Jason: Huh. We’re finally at the very end of this horrible, horrible season. And yet, I don’t know what Mellowmas song I want to listen to today.

Jeff: “None”?

Jason: You and I both know that’s not an option.

Jeff: You know, we’ve listened to dozens of songs over the years.

Jason: We have.

Jeff: And our discussion often turns to motivation. As in: why did these artists do these awful things?

Jason: Yes.

Jeff: Usually, we agree it’s about money.

Jason: Yes. Even though some of these artists don’t stand a chance of making a cent.

Jeff: I mean, I’m pretty sure Kenny G, Amy Grant, and McD have all bought islands with their Christmas music royalties. But sometimes these albums are recorded because the artists really, really love Christmas.

Jason: I think they all live next door to each other, actually.

Jeff: Like Jim Nabors. Remember that one?

Jason: Of course I do. Rest in peace, Jim Nabors.

Jeff: But what if you didn’t love Christmas so much as you loved Santa?

Jason: Well, I can understand that. Lots of people don’t think of the religion behind Christmas. They think of the fat red guy who brings presents. (I mean Santa, not Carnie Wilson.)

Jeff: And by “love,” I mean “had four minutes and 23 seconds of corked up pornographic fantasies about Santa, along with a home studio and either an emotional disability or a raging drug problem”?

Do you know what I’m getting at here, Jason?

Jason: …uh…I think I do, but it seems too unbelievable that you’re suggesting what I think you’re suggesting.

Jeff: Before today, I would have agreed with you. Sadly, Mellowmas has carved away another chunk of my innocence.

Jason: Let me add this up: Coked-up pornographic fantasies. Emotional disability or a raging drug problem.

….Fred Schneider?

Jeff: sigh Bingo.

Jason: ….AGAIN?

Jeff: sigh Again.

Jason: Does this mean you finally digested your FRUITCAAAAAAAAYKE!?

Jeff: Yes, and out came a song called “Santa Je T’aime.”

Jason: Smells awful.

Jeff: Have you ever wondered what it sounds like when a middle-aged man sits down at a cheap synthesizer in the middle of the night?

Jason: I had no idea Dave Lifton owned a synthesizer.

Jeff: Heyooooooooooooooooooooooooo!


Jeff: After you hear this, you will wish we were listening to Dave Lifton.

Jason: Wow. That bad, huh?

Jeff: Next to this, “A Very Dave Lifton Christmas” would have to sound like a Grammy-winning holiday masterpiece.

Jason: I can’t believe we’re going back to Fred Schneider.

Jeff: Neither can I. But I’ve developed a sort of strange fascination with this album.

Jason: I have to admit, I’ve caught myself singing “FRUITCAKE!” a few times.

Jeff: I think it’s a cry for help.

Jason: And by “a few times,” I mean “every night before bed.”

Jeff: Are you still married?

Jason: Yes, but I don’t know how. I get gayer every time I sing it.

Jeff: I thought maybe Jess had locked herself in the bathroom since December 1.

Jason: Also, when I sing it, I do jazz hands.

Jeff: Now I have the mental image of Roy Scheider screaming “Fruitcake.” This keeps getting worse. Want to see how bad it can get?

Jason: No. And by no, I mean “FRUITCAAAAYYYKE!”

Jeff: Fruitcake!

Fred Schneider and the Superions – Santa Je T’aime
Jason: More keyboard bass!

Jeff: Ah, there’s that Superion sound.

Jason: Oooh, rave-y.

Jingle bells.

Wait, WHAT?

Jeff: Yes, you did just hear that.

Jason: I wish you could see my face right now. Hang on, I’ll take a picture.

Jeff: So, um, what we have here is Fred Schneider moaning Santa’s name, and then Fred Schneider AS Santa, booming “Ho, ho, ho.”

Jason: I….I feel so dirty. This is ABYSMAL.

Jeff: Yeah, this is pretty much the worst thing ever. And we’re less than halfway through!



Jeff: Almost two more minutes to go! It’s amazing IN THE WORST WAY.

Jason: I swear I just heard Santa go “HO HO HO…OOH.”

Jeff: This song would be bad enough if it had been 20 seconds long, but it’s one of the longest tracks on the album.

Jason: Why….why would they….why?

Jeff: It’s just nonsense. And “they” who? I guarantee it’s just Fred Schneider and lots of drugs.

Jason: Jeff, I feel so awful inside.

And I also feel awful outside.

I think this is actually worse than Shelley Duvall.

Jeff: Oh, by far. Shelley Duvall’s holiday music, while dreadful, came from an innocent place. This song came from the darkest corner of Fred Schneider’s rave-wearied heart.

Jason: Look, I think I’ve established, through the years, that very little is sacred to me. BUT YOU CANNOT SEX UP SANTA. You can be a little playful and sultry with him, like Eartha Kitt.

Jeff: Right.

Jason: Hell, you can even kiss him like your mother did. Poor Santa now has herpes, but whatever. But this song implies that Santa is doing nasty things, perhaps involving a pine cone.

Jeff: I completely agree. Also, Fred Schneider sounds tired here — and I mean that in the scary, bleary-eyed, pre-dawn way, not in the adorable tuck-me-in way. His vocals sound wrinkled. It’s fucking disturbing.

Jason: That’s not all that sounds wrinkled.

Jeff: It’s, like, “The Shining” of Mellowmas.

Jason: I’m not 100% positive, but this might be the WORST SONG WE HAVE EVER COVERED.

Jeff: To recap: We just heard Fred Schneider being diddled by Santa.

Who was also played by Fred Schneider.


Jeff: And penicillin!

Jason: How am I going to sleep tonight? And by “tonight,” I mean “EVER AGAIN”?

Jeff: With Fred Schneider moaning in your ear! I’m going to offer your wife $100 to moan “Oh, Santa” the next time you guys are having sex.

Jason: Hey man, $100 is $100. For $100, I’ll go “HO HO HO” in that awful Fred-Schneider accent.

Jeff: Really? Because I don’t think I’d risk that kind of boner killer for $1,000. The equipment may never work again.

Jason: I feel so sick right now.

Jeff: You should. All decent human beings should. I’m writing to the UN.

Jason: Remember that Onion article, “Gay-Pride Parade Sets Mainstream Acceptance Of Gays Back 50 Years”?

Jeff: I do. I wonder if Schneider read it, thought it was real, and took it as a dare.

Jason: “I’d always thought gays were regular people, just like you and me, and that the stereotype of homosexuals as hedonistic, sex-crazed deviants was just a destructive myth,” said mother of four Hannah Jarrett, 41, mortified at the sight of 17 tanned and oiled boys cavorting in jock straps to a throbbing techno beat on a float shaped like an enormous phallus. “Boy, oh, boy, was I wrong.”

Thank you, Fred Schneider, for doing your part.

I…I have to go. I have to go pour boiling hot water over my skin.

Jeff: While you’re having your Silkwood Mellowmas, just remember: things seem pretty bleak right now, but they can only get better. Unless Howard Jones makes a Christmas record. Then we’re fucked.

Jason: Howard Jones would not stoop so low as to make a record moaning about Santa. Before today, I didn’t think ANYBODY would stoop that low.

Jeff: I think it was probably more of a squat than a stoop, but I agree with you.

Jason: Were your kids around when you played this song?

Jeff: Why, are you on the phone with CPS?

Jason: I’m just curious. Last time you played Fred Schneider, you said your kids wound up hitting each other.

Jeff: Yeah, and then they started singing “Fruitcake.” No way I was going to risk that again.

Jason: applauds wildly Yeah, and you also knew that if they heard it, they’d be scarred for life.

Jeff: One day they’ll read these entries and understand the sacrifices I made for them.

Jason: Well, folks, hope you’ve enjoyed today’s song. I’d love it if you sent in pictures of what your face looked like as you listened to this song.

Jeff: Yes! Do that! We’ll send them all to Fred Schneider. A Mellowmas shaming.

Jason: We should go to shopping malls across the country and make the store Santas listen to this. Can you imagine?

Jeff: I can imagine the nights we’d spend in jail! Filled with a very different sort of moaning.

Jason: Lots of people yelling “FRUITCAKE,” though.

Jeff: That boiling water you mentioned sounds pretty good right about now. I think I’ll go try that.

Jason: I don’t think it’s going to work, but good luck! Je t’aime, Jeff.

Jeff: shudder
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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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