Go through the Christmas carol canon and there are dozens of songs about wanting to to fuck Santa Claus. “Santa Baby.” “I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus.” I only hear snippets of ‘Santa Claus is Coming to Town’ in the background at shopping malls, but I imagine it’s probably about Santa spreading his festive seed all over town in one carnal night. Based on the sheer number of songs celebrating Santa’s fanciful fornication, his reindeer should be getting bonus pay for dragging his big ol’ yule hog around the world. Point is, Christmas songs are full of lyrics about getting dicked down by jolly ol’ St. Nick. I just find it a little hypocritical that if you write one song about getting snow plowed by Frosty the Snowman, suddenly you’re on the naughty list and get banned from caroling at the local old folks’ homes.
What’s the first thing that comes to mind when you think about Frosty? That’s right, his powdery-soft badonkadonk that puts the ‘ass’ in ‘Christmass.’ I know nothing gets me into the holiday spirit like a festive jingle about Frosty busting it down snow-angel style on some freak shit, but apparently the Puritan brigade at my choir found the title ‘Frosted by the Snowman’ in poor taste. These old bastards survived the Great Depression and a World War, you think they can’t handle a song about getting blizzed on by the world’s sexiest snowman? Ageist if you ask me.
Just look at the original lyrics to 1950s Frosty the Snowman: ‘Thumpety thump thump,
thumpety thump thump, look at Frosty go!’. The subtext is clearly about Frosty taking someone’s mom to plow town while the kids are busy outside playing in the snow, they just couldn’t come out and say it back then or they’d only play your songs in underground jazz clubs in New Orleans. Only difference between that song and mine is I have the snowballs to come out and sing about Frosty’s voluptuous curves in great detail.
We haven’t added a new classic Christmas carol since Mariah Carey’s ‘All I Want For Christmas Is You’, and I think it’s because we’ve pumped both that well and Santa dry. It’s time we added a little spice to caroling, stopped censoring brave artists, and finally celebrated Frosty’s sexual prowess with a tasteful five-minute power ballad about the legendary round mound of pound.