Day 20: You Can’t Handle the Youth

Village of the Damned
The eyes have it: the choir of the damned, from the perspective of your hard-luck host

I agree with those who insist that today, 12/12/12, should have been the date of the apocalypse, not 12/12/21. I also agree with the great Humphrey Bogart, who, on his way out, reportedly said, “I should never have switched from scotch to martinis.”

Your hapless host headed to the chapter eternal on the way out of the office this evening, dear LDBCers, when my trip down the office escalator became a descent into defeat and disgrace as the puh-rum-pum-pum-pum of a children’s choir pierced my eardrums, and my head exploded, Scanners-style. Just this morning, I passed those same kids on the way in and said to myself as the stairs carried me aloft, “Those little fuckers better not take me out.” Well, I guess those little fuckers heard me and took me up on the dare.

Ah, but why make it all about me? Might as well update the body count for everyone. As of Saturday (yes, I’m that far behind in my tallying, alas), there were 201 down. That’s more than five platoons’ worth of valiant LDBCers gone, and as I say, because I’m a slow-moving bum of a host, I haven’t even counted everyone through today. Oh, the humanity.

Did I mention, by the way, that when I reached the tracks at the bottom of my death plummet, I found that all trains on my route were blinking a red “delayed” on the board as the horrid children segued into “Silent Night”? Thus, the day ended in what the poets Benjamin Grimm and Riley used to refer to as a revoltin’ development. Or, to paraphrase LDBCer Greg Sorenson, what a kick in the junk.

Finish what we started and carry the fight to the enemy, stalwart ones. I knew Mrs. LDBC would be distraught at the news of her beloved’s demise—and since she chuckled at my news, I can only conclude that her beloved is another man. I wish victory to each and every one of you. That stick-slinging little bastard can’t get us all.

Puh-rum-pum-pum-pum, people. Make me proud. — Mr. LDBC

The 12 Days of Christmas Songs Worse than LDB: Neil Diamond’s Cherry Cherry Christmas

Neil Diamond Cherry Cherry Christmas
Have a very merry, cherry cherry, holly holy, rock and rolly Christmas this year.

In 2009, Neil Diamond mashed a whole bunch of his old song lyrics with some hackneyed descriptions of snow and magic holiday times. The result is this song. The children in the video look perplexed—but aren’t confused children what Christmas is all about? — Mrs. LDBC

The 12 Days of Christmas Songs Worse than LDB: Paul McCartney’s Wonderful Christmastime

Paul McCartney Wonderful Christmas Time
Say, did I happen to mention that I’m having a wonderful Christmastime?

Sir Paul is simply having a wonderful Christmastime. Which he feels the need to tell you about once every three seconds, backed by the dulcet tones of the Sequential Circuits Prophet-5 synthesizer. Between this and “Helen Wheels,” Sir Paul might need to have his knighthood rescinded. — Mrs. LDBC

The 12 Days of Christmas Songs Worse than LDB: The Cheeky Girls’ Boys and Girls (Christmas Time Love)

Cheeky Girls
Stay frosty: The Cheeky Girls and their frozen pal

The Cheeky Girls originally hail from Transylvania. Despite its title, this “song” (I use the term loosely) has about as much to do with Christmas as Vlad the Impaler. — Mrs. LDBC

The 12 Days of Christmas Songs Worse than LDB: Hall & Oates’s Jingle Bell Rock

Hall & Oates Christmas
Yule be sorry: Daryl, John & guests at the party of the damned

It’s Daryl & John’s rockin’ Christmas party! The duo begin the celebration by bopping woodenly around the room for a spell, and Oates emotes as if his life depended on it—which it very well may have. The pair receive some Yuletide guests, including Minnie Pearl, and turn away other revelers. Then, Baba Booey Oates and an elderly gentleman tussle over a frozen turkey, and Minnie gets a guitar as a gift. Finally, Old St. Nick appears in a puff of smoke, the rejected revelers have now joined the fun, and there’s an impromptu holiday jam session. Christmas in the ’80s was not for the faint of heart, my friends. — Mrs. LDBC

LDBCer Dispatch: Ms. Andrews Goes for Coffee

Caravaggio's Medusa, 1597
Artist’s representation of LDBCer Andrews when unduly provoked, Michelangelo Merisi da Caravaggio, 1597

No reason for us here at LDBC Central to do all the work hog the limelight when our terrified devoted community has so many harrowing delightful tales to tell. So here’s one, and more are on the way. First up: Shamela Andrews, with a rollickin’ report on what not to do before she’s had her caffeine. Enjoy, and keep your posts a-comin’. We’ll continue to highlight our favorites.


(SCENE: Time—7:55 a.m. Place—a local coffee drive-through. SHAMELA groggily pulls up. Bouncy, chipper CO-EDs #1 and #2 are staffing the joint. SHAM turns down her Freakonomics podcast to place her order.)

CO-ED 1: Gooood morning! What can I get you today? (with huge smile)

SHAM: (yawns) Sixteen-ounce peppermint mocha, please.

CO-ED 1: Okay! That will be $3.25!

SHAM: (hands CO-ED 1 $5 and her frequent buyer card)

CO-ED 1: (to CO-ED 2): Sixteen-ounce peppermint mocha!

CO-ED 2: Sixteen-ounce peppermint mocha coming up. OH HEY! We need to turn on the Christmas music!

CO-ED 1: Oh! Yes! (reaches towards iPod dock)

(Regular time slows to BULLET TIME. CO-ED 1 is reaching in slo-mo.)

SHAM: NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

(SHAM is suddenly 3 stories tall, with hair writhing like snakes, lasers shooting out of her eyes, claws for hands with pointy knives as nails, a black nimbus cloud around her head, and her face is melting off like that guy in Indiana Jones. CO-EDs 1 and 2 register shock and awe and pants-pissing fear. Time speeds back up. CO-ED 1 snatches her hand away from iPod deck as if burned.)

CO-ED 1: (wide-eyed, skittish) O…kay… (takes several steps back)

(SHAM is herself again. Pats her hair down, clears throat. CO-EDs 1 and 2 avoid making eye contact. CO-ED 1 hands the coffee gingerly out the window.)

SHAM: (brightly, graciously) Thanks! Keep the change.

STILL IN.

The 12 Days of Christmas Songs Worse than LDB: Up on Santa Claus Mountain

This month, we’re kicking off a brand-spanking-new series here at LDBC Central, just to keep LDBCers’ spirits from flagging during the fearful Season of the Drum: The 12 Days of Christmas Songs Worse than LDB. For our inaugural post, here’s a Christmas tune that’s the aural equivalent of a Thomas Kinkade painting—Lorrie Morgan’s “Up on Santa Claus Mountain.” A mountain I never, ever want to scale, judging by the terrifying description of what goes on there. — Mrs. LDBC