New Christmas Carols for the times we’re living in

To the tune of "Joy To The World"

Boy, what a world! Accord is done

Let’s nuke the whole darn thing

We can't outsmart our certain doom

Aggression is on the wing

North Korea and mass shooting

Why not just wipe the slate of everything

Oy, where's the mirth in hurricanes?

The ice caps melt, oh joy

Now polar bears will take great pains

to eat our girls and boys

they'll eat our girls and boys

and then they will eat some of their favorite toys.

To the tune of “Rudolph, the Red-nosed Reindeer”

You know Siri, Alexa, and Google Assistant

Then there’s Cortana, her queries persistent...

But do you recall...the most worthless help bot of all?

Snorkoo the hapless help bot had a very buggy code

And when you said “TV on!”

It triggered Snorkoo’s sleep mode

All of the other help bots made a pretty great soufflé

Snorkoo the hapless help bot turned it into egg flambé

Then, although you’d disbelieve, Congress called to say

Snorkoo, though you've no heartbeat, won't you fill this vacant seat?

Then all of Congress loved him, to a man they did agree

Legislating with no heartbeat's not a liability...

To the tune of "Away In A Manger"

He drives a Ford Ranger, pit bull in its bed

He fits many labels, including “skinhead”

You might think a Nazi’s a poor role to play

but he makes side dough as an alt-right DJ

He finds fertile soil as civility breaks

(If you’re a gay couple, good luck buying cakes)

Where this stops I can’t say, but this we can try:

If Gramps was against you, well hell, so am I

To the tune of "Do You Hear What I Hear"

Said the boss man to the new temp Pam,

“Want to see my wee wee?”

(She was thinking wow, should I scram?)

“Or how ‘bout you flash me?”

Bizarre, bizarre, that’s when Pam took flight

So his jailing she’d expedite

Yes, his jailing she’d expedite

Said the temp Pam now better employed:

“Let us not live in fear”

Emails to her friends she deployed:

“Am I right? This ends here."

So long, so long

she now says with ease

when a boss turns out to be a sleaze

All commend her new expertise

. . .

I, for one, cannot wait for the new year.

Christmas carols form a bridge to the past, and dad

I went to a caroling party last week and learned it is much easier to fake harmony than it is to sing on key.

I was also humbled to realize that I only know the first line of any carol you can name. For example, I know perfectly well it's beginning to look a lot like Christmas, but I couldn't tell you where.

It was a festive evening, with food and drink and the predictable seasonal conversations about kids' exorbitant tuition costs. Somewhere between "Silent Night" and "The Little Drummer Boy," though, I began to feel the melancholies. It might have been the Old Fashioned I was drinking, which had four fingers of whiskey in it. That is, for me, three and three-quarters too many fingers. I am a basically antisocial person, but a social drinker. Meaning I don't get much practice.

So it might have been that, or maybe just the memory of Christmases past, which brought my dad to mind. He was a singer, a some-time professional, but best loved being part of a chorus. He once visited a prison with a choir to bring a little holiday cheer. They filled the place with song, and then as they departed, called out "Merry Christmas! See you next year!" From a far corner of the cell block came a doleful reply: "I'll be here."

There are a lot of carols I have never heard of. They, like all things unnecessary but good, can be found online. "Bethlehem Down" sounds like a Michael Bay action movie starring Liam Neeson. (Slogan: "They told Mary and Joseph there was no room at the inn. They were wrong. Dead wrong.")

I can't imagine "Jesus Christ the Apple Tree" ever moved a lot of sheet music. "Rocking Carol" sounds hopeful, especially if you picture it sung by shepherds with ZZ Top beards and Stratocasters, until you find out it's a Czech lullaby to put babies to sleep.

Dad probably knew all of these. He would sing anything, any time. He felt like it made the world better.

The fire crackled at my back, and I set down my cocktail for good as we launched into "Jingle Bells." In this version, Batman didn't smell, and Robin didn't lay an egg. It wasn't that kind of crowd. It was cheery, though.

Songs are like a ribbon strung across time. Dad's got one end and I've got the other. Joy to the world? Yeah. I'm in.