Frostbite: A Christmas LP

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In 2009, Quincy Jones assembled a group of talented performers, writers and lyricists to put together an unusual comedy Christmas album. Released by Mofotown Records in November of that year and distributed through Starbucks, sales immediately reached platinum levels. Although a dozen-track recording, Starbucks gave away a four-track sampler with purchases over $25. Liner notes provided below.

Track Two: I’m on the Naughty List

Santa might lose his cool / If you don't heed his rule

Hip hop artists HOUSE OF PAIN

Another holiday season is underway

But I got a bad feeling I’m sad to say

This year gone by I done some harsh things

Like shot two cops and swiped some bling

I’m not puttin’ up a stocking, and no effin’ tree

‘Cause come Xmas morning there’ll be nuthin’ for me

I’m on the Naughty List


I’m on the Naughty List


Santa ain’t gonna come down my chimney

Or show up with a sack at my door

Gotta show the whole world he’s pissed at me

No pretty paper and bows for me no more

Won’t be missing that fat slob and his creed

That you gotta be nice or you’ll turn out gift-poor

I’m on the Naughty List


I’m on the Naughty List


Now I got enough swag from my own two hands

And all them hoes running to my bed from the badlands

I’ve been thinkin’ real hard about Santa and his sleigh

All those reindeer are guys; that sounds kinda gay

So who needs Christmas? It’s just a kids’ scary dream

That some red-suited old man is watchin’ your schemes

I’m on the Naughty List


I’m on the Naughty List


(fade out)

Track Three: Acute Study of Westernized Contraption of Santa Claus Cost-Free Gift Factory Deception

"Hi-Five, Meat Monarch!"

Serious Journalist BORAT

Borat: Hello, my name-a Borat. Jing-qui. I arrive here in northern equator to discover truth about comprehensive driver insurance which make me not at fault for driving sleigh under influence of vodka and insecticide, and also how capitalist system can result in cost-free gifts distributed overnight to supposedly good children only. First, a stop at typical USA outlet of burned cow carcass, placed carefully between two breads for purpose of serving and consumption.

Burger King employee: Hello sir, Merry Christmas; can I take your order?

Borat: Ah, yes…...where is…where is monarch?

Burger King employee: What?

Borat: Where is monarch of this meat?

BKE: Uh…

Borat: King. Where is King of Burgers?

BKE: You mean the Burger King? There's a life-sized cardboard cutout of him right over there.

Merry Christmas.

Borat: Yes. That not real him though. He is not here? I hope to meet him, sit on his lap…

BKE: Oh…uh, he’s not real.

Borat: What? But…

BKE: He’s not a real person.

Borat: But I see him, on television! He make football touchdown, he dance jig, he fly sleigh—

BKE: Sir, the Burger King is not a real person. Could you order, please? You’re holding up the line.

VOICEOVER Borat: I could not believe what this young chocolate man was telling me. Perhaps he high. We check back later.

Track Six: The Horror of Christmas

Antlers...they creep me out.


Most of you wouldn’t guess it, but the tale of Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer has all the fixings for a proper terrorfest.

First, you got yourself the Mutant. Now society is always on the watch for this Other—particularly since the Cold War hit stride in the 50s, I believe—and that gang of regular reindeer is lightening quick to notice there’s Something Different about the new guy. Just like back in high school it only takes the cool kids a day or so to mess with his head, and get poor Rudolph thinking he’s a freak.

Now we’re ready for the story to take a sharp turn for the blood and screams. The only thing that’s needed here is a cataclysmic event: one that sharply cleaves the narrative into Before and After…when Things Will Never Be The Same Again. In my first novel, Carrie, a set-up bucket of pig’s blood falls on my socially-inept protagonist at the prom. From that point there’s no going back—she knows she’ll never be accepted. And she’s Angry.

Fortunately for Christmas, a bloodbath doesn’t break out in the Rudolph fairy tale. No, instead a diffusion happens: the big guy Santa comes along and breaks the societal rules as only he can, promoting our hero to a position of great importance and turning good ol’ Rudy’s freakish attribute into a huge plus. And what do our high school troupe of antlerheads do? Go right along with the boss and start sucking up, of course.

Yet if something truly horrible had happened to the freak reindeer before the jolly fat man showed up on the scene, Rudolph might have turned. There could well have been an orgy of trampling, goring, and biting…all eerily illuminated by a dim crimson front-mounted glow. Nobody’d be left to pull the sleigh and deliver those gifts. Then we might be talking about the horror of Christmas.

Track Nine: Regarding a Little Labor Problem at the North Pole

"Reindeer as familiars? Any idealism went up the chimney at the first sign of the Malleus Maleficarum."


Dennis Miller: So there’s a guy, you’ve all heard of him, he’s twiddling his thumbs 364 days of every common year in a frozen pad, and then bursting into a huge, push-away-from-procrastination-driven manic explosion of activity for one stinking night in the hopes that everyone’ll love him and he can bring toys and cheer and laughter to all the kids in the world. And you know the sick thing? It works; for like three-quarters of the western world, it works. He feels the love.

Chris Rock: I guess Santa just don’t care about Black People. I mean, we’re lumped in there with the White Folks in the good parts of the country; but when we on our own, we are plain ignored.

DM: I know! What’s the guy doing all year? It’s not like there’s HBO north of the DEW line!

Now I ask you: what about the other millions—billions!—of kids lying in bed out there, gnashing their diminutive teeth about whether they’ve been naughty or nice? We know the guy’s pure lazy. So what does he do? Just get out the Decision Pencil with the Kid List, and start slashing away on the 23rd? “Oh crap. India. …uhhh…they’re All Naughty.” Slash. Middle East? “No fucking way am I flying over that. And I sure as shit am not trying to get my fat ass down some rickety chimney when there’s house-to-house fighting going on! A delivery guy can only get greeted by the barrel of a gun so many times.” Gimme a break, Santa; go to a Spy Store and get yourself a flack vest like the grown-ups use. I mean, the man does a shitty job. Santa has picked out the low-hanging fruit for the past hundred years, and concentrated on pleasing the rich, safe part of the world where he’ll get the most return on his investment.


CR: And another thing. Santa, he got his little folks working away up there in the North Pole. Right, elves. Supposedly they work hard all year long, cranking out those bazillion toys that’re going to all the good kids. Let me ask you something. You ever hear about those poor tiny fellas gettin’ PAID?!

Hmm. Some poor folks doing all the work while a big fat white guy sits around in charge. Sounds just like another situation we all familiar with, doesn’t it.



DM: It’s gotta be pretty darn easy to keep a population of midget workers isolated at the top of the world. Can you imagine what would happen if the AFL-CIO ever got in contact with those guys?? Or if one of those elves got himself ahold of a copy of The Communist Manifesto? There’d be a pointy-eared seizure of the means of production and summary execution of one Senor Claus by the folks in green faster than you can cry “Viva La Revolucion!”



DM: So you got a slave population at the North Pole, running a clandestine mass factory operation, and there’s no money, no reward system, no new ideas. How does Santa keep up morale?! Maybe that’s how he controls their breeding.

Look—there can only be so many elves. You get too many, and they’ll eat you out of house and home. There’re only so many ovens, too; that maximizes the number of shortbread cookies available for those midget bastards to eat. And I’m sorry, folks, but you can’t have a little elf kill-off every so often when their numbers get a bit high. So what’s Santa doing up there to keep things within manageable parameters? Is there one factory spitting out tiny condoms? That boy’s got a serious labor issue. I don’t want to get off on a rant here, but—



DM: I know. And we can’t ask Old Fatty in the Red and White Attire what he’s up to. This guy’s more difficult to find than the Phantom of the Opera every night of the year but one. And even then you’re not gonna catch up with him.

CR: The only thing left to do is wave and wonder. Try to be nice to your neighbor. Wish ‘em well; don’t steal their shit no matter how enticing. And to all, a good night!

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