So how’d you do? The Little Drummer Boy Challenge ends at midnight, your time, on Dec. 23rd. Now, we love seeing you brag or mourn, depending on your result, on the Facebook page. But it also helps us out quite a bit if you fill out this form to record your win or loss officially. So take a minute and increase your Challenge karma exponentially. — Mr. LDBC
The Aussies are some of my favorite people on the planet, and I mean that in all seriousness. Whether trekking in Nepal or blowing my knee out in the Alps, I’ve found them to be among the toughest and best-humored travelers around. Which is why it disturbs me that we’ve been at war with them for decades. We make them look stupid on The Simpsons and give them a bad name in medium after medium. They send us Yahoo Serious and Jacko. Frankly, I think we’re losing. (Don’t believe me? Have we ever come up with adequate retaliation for the commercial below? I think not.) Anyway, LDBCers such as Jennifer Dixon, who contributed the following account of her demise, help give me hope for a lasting peace between us.
I’m out.
You northern hemisphere types won’t appreciate this: it’s 104 degrees out there, in country NSW Australia. I’m in this town doing a locum whilst my family is thousands of kilometres (sorry, MILES) away and I’m bored. I’ve come to the closest thing that passes for a mall in these parts. Just browsing goddawful summer dresses in the plus-size section…. Damn! Unidentified boy band (the worst kind).
A friendly stranger asks me what the matter is (friendly, country folk are everywhere) and, try as I might, I just can’t explain my outburst of obscenities to them. “but it’s just a Christmas song”. They shake their head and walk away from the crazy big city type.
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
This one, courtesy of eagle-eyed, speedy-shuttered LDBCer Tommy Carter, says it all: The Boy is everywhere. Be ever vigilant, people. — Mr. LDBC
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.
Perhaps the blame lies with Philo T. Farnsworth, who invented the medium. After all, last year, it was American Horror Story, and just tonight it was Will Ferrell doing Robert Goulet doing LDB on the SNL Christmas Special.
The dead piled up like cordwood. Anne Sussman, Jesse Blatt, Richard Arnold, Lee Ann Shollenberger, Steve Friedman. OK, so it was only five people, but still—kindling, at least. And poor Anne had already admitted she was jinxing herself by saying she was an LDBC machine. (Some may laugh and gloat, but not me, certainly. Not in public, anyway. Kudos to Hadley Taylor, though, for stepping over Anne’s corpse and heading to the future.)
Perhaps the correct spelling from now on is “Ghoul-et.” Or maybe Ferrell needs to change the name of his site to Funny and Die. Either way, it’s no laughing matter.
Godspeed, lost LDBCers. I guess it really was an impossible dream.
Just a short update, LDBCers, and there’s no pretty way to say this: It’s a freakin’ apocalypse.
Only five days in, and the body count has topped 50. Fifty! Der Bingle and Aladdin Sane lead the Murderers’ Row list with three thus far, but not far behind are Burl “The Churl” Ives, Kenny G.-I’d-Love-to-Kill-Ya, Mannheim Steamroller, Perry Como, and Ray Conniff and his Bloodthirsty Singers with two each.
Home remains the deadliest place to hang, with 13 lives lost there, but retail establishments are coming up fast, with a total of 11.
Oh, the humanity. Or, as the wondrous Willy Wonka said: The suspense is terrible. I hope it’ll last.
With the second day of the LDBC thinking about heading to bed and all the LDBCers heading to work tomorrow, it’s time to tally up the misery thus far. And it ain’t pretty, as the dark side of the holiday cheer has reared its monstrous head and roared a roar that’s thick with rage, slobber, and something that smells suspiciously like Ballantine’s best.
At this time last year, we were down 10. In 2012, it’s nearly twice that at 19. That’s a lot of puh-rum-pum-pum-pain, people.
Location-wise, home is where the harm is, with people’s dwellings edging out the car by a couple of deaths. Artist-wise, there’s no leader yet, with The Jackson 5, Wayne Newton, Frank Sinatra, Linda Ronstadt, Michael Bolton, and Peter Gabriel all stopping by to shank our best and bravest.
Let’s be careful out there.
Here at LDBC Central, we’re more Tiny Tim than Ebeneezer, so Mrs. LDBC and I can’t afford to spring for this bit o’ day-by-day enchantment ourselves. But I can’t think of a better way to ride out a good chunk of the Challenge.
(Oh, and a side note to you suspicious types. We don’t make a dime off of this link. It’s merely a public service.)
Puh-rum-pum-pum-clink!, people.
Little Drummer Boy Challenge 