Jason: Jeff! I’m so glad you’re here. I just had the worst dream.

Jeff: I’m pretty sure we’re living that dream, but I’ll bite: What happened?

Jason: I dreamed that there was this song that I came across for Mellowmas. It was, like, this weird voice that sounded like it was in some sort of chamber.

Jeff: There have been like 200 of those, my friend.

Jason: I know, but this one was different. It was some ode to…I think it was birds.

Jeff: You wrote “birds” just now and I Finched. Wait, I mean I flinched.

Jason: Oh my god, that was her name! Finch!

Wait a second. Jeff.

Jeff: But not Dorothy Finch, right? Tell me her name was Rebecca Finch. Or Andrea Finch.

Jason: How did you know that? IT WAS DOROTHY FINCH.

Jeff…was this not a dream? Have we listened to someone named Dorothy Finch?

Jeff: Well…define “dream.” Because I think it was Dorothy Finch’s dream to corner the market on weird, atonal, quasi-holiday-related music, and it came true.

Jason: Oh no. This happened, didn’t it. Dorothy Finch is real. She really wrote a song about birds, didn’t she. We did this already?

Jeff: Well, yes, although it wouldn’t surprise me if Dorothy Finch has written more than one song about birds. And/or holidays. If you ask me, people should only play her music on Halloween, but I don’t get to decide these things.

Jason: Hang on. Let me go back. What was this, like 10 days ago or something?

Jeff: Let me check the level on my big bottle of bourbon. Yeah, I think it was about 10 days ago.

Jason: This holiday is getting to me. I am blocking things out, like, IMMEDIATELY after we play them.

Jeff: Me too! When I go to edit these posts, they always come as a surprise. It’s a coping mechanism.

Jason: Okay, hang on. I’m going back to listen.

Jeff: WHY?

Jason: No, this isn’t it. I mean, there were similarities, sure, but this isn’t the track I dreamed about.

Wait, it’s coming back to me. There were birds. And you and I were talking about the song, just like this one we just talked about.

It sounded like…
It sounded like…

Dorothy Finch, “The Birds of Christmas”

Jeff: Pretty…and yet ominous.

Jason: Jeff…where are we? Is that you whistling terribly?

Jeff: *sigh*

Jason: Are you the worst fucking whistler in the world?

Jeff: No, that’s the fucking Birds of Christmas. I hate you.

Jason: YOU hate me? * I * hate me more. I don’t want to be here, you know!

Jeff: Jason, I know she looks like a sweet old lady and all, but be honest: What do you think the odds are that Dorothy Finch is a serial killer? Because I kind of think this song was the last thing at least one person heard before they died.

Jason: The whistle is probably the last thing she does before she takes out her ice pick.


Jason: I swear this song had something in the title about birds. I haven’t heard any yet, though.

Jeff: Oh shit, she started singing!

Jason: Oh hi, Dorothy.

Jeff: Oh my God, she sounds like she’s wearing someone’s skin as a bathrobe.

Jason: How can she sing and whistle at the same time? Wait, I don’t want to know.


This is legitimately horrifying.

Jason: Actually, that might be preferable. I was afraid she was farting.

Jeff: “The Queefs of Christmas”

Seriously, what kind of dementia inspires this? Even if you were writing something like this and thought it sounded good, I mean…it’s an interlude.

Jason: Wait, I think I just heard a dog in the background!

Yup, that’s a dog. That is totally a dog.


Jason: I imagine Dorothy sings this song every morning as she makes her Sanka.

Jeff: I feel like Dorothy Finch is walking up behind me, and it’s creeping me out, man.

Jason: At this point, I think I’d be okay with Dorothy Finch killing both of us.

Jeff: Hold on, there’s someone at the door.

Jason: NO JEFF

About the Author

Jeff Giles and Jason Hare

Two people, separate rooms Trying to hurt the other Bound together by destiny Is there nothing they won’t do? Will we never see them through?

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