Thursday, December 14, 2006


1. Schizophrenia --- Do You Hear What I Hear?

2. Multiple Personality Disorder --- We Three Kings Disoriented Are

3. Dementia --- I Think I'll be Home for Christmas

4. Narcissistic --- Hark the Herald Angels Sing About Me

5. Manic --- Deck the Halls and Walls and House and Lawn and Streets and Stores and Office and Town and Cars and Buses and Trucks and Trees and.....

6. Paranoid --- Santa Claus is Coming to Town to Get Me

7. Borderline Personality Disorder --- Thoughts of Roasting on an Open Fire

8. Personality Disorder --- You Better Watch Out, I'm Gonna Cry, I'm Gonna Pout, Maybe I'll Tell You Why

9. Attention Deficit Disorder --- Silent night, Holy oooh look at the froggy can I have a chocolate, hey pretty lights, why is France so far away?

10. Obsessive Compulsive Disorder --Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells,Jingle Bells,Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells,Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle,Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells,Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells,Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells,Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells,Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells,Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle ......

Have a Merry "DYSFUNCTIONAL" Christmas!

Wednesday, December 13, 2006

Another Christmas Story!

The fragrant evergreen needles,

Digging deep into my skin,

My gloves only protect my hands,

On my wrists, branches tearing at the skin,

Poking at my face,

Or jabbing at my chin,

Wrestling through the doorway,

"I'll get this DAMN thing in!",

I place the cold, snowy tree of pine,

Upon the stand of pressed,

Brightly painted, sheet metal,

With a reassuring thud, I know,

Again, I missed,

...And hit the floor,

Another dent,

To remind me of Christmas,

Now the tree, proudly seated,

Upon its' flimsy stand,

To be adorned with lights, and ornaments,

"I'll make her look just GRAND!"

Lights upon her gracious branches,

The twinkle in the children’s eyes,

Do not reflect the seasons meaning,

Dimmed by the lights, `tis no surprise,

Yet still, we follow folly,

With all this mistletoe, and holly,

If we forget the seasons' worth,

Of Christmas time, and Jesus' birth.

Sunday, December 10, 2006

Santa Claus and his Reign Deer

Let me tell you a story, a tale of woe, The story of Santa, before you all go, This is a tale, of one they called Nick, Who lived a hard life, that would make some people sick, A tale to be told, around this time of year, A story of woe, which brings most eyes's to tear, 'Bout a balding old man, with a long beard of white, Who lived way up North, far away out of sight, He lived up on the tundra, in a make-shift-shack, There he tried keeping warm, burning dropping of Yak, Life on the tundra, is never too kind, You must fight to keep living, and eat all you can find, Then one cold winter’s Day, many long years ago, Old Nick was out hunting, on the tundra in snow, The wind bitterly blowing, snow swirling about, Nick was in trouble, yet the snow drowned his shout,

Then out in the distance, a light did appear, In the swirling snow, his heart filled with fear, The light then descended, setting down on the ground, From the light came a voice, which spoke without any sound, The voice said to Nick, "Nick, you've had a hard life." "But now this will change, I shall give you a wife." Yet here with a mate, this task is your quest." "Dedicate eternity to Christmas, forsaking the rest." "Service to children! That is my command!" "Bearing gifts to all children, whatever they demand!" "Oh, great light that speaks.", said Nick in trembling voice, "What", said the light, "You've not got a choice!" So, Nick stood erect, yet trembling with fright, And the next that he knew, he was wearing red, trimmed with white! Dressed now, in garb which he wasn't accustom, Said Nick to himself, "Why should I trust him?" "Calm all your fears Nick.", said the voice from the light, "With new clothes, comes a new name, which I'm sure will delight!" From Northern Siberia, you'll be "Santa the Red!". Said Nick to the voice, "I don't quite like that name." "Let's think it over, no sense in us rushin', Please don't name me after some old commie Russian!" "Perhaps Nick, your right, just what would you suggest?" "Is there another name, which you wouldn't detest?" "What's wrong with just 'Nicholas'?", said Nick with a smile, "That's not a name which any would find vile.", So Nick got his way, and his job he does "saintly", Now we call him "Saint Nicholas", But his buddies now call him "Saint Nick", Now I've this story to finish! Don't let me digress!

I've told you the story of his name, and how he is dressed!
There's still more to tell, I'll get to it now, The story of his sleigh, and his dozen reign deer, I know, there is only eight now, just wait you'll find out why, Be patient for now, there's no reason to cry, So the voice said to Nick, who was picking fleas from his beard, "You'll soon fly in the sky, please don't be scared!" "You gotta' be kiddin' me!", said Nick, "That silly!" "You'll fly in a sleigh, powered by a horse named Billy." (You know that's not true, of course!)

...Here's why.
"Your first task Saint Nick, is to find a stallion or mare, It must be a worthy beast, of what gender I don't care." "Now where on the Tundra of Northern Siberia, Will I find a horse? You only see Yak!" "Well, sometimes you see deer too, but what good is that?" Said the light to Nick, "You've done it again by Joe!" "Now find me some bucks, and a half-dozen doe!" Said Nick, "Powered by deer, with a sleigh at the rear, To fly in the sky, light, find some other guy!" "Trust me", said the light, "You have no reason to fear, Sit down, relax, here's a bottle of beer!" "What kind of beer?", said Nick with suspicion,

"Why, a 'lite' beer of course, what else would I keep?" Now Nick sat down, resting his touche, Pondering his decision, sipping Anheiser Busch So Nick sitting down in the snow, he was at quite a loss, "Alright, I'll do it, but I gotta be the boss!" So Nick gathered his reign deer, a dozen to the pack, Lead by a yak, his favorite of course, the one he called "Jack", Well, Jack didn't work out, and chased away four of his deer, So Nick let him go, then finished off his six-pack of beer,

When the light finally returned, the deer were transformed, That each one could fly, which to Nick he forewarned, Then the light it is told, gave Nick a contract for life, He asked both to sign it, ...yes, Nick and his wife, With one stipulation, that on each Christmas Eve, That this time with your wife, you must of her take leave, Delivering presents to kids all over the world, that is your cause, In the contract we'll call this, the "Santa Clause", So, Santa agreed, and was given a sack, It made all the toys easier to pack, This is the end, the end of this story, The rest as you know, is just more history!

…..Merry Christmas!

Friday, December 08, 2006

The Christmas Tale of "Rudolf the Red"

....Now it's gone too far!

Let me tell you a story of "Rudolf the Red",

Most ancient tyrants, whom all people dread,

He ruled with iron-fisted fear, throughout his reign,

Though centuries have passed, legend's all that remains,

From his castle of stone, where he passed his decrees,

Around Northern Poland, which the winter did freeze,

His heart like his home both of stone, they were made,

Living the life of a tyrant, by his cold-steel blade,

Now Rudolf was cruel to animals too,

Tough venison especially he liked to chew,

So, on the coldest of winter days he would order,

His servants to hunt for deer which to slaughter,

On the coldest of winter days the hunt would begin,

With cruel weapons the animals would be ripped limb from limb,

Cold steel claws were the weapons Rudolf liked best,

No other weapon could pass his cruel test,

The villagers living in the valley below,

Living in conditions of cold freezing snow,

Would hear from the castle, these terrible screams,

Saying, "Surly, Lord Rudolf is SATAN, or so, it doth seems!",

Now, after each animal was brutally clawed to its death,

Rudolf would order tower bells to be rung,

And the skins of the deer, on the doorway be hung,

This was too much for some, this cruel decree,

So they raised a rebellion, just to set the deer free,

They raided his castle, and gave Rudolf the sack!,

With his own cruel claw, they clawed down his back,

Loudly they cheered, "Satan's been clawed, and given the sack!"

"No more is it freedom of which that we lack!"

So they tore down the castle, and built a tall pole,

Totally black, it was made from the hardest of coal,

A monument to every departed soul,

Now memories, can change, their meanings we neglect,

What we once thought was evil, may changes as we reflect,

Lost until now, was this unlikely tale,

But its meaning right now I'll tell, without fail,

So Rudolf the Red, we see now quite wrongly,

The villagers called him "Satan with the Claws",

Now what we call him, is simply "Santa Claus",

…Does that give you some sort of reason to pause?

His reign of terror, and brutality to those deer,

We simply remember as "Eight tiny Reign Deer",

Playing too, were bells after each deer he slew,

We remember as Sleigh bells, on a sleigh, which he flew,

Riding on his sleigh, with deer under reigns,

Led by Rudolf, with his bright nose of red,

Children who are rotten, bad to their soul,

Get their stockings at Christmas, filled up with coal,

Though, the villagers gave Rudolf "the sack",

We remember him now, just carrying his sack,

Filled up with gifts, and toys on his back,

His gifts, for children, he never seems to lack,

We remember Rudolf, who lived to the north,

And remember the North Pole, from which he came forth,

His castle long forgotten, his evil obscured,

Perhaps, do you find this tale absurd?

Perhaps, this story gives you something to ponder,

If you don't believe it, just asking those who remember,

Ask Comet, or Cupid, or Blitzen, or Donder,

They will say: "It's the truth, no reason to wonder!"

Maybe next time, I'll tell you why,

Rudolf didn't die, there's reason to sigh!

And don't worry either, there's no reason to cry,

...'Cause now Rudolf,

After all these years, he learned his lesson.

But he's still not a guy,

...With whom YOU should be messin'!

'Cause he now packs a pistol, ...a SMITH & WESSON!

Merry Christmas!


Tuesday, December 05, 2006

Curses of the Errant Quote:

See what you guys do, you get me started on something!

Here is a little information about the (de)composer P.D.Q. Bach:

According to Wikipedia:

Among the many "facts" about the composer's life in Schickele's fictional biography of the composer, we find the following:

P. D. Q. Bach was born in Leipzig on April 1, 1742 [2], the son of Johann Sebastian Bach and Anna Magdalena Bach. According to Schickele, Bach's parents did not bother to give their youngest son a real name, and settled on "P. D. Q." instead. Johann Sebastian did not give any musical training to P. D. Q. After his death, the only earthly possession Johann Sebastian Bach willed to his son was a kazoo.
In 1755, P. D. Q. Bach was an apprentice of the inventor of the musical saw, Ludwig Zahnstocher (German for "toothpick"). In 1756, P. D. Q. Bach met Leopold Mozart and advised him to teach his son Wolfgang Amadeus how to play billiards. Later on P. D. Q. Bach went to St. Petersburg to visit his distant cousin Leonhard Sigismund Dietrich Bach (L. S. D. Bach), whose daughter Betty Sue bore P. D. Q. a child.
Finally, in 1770, P. D. Q. Bach started to write music, mostly by stealing melodies from other composers.
P. D. Q. Bach died on May 5, 1807; however, his grave was marked "1807-1742".
P. D. Q. Bach's Epitaph reads [as requested by his cousin Betty Sue Bach and written by the local doggerel catcher]:
In the "original" German:
Hier liegt ein Mann ganz ohnegleich;
Im Leibe dick, an Sünden reich.
Wir haben ihn in das Grab gesteckt,
Weil es uns dunkt er sei verreckt.
Here lies a man with sundry flaws
And numerous Sins upon his head;
We buried him today because
As far as we can tell, he's dead.

In his many preconcert lectures Peter Schickele has revealed other information about P. D. Q. Bach's life:

P. D. Q. Bach had a substantial influence on Beethoven's deafness. This is due to the latter's habit of stuffing coffee grounds into his ears whenever he saw P. D. Q. Bach coming.
P. D. Q. Bach is the INTERCAL (a parody of computer programming languages) of Baroque music.


Schickele describes P. D. Q. Bach as having "the originality of Johann Christian, the arrogance of Carl Philipp Emanuel, and the obscurity of Johann Christoph Friedrich." The most distinguishing feature of P. D. Q. Bach's music, in the words of Schickele, is "manic plagiarism". P. D. Q. Bach seldom wrote original tunes; for the most part he stole melodies from other composers and rearranged them in often funny ways. Also, P. D. Q. Bach's music uses instruments not often used in orchestras, such as the tromboon, slide whistle, hardart, lasso d'amore and kazoo, as well as items not normally used as musical instruments, such as balloons and bicycle. His music also calls for unusual methods of playing traditional instruments, such as blowing through double reeds by themselves (that is, detached from the instruments) throughout Iphigenia in Brooklyn. His parts for vocalists, in addition to singing, also include coughing, snoring, sobbing, laughing and yelling.

P. D. Q. Bach's music pokes fun at many types of music, including Baroque, Romantic, modern, even country music (Oedipus Tex and Blaues Gras) and rap (Classical Rap). The "Schickele" or "S." numbers whimsically assigned to P. D. Q. Bach's works parody musicologists' catalogues of famous composers, such as the Köchel catalogue of Mozart's works.

There is often a startling juxtaposition of styles within a single P. D. Q. Bach piece. The Prelude to Einstein on the Fritz, which alludes to Philip Glass's opera Einstein on the Beach, provides an example. The underlying music is J. S. Bach's first prelude from the Well-Tempered Clavier, but with each phrase repeated interminably in a minimalist manner that parodies Glass's. On top of this mind-numbing structure is added everything from jazz phrases to snoring to the chanting of a meaningless phrase. Through all these mutilations, the piece never deviates from Bach's original harmonic structure.

Schickele divides P. D. Q. Bach's musical output into three periods: the Initial Plunge, the Soused Period, and Contrition. (These periods have no relationship to the order in which Schickele actually wrote the pieces, but are simply another play on musical scholarship.)

During the Initial Plunge, P. D. Q. Bach wrote the Traumarei for solo piano, an Echo Sonata for "two unfriendly groups of instruments", and a Gross Concerto for Divers' Flutes, two Trumpets, and Strings.

During the Soused (or Brown-Bag) Period, P. D. Q. Bach wrote a Concerto for Horn & Hardart, a Sinfonia Concertante, a Pervertimento, a Serenude, a Perückenstück, a Suite from The Civilian Barber, a Schleptet in E-flat major, the half-act opera The Stoned Guest, a Concerto for Piano vs. Orchestra, Erotica Variations, Hansel and Gretel and Ted and Alice (an opera in one unnatural act), The Art of the Ground Round, a Concerto for Bassoon vs. Orchestra, and a Grand Serenade for an Awful Lot of Winds and Percussion.

During the Contrition, P. D. Q. Bach wrote the cantata Iphigenia in Brooklyn, the oratorio The Seasonings, Diverse Ayres on Sundrie Notions, a Sonata for Viola for Four Hands, the chorale prelude Should, a Notebook for Betty Sue Bach, the Toot Suite, the Grossest Fugue, a Fanfare for the Common Cold, and the canine cantata Wachet Arf!

He also composed the religious work "Missa Hilarious" (Schickele no. N2O) - N2O is "laughing gas" - which was found along with documents pertaining to his excommunication.

Monday, December 04, 2006

The Obscure History of the Holiday Celebration Finally Revealed

'Tis the Season to be Jolly, or so said the Merry fellows in ancient times.

However, a closer look at the history of this holiday seems to indicate that we find its roots steeped in the traditions of Western European culture. Generally, this holiday is most closely associated with good food, good drink and lots of merry making. Upon closer examination, we see now that this holiday is truly a celebration more closely associated with our humble kitchen chef whose preparations were, (and still are) a major part of the holiday festivities.

It was a time long, long ago when the chef de cuisine” of the small European villages would band together and share their most potent recipes, “conspiring” together to intoxicate the senses of villagers with a venerable orgy of inebriating beverages and fragrant foods that would numb the senses of taste and smell. Thus, it was the humble chef whom we may attribute the phrase: " 'Tis the season..." whilst smugly snickered to himself, the reasons to which will soon be revealed to you, the reader. You see, these foods and beverages would contain (not altogether accidentally) certain supplements that today, would certainly be considered either essentially illegal or potentially of dangerous origins.

It would be these dubious substances that would cause those who would normally be the most upstanding members of the community to go out wildly in pursuit of the pleasures of the flesh and senses. These "ladies and gentlemen" of the communities would (after partaking in the seasonal refreshments), go about the village in pursuit of any members of the opposite sex they could get their hands on. This lead to a period of anarchy over the typically quite village during the course of much of the holiday season, one in which the aforementioned village-folk took ample advantage of each other in manners we will not mention to you here, our gentle readers.

With the passage of time on or about late next summer, many of those females who partook in the seasonal revelry usually had no recollection of their dubious holiday escapades due to having usually partaken in the same seasonal fare as their male counterparts. These "frisky ladies" soon found they were “with child”.

As it happened, these women, soon gave birth to an unusually large proportion of baby girls. Those families, especially those of good repute within the community generally attributed this to some sort of divine intervention of their faith (usually to protect the respectability of the family name) thus, in honor, named the little girl after the Virgin Mary. Henceforth, the aforementioned time of conception was later referred to (with a quick-wink) as a time of "Mary making", in later, to be called "merry making" or as presently, "making merry".

But alas, we have digressed off the subject at hand.

As the years past, the villagers became increasingly aware of those not so harmless additives to their festivities and being a folk of discriminating tastes and temperament, would avoid these foods and libations. So the chefs (being a rather ingenious group altogether) would add certain palatable spices to obfuscate the flavor of these questionable ingredients. Henceforth, the villagers having after a period of time, became accustomed to these spices over the years were finally able to identify these seasonal dishes with some degree of accuracy. This was indeed, because, these flavorful overtones would be included in an attempt to conceal in disproportionate quantities these identifiable hostile flavorings and although now very palatable became established seasonally as associated with the holidays.

The chefs, when confronted, by the villagers and being a rather resourceful group, yet wisely not wanting to be altogether dishonest stated in a rather cunning manner; "My goodness! Good recipes simply take time to prepare." Of course, embedded though some clever homonym was repeated as the absolute truth, because "Thyme" was predominately the season in use as a cover‑up!

These very resourceful, yet cheerful “chef d'oeuvre” usually, were grossly underpaid for their hard work, thus, at times, in order to compensate for this oversight in remuneration took certain liberties with the “well-oiled” villagers during these periods by nimbly relieving them of the contents of their pockets, including any other personal effects of value on their person whenever practical. Any villager who, not being in a total stupor and capable of resisting, usually were knocked‑out with a wooden bar applied with an unreasonable degree of force to the area about the solarplexes until that person was doubled over in pain and rendered senseless. These victims were later referred to as being "doubled‑over on the bar". This bar welding thug was in later years referred to by the somewhat irate villagers as: "The Bartender”.

Those lucky villagers who were not quite as inebriated when the “bartender” came around usually were able to dodge, duck, or otherwise hop‑over the swinging bartenders' advances. This practice later became known as "Bar Hopping" a phrase often used today but with a substantially altered meaning. If the bartender could indeed be subdued by the revelers, which on rare occasions did happen, the villagers, being folk of fun, and good‑nature, would then take some rope, and tie the hands of the "bartender" together behind his back, then his bar would be tied to his hands in such a manner that when the bartender walked, he would be lightly tapping the back of his head with his great stick. This practice later became traditional in the villages, and was often referred to as "tying one on" at the bar.

What traditionally followed, would be that the bartenders inebriated victims would head out to the next village pub to continue their festive celebration, but with substantially lighter pockets and, in a great deal of physical and psychological anguish which would not be fully realized until the next morning.

Of course, now‑a‑days when we experience emotional, or physical distress, we usually order something to relieve the pain, often we order what is now called a "double" from the bartender, not only will he give it to you but, with the price of drinks he still robs you blind. As to the definitive etymology of “Holiday Punch” I think perhaps I need not digress.

Perhaps someday though, I will enlighten you as to how the doorman at these public establishments came to be known as the "Bouncer"! But that is a story for another time.

So remember, around holiday thyme, it 'tis the season...

...The Season of Merry Making!

I suppose the bottom line of this is:

Please, beware of "Chef's Surprise" and "Swinging Bartenders".