Six weird as f**k Christmas carols

THE festive season is upon us, and carollers around the country are warming up to shout weird shit. What the f**k are these classics about?

God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen

Ladies, you’ve got Girls Just Want To Have Fun and that Shania Twain one for your nights out. This one’s for the blokes of the 17th century. Never mind that it’s in a terrifying minor key and it’s the only carol that features Satan, just focus on the tidings of comfort and joy, yeah?

We Three Kings of Orient Are

Finally, a carol where you get to use syntax like Yoda. And then you reach the verses about gifts, explaining cheerfully that myrrh is to represent ‘sorrowing, sighing, bleeding, dying’. Normal new baby things that were definitely on Mary’s Pinterest mood board.

Ding Dong Merrily On High

Imitating a doorbell is a great and not batshit way to start any song. The real issue is the multiple instances of verb forms that simply don’t exist. ‘Let steeple bells be swungen’? Absolutely not.

I Saw Three Ships

First, shut the f**k up about some ships. Second, apparently they were crewed by our Saviour Christ and his hitherto unmentioned lady? Do you realise how badly this buggers up New Testament continuity?

Good King Wenceslas

Look, however great a monarch Wenceslas was, and however mad fun it is to say the word ‘cruel’ with two syllables, there’s no reason he should get his own song at Christmas. Carols should be about Jesus or, you know, his disciples and prophets and shit. Why are we even talking about one king’s overdue change of heart?

The Little Drummer Boy

Here’s where we all pretend to be a little boy who had the nerve to go visit a newborn with a loud musical instrument. There’s no way we should be celebrating how much he fucked up Mary’s sleep training. That pa-rum-pum-pumming prick should be on a list, not in a song.

Sign up now to get
The Daily Mash
free Headlines email – every weekday

'Rather than buying and posting Christmas cards, we are spending the money on drugs'

THIS year, rather than spend money on the non-sustainable practice of sending Christmas cards, Annabelle and I have agreed to spend the money on drugs. 

We’re taking a stand because we believe it’s the right thing to do. Because we hope to change the way we think of Christmas. And because we want to get blitzed.

The tradition of sending Christmas cards comes from the Victorians. Isn’t it time to move on from cluttering our mantlepieces and other surfaces with wasteful cardboard, when we could be snorting fat lines from them instead?

And the cost adds up. A pack of 10 cards can cost £5 or more. Send out 30 and you’re laying out £35, and that’s for second class stamps. The same amount spent on MDMA would last a whole weekend.

Then there’s the tedium. An evening in the run-up to Christmas when everyone’s horribly busy spent writing identical messages to former acquaintances? No thanks. Wouldn’t it be more festive to be tripping your balls off in front of The Polar Express?

So this year we’re making a break with tradition. Instead of spending that money on depleting pine forests, we’re spending it on mushrooms. And we invite you to join us.

Let’s all come together and wish each other a Merry Christmas on Zoom, absolutely f**ked off our heads. And then again, two minutes later, because we don’t remember the first time.