All I want for Christmas is you.
No sorry – that was a typo.
All I want for Christmas is for you
To buy me lots of expensive shit
That I don’t need but might like –
Actually, I’m happy with anything…
All I want for Christmas is material love
And the kind of emotional value
That you can measure in weight;
Or else that one-of-a-kind physical love
In the form of sexual trysts and a
Violent one-night-stand with a man
Who could knock off your week
With little more than the swing of his fist;
Or maybe the kind of spiritual love
That comes from knowing that God
Has not abandoned you because he
Was broiled alive several years ago
In a freak accident that the coroner
Deemed “death by sexual misadventure”.
But seriously you don’t have to…
All I want for Christmas is a gift
That really makes me feel seen –
Like a poem about self-immolation,
And a tomahawk gun;
Champagne-flavoured bleach in
A decadent rat-trap
And cyanide hamper; perforated
Eardrums and a stomach ulcer
Or just one of those vintage smites
That I’ve heard so much about,
If it’s convenient; I’d hate to put you out…
All I want for Christmas is to rest,
Even if it means you have to sedate me,
No matter how many frying pans
You need to hit me over the head with.
Restrained in a bed or in a cell
Or in a cage, kidnapped and blindfolded
And held in some unusual place;
So long as I can stop for a second
I’m really not too fussed…
All I want for Christmas is panic,
On the streets and in the sheets,
In houses and stores, from the rich
And the poor, on every news station
And from every couple enjoying
A transatlantic vacation; so long
As I can look outside smiling
With my champagne-bleach and say:
“Oh yes now it’s Christmas, I can tell,
Everyone else has gone crazy as well”.
... I’m fairly sure that’s too much to ask…
I’ve asked for all these things before.
So all I want for Christmas is that one
Special thing, above all else, and truly
The only thing I want in earnest – and please,
If you really do love me, it shouldn’t be
A problem – all I want for Christmas
Is Mariah Carey’s larynx on a platter.
Don’t laugh – I fucking mean it.
This is a serious matter.