Movies Schmovies

Christmas is a douchebag. Its trappings are so gaudy that even St. Patrick’s Day comes off as the quiet, classy drunk in the corner of the bar in comparison. By some miracle, it manages to be the most overly commercialized holiday, while simultaneously serving as the most incredibly sanctimonious. And to top things all off, there’s just something about Christmas that seems to bring out everyone’s inner retard. (Don’t believe me? Drive to the mall tomorrow at about noon.)

All of these special ingredients mix together to form one of the most noxious concoctions known to man: Christmas rap.

The only reason I know about this song is because it was available for free download on iTunes about five years ago but any song that samples Tchaikovsky over lines like “dashing through the snow in a stolen Chevrolet” is well worth that price. Apparently, the Nasty Boys didn’t make Santa’s nice list, because even though they said it’s all they wanted for Christmas, I’ve still never heard them on the radio. Of course, they also said that “all” they wanted for Christmas was to be Jay-Z, be exonerated for multiple felonies, to get a “ho ho ho,” a T-Mobile Sidekick (which now, five years and several iPhone models later, even failed rappers could probably afford), payment of back child support and of course, to get crunk. Perhaps Santa didn’t appreciate their apparent misunderstanding of the “all I want for Christmas” song. Traditionally, “all” you want for Christmas is something simple like “you” or “my two front teeth,” but this ostensibly short list of Christmas wishes turns into the Spanish Inquisition.

So did you ever wonder what happened to Henry Rowengartner after guiding the Cubs to the World Series, and presumably being named the National League Rookie of the Year for 1993? Well, he’s been lying low for a while, and is finally launching his rap career under the name J Randall. And what better way to launch it than with a Christmas song? You see, around 400 B.C.E., ancient Sumerian rappers discovered the “my name is X and I’m here to say” cadence, and shortly thereafter discovered that Santa Claus’ association with the word “ho” offered the clever wordsmith an opportunity to discuss women of ill repute on Clear Channel radio stations. But for the subsequent two millennia, this bon mot was relegated to only single verses, a shame since such cutting wit really deserves an entire song. In all seriousness, though, for all that this video makes me think the Atlanta Hawks must have traded Kirk Heinrich to Def Jam Records (and his corporate sponsor is Bod), if all Christmas music were like this, I probably wouldn’t dread December anymore. I still wouldn’t like it, but you know, that’s something.

Have you listened to the whole song? Really? Not just had it on while you were doing other stuff, but actually paid attention to what the Ying Yang Twins were saying? If you did, you’re ahead of me. I made it through exactly 1:24, less than half of the song. What you need to realize, though, is that there is a whole EP like this. The Ying Yang Twins recorded a Christmas album. Having listened to parts of several of the songs off the album, I can imagine only one scenario as to how such a thing came to be: Tired of hearing that the crunk rap that they (along with Lil Jon) are largely credited (blamed) with innovating is awful and uncreative, the Twins set out to defend their genre by showing that even if crunk music is just an uninspired collection of obnoxious noises repeated in a 3-5 minute loop, so is most Christmas music.

I once read a pretty convincing argument once that Dr. Seuss was the world’s greatest rapper. So a Christmas rap about one of Dr. Seuss’ most beloved characters is bound to be a hit right? Maybe, but this song is pretty determined to prove that theory wrong. First off, it’s a rap song written for a movie soundtrack. Strike one. Second of all, no good rap song has ever been written using the “rapper meets movie character” premise. The soundtracks of the 1990s stand as a hilarious monument to those many souls who tried and failed. Also, consider the following: the song is based on a shitty movie; it contains a children’s choir; you can’t understand most of the words; and of course, it is credited as “featuring” Jim Carrey, who unfortunately does sing-talk through most of the song. Oh, and did I mention that Busta Rhymes is a fucking human abortion? Seriously, of all the vile trends that came out of the 2000s – openly celebrating ignorance, teen girls having anal sex to preserve their virginities, voting for George W. Bush – not one of them can hold a fetid, shit-smeared candle up to Busta fuckin’ Rhymes. Listening to Busta Rhymes is like a napalm enema. Did you notice all of the noise that sounds like someone shouting and/or laughing during the chorus? Well now that you know it’s a Busta Rhymes song, you can easily identify the sound’s source: That’s the sound of Busta’s metaphorical dick ripping apart the metaphorical vagina of your childhood, then digging up the corpse of Boris Karloff, and going balls deep in his very real, very dead asshole.

And there were in the same country, drivers in their cars, avoiding the all-Christmas music radio stations. And, lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them, and hit seek on their radio, and they were terrified. And the angel said unto them: Fear not; for behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. For unto you, is born this day in the city of Compton, a Savior, which is Easy Motherfucking E. And this shall be a sign unto you; you shall find his Christmas song on YouTube, because there’s no fucking way they could play this on the radio. And suddenly, there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host, praising God and saying “Merry muthafuckin Xmas.”