Oxygen levels are getting yet more stringently reduced. It felt bad enough, that some radio stations had started the Christmas
But now, fewer than half the car radio presets are safe havens from Christmas schlock.
“The Twelve Days of Christmas” can be a trial to endure singing them through; and sheer agony to endure listening to it. But the torture has risen to exquisitely sadistic heights in a reissue of a particularly insipid version sung by Frank Sinatra and sundry Sinatra offspring. This was really a dark corner of the studio vaults which should have been walled up after a jeroboam of Amontillado.
And yet, honestly, that is not the worst of it.
Is that not terrifying? Rum pa pum pum.