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An Andy Williams Christmas

It wouldn't be nice to pick on Andy only one month after he announced he has cancer. I wish him well, if only because I have long dreamed of experiencing Andy's Christmas show on skag.
December 15, 2011, 3:00pm

It wouldn’t be nice to pick on Andy Williams only one month after he announced from the stage of his own Moon River Theater that he has cancer of the bladder. Of course, it won’t affect the outcome, but I wish him well, if only because I have long dreamed of travelling to Branson, Missouri and pulling a rented Ford Explorer off Highway 76 into the Moon River Theater’s starlit parking lot. I would pause, gaze at the city lights, and think for a moment of the lowbrow knuckleheads down the highway at Baldknobbers Jamboree Music Show, the supple young bodies grinding at Motown Downtown, and the atheist liberal elites crammed into Yakov’s Dinner Adventure, and I’d snort; but then I would smile and open my heart to all of them, because it is Christmas. In my fantasy, all the ushers at the Moon River Theater are dressed as the Mouse King from The Nutcracker, and the furry paw that takes my ticket gently pats my back as the other paw points the way to my seat. Snug in my chair, enfolded in the sights, smells, and sounds of the season, I find a vein, jack up, and experience Andy’s Christmas show on skag.

Andy Williams Christmas Show, “It’s The Most Wonderful Time of the Year”

Through my tears, the sparkling lights run like a whore’s makeup, blurring the painted eyes on the ceramic reindeer and casting a halo over Andy’s head. I am inviolable. Towards the end of “Sweet Little Jesus Boy,” I piss my pants, puke on my shirt, and am carried out on a stretcher, turning bluer by the second. Andy reprises “It’s The Most Wonderful Time of the Year,” singing directly to my helpless body as I am borne to the waiting ambulance, a child again at last, believing in the magic of the holiday.  Does Andy Williams hate Christmas? His easy smile is deceiving: Look at—never into—his ice blue eyes. Their diamond-sharp gaze, hardened by years of brute toil under Santa’s yoke and whip, cruelly pierces the giftwrap and peers with disdain at the turd within. His work schedule during the holidays would certainly make Andy more vulnerable than most to seasonal affective disorder, but the force behind his eyes is harder than depression, closer to rage.

Fear, “Fuck Christmas”

Those eyes see straight through our President’s red ruse. Two years ago, Andy told Radio Times: “I think [President Obama] wants to create a socialist country. The people he associates with are very left-wing. One is registered as a Communist. Obama is following Marxist theory. He's taken over the banks and the car industry. He wants the country to fail.” This is distinct from but harmonious with the view of Korn’s Jonathan Davis, who calls Obama an “Illuminati puppet” and misses “the old days when people were proud to be American.” Surely, we can all agree that the country would be better off if only Obama had given more away to bankers, speculators and financiers, and presented his entire bare asshole to Republicans when negotiating, crying “FUCK ME! PLEASE, DADDY, FUCK ME IN MY ASS!”

Andy Williams, “Moon River”

Christmas is a time of year when families gather to exchange prejudices over a glazed pig. We sacrifice the pig to the purity of childhood. We sacrifice the pig to the blessed state of innocence. We sacrifice the pig to the Lord’s perfect justice. We sacrifice the pig to another year of work. We sacrifice the pig to Andy’s health. It is good that we sacrifice the pig.

Previously – Cat Stevens