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Continuing the fabled tradition begun all the way back in 2009, Scratchbomb presents Holiday Horrors and Holiday Triumphs: an advent calendar of some of the more hideous aspects of this most stressful time of year--with a few bits of awesomeness sprinkled in.

I can not, in good conscience, let my last holiday post be about Santa Claus and the Ice Cream Bunny. So here's a few of my favorite Christmas-y things to spirit us through the depressingly brief portion that remains of this festive season.

First off, a Yuletide rocker that is quite popular in England but that has never caught on here in the US. It's "I Wish it Could Be Christmas Every Day" by Wizzard, a band headed by Roy Wood, formerly of The Move and ELO. It sounds like an outtake from the Phil Spector Christmas Album in the best possible way, very Wall of Sound-y, with Motown-esque beat that shall not be turned away from the inn.

Continuing the fabled tradition begun all the way back in 2009, Scratchbomb presents Holiday Horrors and Holiday Triumphs: an advent calendar of some of the more hideous aspects of this most stressful time of year--with a few bits of awesomeness sprinkled in.

This item came across my Twitter transom yesterday. I can't recall who brought it to my attention, so I apologize. I hope sharing this awesomeness will make up for my lack of credit.

The baseball blog Bottom of the Fourth posted a blow-by-blow account of a project of delicious holiday repercussions. The author's new roommates have a holiday tradition of rendering a famous moment in Jewish history in gingerbread form each holiday season. This year, they chose Sandy Koufax's perfect game.

Dodger Stadium has been represented in confectionery form, complete with stands, concessions, and restrooms. It is nothing short of stunning. Sadly, this was not prepared in time for Hannukah, but this is a holiday miracle that knows no creed. Even if you care not a whit for baseball, only an unrepentant Grinch could hate this expression of the holiday spirit.

Continuing the fabled tradition begun all the way back in 2009, Scratchbomb presents Holiday Horrors and Holiday Triumphs: an advent calendar of some of the more hideous aspects of this most stressful time of year--with a few bits of awesomeness sprinkled in.

For many years, I've lauded the virtues of "Santa Claus Conquers the Martians," a special holiday episode of Mystery Science Theater 3000. I must watch this show at least once every holiday season in order to have the most Swayzeist Christmas of them all.

However, there is another Yuletide episode of MST3K that I also watch each year around this time. It dates from the Mike Era and is simply entitled "Santa Claus". If I don't love it as much as "Santa Clause Conquers the Martians," it's only because "...Martians" is in the pantheon of Greatest Things Ever, whereas "Santa Claus" is merely fantastic.

Like many of the better episodes of MST3K, this one benefits from using a film that is straight-up bonkers. "Santa Claus," a Mexican production badly dubbed into English, pits Kris Kringle against Satan himself. Or at least, one of Satan's mincing minions, who prances around our earthly domain trying to get kids to bust windows and disobey their parents.

Santa Claus does his best to combat the forces of evil by gathering together a collection of children from around the world to sing Christmas carols--thus simultaneously offending every race ever. He also races through the sky on a sled pulled by mechanical reindeer, whose hellish cackling will haunt your dreams. There is some truly deranged stuff in this movie nearly on par with monstrosities like "The Attack of the Incredibly Strange Creatures Who Stopped Living and Became Mixed-Up Zombies."

But it's not just the movie that delights. Dr. Forrester and TV's Frank engage in a one-sided "Gift of the Magi"--Frank shaves his head to buy his boss a watch fob, and Dr. Forrester (who'd forgotten all about him) gives Frank a $35 savings bond. Mike and the Bots play a Dream Theater-y tune as the prog rock outfit Sänta Cläus, exchange an odd assortment of gifts, and make an attempt to write a multicultural holiday carol, "Merry Christmas (If That's Okay)".

"Santa Claus" also has some of my favorite lines from the show ever:
 

• "Santa's laughter mocks the poor."
• "Is it a good idea to jingle all the way?"
• "Santa's tendrils reach far and wide. There is no escaping the KLAUS organization."
• "Is this weird enough for ya, kids? How does make you feel about Santa?"
  
• [over a shot of slack-jawed children] "Santa's army of walking corpses!"

What I'm saying is, even if you're a Joel Partisan like myself, do not sleep on "Santa Claus." It will reward you with plenty of nightmare fuel and buffalo shots of a demon in furry red boxer-briefs.

Continuing the fabled tradition begun all the way back in 2009, Scratchbomb presents Holiday Horrors and Holiday Triumphs: an advent calendar of some of the more hideous aspects of this most stressful time of year--with a few bits of awesomeness sprinkled in.

Once again, I present a holiday tale from Jean Shepherd to warm your hackles this Christmas. It is very typical Shep show, which is to say, all over the map and yet one cohesive unit.

In this episode from Christmas Eve 1971, Shep starts out by relating the eerie beauty of seeing power lines go down in a snowstorm. Then, he relates his earliest Christmas memory: seeing an insanely melodramatic adaptation of an extremely melodramatic seasonal poem, "The Bootblack's Christmas." He proceeds to recite some more examples of Yuletide melodrama, which he finds both ridiculous and amazing. This was a frequent topic of his: How humanity's true nature was revealed in what he called Slob Art, the kind of junk that ordinary folks like. He was saying this literally decades before pop culture was seriously studied by anyone.

The show closes with a tale from Shep's army days, when he got a two-day pass and hitchhiked from his base in New Jersey to visit Manhattan for the first time. There, he took in the wartime phenomenon called The Stagedoor Canteen, resulting in a chance encounter with a volunteer waiter who would go on to fame and fortune years later.

Mixed in, you'll hear Shep do some holiday-related commercials, including a flying bird toy that used to advertise frequently on his show, and appeals from charity. He also shills for his own recently released album, The Declassified Jean Shepherd.

I snagged a copy of this album up years ago when I saw a copy in the used LPs section at the Amoeba Records in Berkeley (the only good memory of my sole trip to California thus far, a tale for another time), and it is an odd artifact. It's comprised of clips from his radio show and a live performance at Carnegie Hall (which I'm pretty sure both of my parents attended), intercut with odd snippets of very early 70s rock music. A strange choice, since Shep was resolutely anti-rock. He was more at home with jazz; check out Charles Mingus's "The Clown" to hear him collaborate with the legendary bassist/bandleader on an improvised spoken word piece that is amazingly prescient (and creepy) considering it was recorded in 1957.

But I digress. Please enjoy this collection of Chritsmas tales from the master of the monologue.

Continuing the fabled tradition begun all the way back in 2009, Scratchbomb presents Holiday Horrors and Holiday Triumphs: an advent calendar of some of the more hideous aspects of this most stressful time of year--with a few bits of awesomeness sprinkled in.

As stated earlier this week, I am a big fan of egg nog. I am not a big fan of metal. But a metal song about egg nog? I think I can get behind that.

Courtesy of Videogum, what we have here is a video from Winnipeg public access circa 1991. In it, a group called Box Lunch--comprised exclusively of 15-year-olds--sings a metal peaon to the frothy seasonal brew. I can't exactly tell if they're for or against it, but the point is they're singing about it.

While I think this is awesome, I am putting it in the Holiday Horrors category because I think any self-respecting metal band would prefer to be known as horrible. Also, check out the hat on the bassist. Remember when it was okay to wear hats like that? Oh lord, the 90s sucked.

Continuing the fabled tradition begun all the way back in 2009, Scratchbomb presents Holiday Horrors and Holiday Triumphs: an advent calendar of some of the more hideous aspects of this most stressful time of year--with a few bits of awesomeness sprinkled in.

In retrospect, I wonder how Bloom County happened. It was deeply, genuinely deranged, and yet enormously popular. As a kid, I remember seeing Bloom County collections alongside Garfield ones at the local Waldenbooks (I'm old).

Then again, this was at the same time that both Calvin and Hobbes and The Far Side were nationwide sensations. It was the last gasp of the great newspaper cartoon era. Take a look at that section nowadays--if your local rag even has them--and you'll see the funny pages have degenerated in every conceivable way since Bloom County's heyday.

Much like Calvin and Hobbes, Bloom County fell victim when its vision clashed with the increasingly philistine newspaper world. Creator Berkeley Breathed ended the strip in 1989, then pared it down into a Sunday-only feature, Outland, that ran until 1995. Both strips featured the series' inexplicably most popular characters, a self-loathing penguin named Opus and a non-verbal drug casualty, Bill the Cat.

I say inexplicably because seriously, on what earth should these characters become so beloved? And not among snooty liberal elites and assorted hipsters, but everybody? It's hard to imagine such a thing happening in modern, ghetto-ized culture, where everyone has their own little niche and stays there.

Both characters also starred in the series' first and only animated special, a Christmas tale entitled A Wish for Wings that Work. Near as I can tell, it debuted in 1991 (along with a book of the same name), aired once, and then was quickly consigned to the dustbin of holiday history. Which is a shame, because it is amazing.

The special captures much of the weirdness and feel of the strip, and eschews all of the topical humor that has caused some Bloom County material to not age well. (Turns out John Sununu jokes don't have long shelf lives.) There are tons of little details and Easter eggs to delight the sharp eye, like a pair of pictures on Opus's wall that yawn in unison with him. It has some vocal heavyweights behind it, including Robin Williams and Dustin Hoffman in uncredited roles. And the plot--Opus begging Santa for wings that will finally allow him to fly--is touching without being sappy.

But the real attraction here is the animation, which is stunning. I'm having a hard time thinking of a Christmas special with superior animation. Even the most beloved holiday specials (Charlie Brown Christmas, Rudolph) have remained so more for their stories and/or songs than their production.

It's telling that even though Bloom County was more a verbal comic strip than a visual one, long stretches of A Wish for Wings are brave enough to be quiet and let the art speak for itself. It evokes the grayness and whiteness of winter, landscapes with long monotonous stretches. In a strange way, it reminds me of the simple, endless desert expanses of Krazy Kat.

Thankfully, this was released on DVD a few years ago. So return whatever Netflix disc you have that's collecting dust on your shelf and put this at number one in your queue. You will not be sorry.

Continuing the fabled tradition begun all the way back in 2009, Scratchbomb presents Holiday Horrors and Holiday Triumphs: an advent calendar of some of the more hideous aspects of this most stressful time of year--with a few bits of awesomeness sprinkled in.

The Reigning Sound are awesome. They have created a Christmas song that lives up to their levels of awesomeness. I don't need to say more than that, I think.

Continuing the fabled tradition begun all the way back in 2009, Scratchbomb presents Holiday Horrors and Holiday Triumphs: an advent calendar of some of the more hideous aspects of this most stressful time of year--with a few bits of awesomeness sprinkled in.

Here is another bit of holiday cheer from Jean Shepherd, who knew a thing or two about this subject. I usually don't like to post excerpts of his shows, because I think they are high art and should be enjoyed as a whole. You wouldn't hang up just one square inch of a Monet, would you?

However, if you don't have the time to listen to an entire 45-minute program, you might enjoy this clip from his December 13, 1965 show. In it, Shep reads descriptions of board games on sale at the time and being pitched as excellent Christmas gifts for kids. Most of them are insanely violent, in a way that is virtually inconceivable now (at least in ads for things aimed at children). There is also an ad for a proto-fantasy baseball game that sounds like it was way ahead of its time.

Shep recites the ad copy almost verbatim, with a few wry asides, and like a true artist, he makes these words his own. Enjoy.

Continuing the fabled tradition begun all the way back in 2009, Scratchbomb presents Holiday Horrors and Holiday Triumphs: an advent calendar of some of the more hideous aspects of this most stressful time of year--with a few bits of awesomeness sprinkled in.

No one's ever asked me for life advice because, I mean, c'mon. But if they did, I'd say this: Spend your money on experiences, not things.

Things break. Things fade. Things fail. But experiences can not be replaced and can not be taken from you. I've regretted purchases of things (more than I care to admit), but I've never been sorry I spent money on an experience. Even if the experience itself wasn't what I expected, or fell short in some way, I can always take something instructive from it. And when an experience meets or exceeds your expectations, there's nothing better. Whether it's comedy or music or theater or a vacation, if you can afford the money and the time, do it.

Still, when I heard that Pee-Wee Herman was doing a Broadway show, I debated whether I should spend the dough. Broadway ain't cheap, to the point where I had to really consider if the money would be worth it. What pushed me over the edge was 1) a number of friends/relatives who went and said it was great, and 2) The Baby.

As I wrote about not too long ago, The Baby loves Pee-Wee. One night earlier this year, for reasons I can't remember, I thought she might like to watch Pee-Wee's Big Adventure, and I cued it up on Netflix Instant. She got as far as the bathtub fight with Francis and said "I don't like this movie!" So I turned it off, cursing myself for showing it to her too soon, thinking I'd poisoned her against Pee-Wee forever. But the very next day, much to my surprise, she asked to watch it. This time, she sat all the way through and laughed like crazy.

For the next month, she wanted to watch nothing but Pee-Wee. I showed her clips of Pee-Wee's Playhouse on TV and she loved that, too. One of my brothers bought her the entire series on DVD for her birthday, and she's been watching them incessantly. My cousin got her a Pee-Wee action figure from 1988 on eBay, still in the package. It killed me to open it up, but I did so anyway, and she hasn't slept without it ever since.

So considering The Baby's obsession with Pee-Wee, and considering that Paul Reubens has never done a Broadway show before and is unlikely to do one again, I bit the bullet and pulled the trigger on a pair of tickets for a Sunday matinee. I was fully aware that disaster was an option. After all, The Baby is only 4 years old, and it's always possible she could have a meltdown in the theater, or have to go to the bathroom 800 times, or just be bored. But I've been on a winning streak of late (brag) and I counted on that streak to continue for this outing.

I didn't tell The Baby about the show beforehand, because she has no concept of time and you can't tell her you're going to something in a day or a week or a month. If she hears about some upcoming event, she will assume--and demand--that said event start NOW. So all I told her was that we were going on a super special "mission" to The City. (She likes to pretend to be a spy when we go out. So do I.) The only clue she had was me suggesting she bring her Pee-Wee action figure along for the trip.

It was raining and intensely windy this day. All I had to protect us was an umbrella too big for her little hands but which she insisted on carrying anyway. As we walked up Seventh Avenue, the wind took a hold of her umbrella and blew it up the sidewalk at a furious pace. We ran after it, and only a stranger walking in the opposite direction saved it from flying out into traffic.

I wanted to take her to a diner off of Times Square I'd always gone to with my dad, but the weather meant walking around for too long was a really bad idea. So I decided we'd just get lunch at the Heartland Brewery across the street from the theater. We scurried down the block and hid under the restaurant's awning, shaking off the rain. As we did so I pointed to the marquee across the street.

"Hey, who's that?" I asked her. She, of course, yelled ecstatically that it was Pee-Wee. That's when I told her that we were going to see Pee-Wee do an extra special show on a stage, not a movie or a TV show, but in person.

"You mean he's gonna be real?" she asked. When I said "yes," she literally jumped up and down with excitement.

During lunch, I instructed her on the basic rules of theater going. "You can laugh and you can clap," I told her, "but you can't talk. If you have to tell daddy something, you have to whisper it. And once the show starts, you can't leave your seat. So if you have go to the bathroom, make sure to let me know before the show starts." She listened to and completely understood all of these instructions, which is an extremely rare occurrence.

Once inside the theater, I was genuinely surprised/delighted by the large age range of the attendees. People much older than me and people much younger than me. Kids coming with their parents, older than The Baby but clearly not being dragged along--I mean, kids 8 to 18 who were just as excited as my kid to be there, bringing their own Pee-Wee dolls and tin foil balls. I also saw one grown man dressed exactly like Pee-Wee, which wouldn't have been that weird except that he had this air about him of wanting very much to be noticed as The Guy Who Dresses Like Pee-Wee. If it's possible to stand still conspicuously, he was doing it.

The Baby sat in her seat and eagerly awaited curtain time. As I sat next to her and checked my phone, she angrily insisted I had to watch the stage. "The show's gonna start!" she yelled, and literally pulled my face toward the still-silent stage.

Ironically, after I worried about her bathroom needs, it was me who had to make an emergency run. With six minutes until the show started, I made the executive decision to go to the men's room to forestall any discomfort during the performance. The Baby made me promise we wouldn't miss anything, so I literally ran down the stairs to the lounge area, carrying her under one arm, took care of business, and ran back up to our seats. Elapsed time: 90 seconds.

When the lights went down and Pee-Wee came on stage, I knew the tickets were worth every penny. I've never seen The Baby with a look of such pure, delirious joy. "It's Pee-Wee!" she squealed, because she could barely believe it. She held out her action figure throughout the show so "Pee-Wee" could watch Pee-Wee. I wish I could have taken pictures of her, and yet, I didn't need to, because I will never forget the look on her face at that moment.

She lagged at times, as would any four-year-old forced to sit in a dark theater for 90 minutes, and she was even scared at one part of the show when the lights went out in Pee-Wee's playhouse. But overall, she had an amazing time, and I am so grateful I could share that with her. And since I bought the tickets, I guess I'm grateful to me. Thanks, me! Oh, and Pee-Wee for doing the show, I guess.

The next morning, on the way to school, she said apropos of nothing. "I can't believe we saw Pee-Wee!" She told all her friends and teachers about the show, but they had little idea of what she was talking about. "They didn't know Pee-Wee," she said, with the annoyed sigh of someone who's a little too hip for the room.

It's the best Christmas gift I've ever given to anyone: an experience that she'll remember for a lifetime. And also, the ability to feel vaguely superior to her classmates.

Continuing the fabled tradition begun all the way back in 2009, Scratchbomb presents Holiday Horrors and Holiday Triumphs: an advent calendar of some of the more hideous aspects of this most stressful time of year--with a few bits of awesomeness sprinkled in.

I bitch often on this site (and in other forums) about the crappiness of kids' TV these days. Not that it was any better when I was young'un, but I'm exposed to a lot of junk thanks to The Baby. So when I come across something meant for children that isn't total garbage, I must speak up and praise it. Phineas and Ferb is just such a show.

It's about the titular brothers, super geniuses constantly devising impossibly fantastic new inventions. Their attempts to do so inevitably drive their older sister, Candace, up the wall, as she is typically embroiled in some sort of teenage girl drama.

Meanwhile, unbeknownst to anyone, Phineas and Ferb's pet platypus, Perry, is actually a secret agent. He is charged with thwarting the evil schemes of Prof. Doofenschmirtz, the strangely accented super villain whose nefarious devices invariably end with "-ator", whether they need to or not. Nearly every episode ends with Perry's heroic deeds not only defeating the evil professor, but also incidentally tidying up Phineas and Ferb's exploits, just in time for the boys to not get caught by their parents, thus driving Candace even crazier.

Nearly every show follows this basic outline, but Phineas and Ferb is a breath of fresh air in kids's shows. It's way more clever than it needs to be, has plenty of gags for the adults in the room, and makes me laugh out loud more than any other current cartoon not named Flapjack.

Example: In one episode, Doofenschmirtz invents a sea vehicle he calls the Buoyant Operated Aquatic Transport. "I call it the BO-AT!" he exclaims proudly, seemingly oblivious to what the acronym spells--or the fact that his invention looks and operates exactly like a boat. And later in the same episode, while driving his BO-AT, he comes across the local town's Metropolitan Oval Aquatic Trench and says "Oh, a moat, I get it!"

So when I found out that there was a Phineas and Ferb Christmas special, I actually asked The Baby to watch it with me, rather than the other way around. I was not disappointed.

When the special opens, Phineas and Ferb are plotting, as usual. They want to turn their entire town into a giant Thank You Card for Santa Claus, using lights. Meanwhile, Perry invades Doofenschmirtz's headquarters and finds out that he has received a Naughty-inator from a distant relative. It can release a mist into the air that can render an entire town 'naughty' and therefore undeserving of presents. The only problem: Doofenschmirtz hates every single holiday but Christmas, for which he possesses "a deep, burning apathy."

The Professor changes his mind when a choir of annoying carolers shows up at his door and won't leave until they get some figgy pudding. Driven insane by their incessant singing of "We Wish You a Merry Christmas," he fires up the Naughty-inator, cackling, "So long, Christmas! You're Feliz Navi-dead to me!" Suddenly, Phineas and Ferb's entire town is branded naughty and all their letters to Santa returned.

Is Christmas saved after all? Of course, thanks to a CD by mysterious crooner named Sal Tuscany, a pair of Santa's elves, the bully Buford's attempt to make up for a year of bad behavior with "one big selfless act of kindness," and a series of events far too intricate and strange for a kids' show. Or rather, for most kids' show. My favorite thing about Phineas and Ferb is that it doesn't talk down to its audience. It assumes most kids will be smart enough to follow it along, which most kids are.

Even if you don't have kids, catch this special the next time it's on. I promise you won't disappointed. And if you are, I will refund your price of admission.

Continuing the fabled tradition begun all the way back in 2009, Scratchbomb presents Holiday Horrors and Holiday Triumphs: an advent calendar of some of the more hideous aspects of this most stressful time of year--with a few bits of awesomeness sprinkled in.

My favorite SNL cast remains the first one I ever saw, the late 80s/very early 90s one of Phil Hartman, Dana Carvey, Jon Lovitz et al. Not that this was necessarily the best one ever (though I think it's definitely in the top five, at least), but it is the one for which I have the biggest soft spot. It transferred pretty effortlessly from recurring-character-driven/lowbrow sketches to high-concept/weird ones and everything else in between.

For instance, this extremely brief segment that never fails to make me laugh. It came at the very end of an episode around Christmastime and features Tarzan (Kevin Nealon), Tonto (Lovitz) and Frankenstein singing "Away in a Manger" in grating monotones (or in Frankenstein's case, confused groans). It is unexplained, simple, silly, and stupid, and it slays me every time.

The concept was repeated a few times over the years, and at one point Tonto was replaced by Chris Farley as himself. But this version remains my favorite. Dig in!

Continuing the fabled tradition begun all the way back in 2009, Scratchbomb presents Holiday Horrors and Holiday Triumphs: an advent calendar of some of the more hideous aspects of this most stressful time of year--with a few bits of awesomeness sprinkled in.

Last year around this time, I wrote a post about Jean Shepherd, since he and the holiday season will be forever intertwined thanks to the classic he wrote and narrated, A Christmas Story. I've written on this site many times about my love for his WOR radio show that ran from 1955 to 1957--and how it was much more dark and philosophical than his most famous film. So rather than prattle on for the 8 billionth time, I'd like to present Shep in his own words on a holiday matter.

First up, his show from December 22, 1965. After opening with The Legend of the Flying A Train, Shep's chance encounter with The Truth--in the form of a staggering drunk--reminds Shep of his Uncle Carl. A hopeless drunk, Uncle Carl was infrequently employed, often went missing for days on end, and could never remember which apartment in his building was his. But one fateful Christmas, Uncle Carl came through.

Like all of Shep's best tales, this one is funny and tragic all at once, and above all real, told by a master storyteller. Enjoy.

Continuing the fabled tradition begun all the way back in 2009, Scratchbomb presents Holiday Horrors and Holiday Triumphs: an advent calendar of some of the more hideous aspects of this most stressful time of year--with a few bits of awesomeness sprinkled in.

I've been rediscovering The Adventures of Pete and Pete lately. I don't know how it started, but I got The Baby into this gem, and her love of it has rekindled my own love of it.

I'm very glad Pete and Pete hasn't totally disappeared down the memory hole, which would be very easy for show that didn't run for very long on a cable network. Whenever I mention this show to people in my relative age bracket, they will inevitably break into a smile caused by remembrances of awesome past.

If you're too young or too old to remember Pete and Pete, here's the background: It began in the early 90s on Nickelodeon as a series of shorts, then expanded into half-hour specials, and finally became its own series that ran for three seasons. It was basically about the titular brothers (yes, they were both named Pete) and their, well, adventures in the fictional town of Wellsville.

The show was definitely aimed at children, yet had enough weirdness and sly references to appeal to adults (or very hip kids), little touches and running gags that separate a mediocre show from a great one. Like how every piece of electronic equipment was a Krebstar 2000. Or how Little Pete had a 50s-style tattoo of a lady on his forearm named Petunia (who received her own credit in the opening titles), something bizarre that never came close to being explained, or even questioned. Or how both Petes were constantly terrorized by bullies with insane nicknames like Endless Mike, Open Face, and Gravy Breath.

Pete and Pete had tons of out-of-nowhere cameos by celebrities, often from the world of music. Kate Pierson, Michael Stipe, Julianna Hatfield, and Marshall Crenshaw had one-off roles, and Iggy Pop had a regular gig as the father of Little Pete's friend Nona.

Of course, the best character was Little Pete's personal superhero, Artie The Strongest Man in the World, who would perform feats of strength, enable Little Pete's crazy schemes, and perform gymnastic dance moves like The Voodoo Crispy.



Pete and Pete did one Christmas special during their run, and though it did not feature Artie (he had left the show by that point), it was definitely one for the ages. In some ways it is almost as touching as A Charlie Brown Christmas, while being infinitely more strange.

Continuing the fabled tradition begun all the way back in 2009, Scratchbomb presents Holiday Horrors and Holiday Triumphs: an advent calendar of some of the more hideous aspects of this most stressful time of year--with a few bits of awesomeness sprinkled in.

The word "supergroup" is almost always a misnomer. The resulting mixture is rarely super and only technically a group. More often than not, supergroup = millionaires with guitars dicking around. Sometimes, if we're lucky and the personnel is talented enough, even that can be enjoyable. Usually, it's not.

Our first holiday triumph of the season clearly falls into the Dicking Around category. There's not an exceptional amount of care or finesse thrown into this effort. And yet, it undeniably rocks, and is made more remarkable for the fact that it probably shouldn't have happened in the first place.

"This" is The Greedies, an on-again-off-again collaboration between Thin Lizzy frontman Phil Lynott, two of his guitarists and the drummer from that group (Scott Gorham, Gary Moore, and Brian Downey), and two ex-Sex Pistols, Steve Jones and Paul Cook.

With the passage of time, we can see the spiritual similarities between punk and Thin Lizzy's brand of rock. But in the late 1970s, when The Greedies briefly existed, it would have seemed less obvious. Thin Lizzy represented Arena Rock, while the Sex Pistols stood for the opposite. So these crazy kids getting together is, in retrospect, pretty remarkable.

The Greedies existed in fits and spurts, and as such there is a paucity of information about them on the interwebs. (The most comprehensive rundown comes from Answers.com, so, yeah.) Apparently they played shows here and there when Thin Lizzy's touring schedule allowed it, but nothing much came of the attempted merger. Their only recorded output was a one-off holiday-themed single released during the Yuletide season in 1979: "A Merry Jingle."

Is it the best Christmas song ever? Of course not. In fact, it's little more than a medley of "Jingle Bells" and "We Wish You a Merry Christmas" in a rocking milieu. Normally, I find rock-ified versions of Christmas carols to be insufferable. Even the Bruce Springsteen version of "Santa Claus is Coming to Town" makes me cringe. I blame the spoken word intro; something about The Boss asking Clarence Clemons if he'll get a new sax for Christmas gives me chills of discomfort.

Not so with this. Maybe it's the goofy feel of the tune, as if they can barely believe they're playing this dumb song. Maybe it's just the idea of most of Thin Lizzy and half of the Sex Pistols playing together.

Whatever. It's fun. Sometimes that's enough.