes: It’s been a while, and the world has changed in the last year. This is my first blog post-Saville; the first Christmas post-Saville; the one where Santa has to have a criminal records check. Turns out white haired men in weird outfits offering goodies to kids aren't to be trusted with unrestricted access to children.

If you’re one of my non UK readers and are at this point wondering who Saville is; do some research. No point doing work, it’s the end of the world and I’m too busy blogging to help with links.

When the Saville announcements came out the general response was akin to hearing the answer to a pub quiz question that you couldn't quite remember the answer to ‘ahhh yes, now that makes sense.’ Like Saville, the signs that Christmas is not to be trusted is all in the music.

Let’s take ‘Santa Claus is Coming to Town.’ 

“He sees you when you’re sleeping, he knows when you’re awake.”

Voyeur. Turns out the best place to hide a tree is in the forest. Because we’re told Santa watches us in our sleep through the medium of jolly Christmas songs we accept it, like Beyonce singing ‘if you liked it then you should have put a ring on it’ whilst claiming to be an independent woman.

Would you let your boss record your sleeping patterns? So why do we let a random fatso in a red velour onesie?

Some of the messages about Christmas are subliminal  Rudolph the Red Nose Reindeer is clearly functionalist propaganda. Nobody speaks to Rudolph until he gets a job, a purpose in life. Then, and only then, “all the reindeers loved him.”

It’s hardly a surprise to know that the song was written in DDR Germany. ‘Rudolph, reindeer of the people. He didn't mope about with his disability, his ‘red and shiny nose,’ he turned it into a tool for productivity. Heed the message slacker.’

There’s even racism pedalled through the fog of Christmas.

“You must never do a tango with an eskimo,” sang Alma Cogan in 1955. The promotion of racial segregation there for all to see. The B side ‘Never duke a gook’ confirms the argument. It gives ‘White Christmas’ a whole new angle.

Even the great Bing Crosby took liberties with his songs.
“Don’t get worse, grab your nurse and come to the Holiday Inn.” Which if it wasn't a song, would be the worst tagline for a co-operation in history.

Please don’t’ follow that advice, grabbing a nurse, or a person of any profession for that matter, will most likely end with a charge. Taking them to a cheap hotel won’t have any medical benefits; it’ll just add to the problems you’d be in from grabbing them in the first place.

The worst song of all though has been sung by many great duets, and also Jessica Simpson and Nick Lachey. In ‘Baby it’s Cold Outside’ the male protagonist is keeping a woman at his house clearly against her will. She couldn't make it clearer when she sings “the answer is no.”

Despite such a verbal rebuttal he stays persistent, taking a sinister tone.
“Listen to that fireplace roar.”

Being a song there’s no stage direction, but if there was, for that line it’d be, ‘walks towards woman brandishing a poker menacingly.’

The conversation goes on:
“Maybe just a half a glass more.”
“Put some music on whilst I pour.”

Ignoring the presumption, getting her to look elsewhere and giving her an aural distraction as he pours is a manipulative trick and leaves the situation open to all sorts of misdemeanors.

“Say what’s in this drink?”

A whole Christmas song celebrating date rape, but society lets it go because ...

“Baby it’s cold outside.”

So if you think it’s shocking that the BBC ran a tribute show to Saville last Christmas despite knowing him to be multiple sex offender, remember it’s just the tip of a sexually twisted Christmas iceberg.