The arguments about Do They Know It’s Christmas? are, if anything, even more tiring. Why won’t you shut up? Why won’t you leave me in peace? Oh, please don’t drag out that transparent man-in-the-pub baloney about it being slang for the warbling drunks in the city jail. So you aren’t shutting up? You have now moved on to the observation that there is not nor has there ever been an “NYPD choir”. Right-wing blowhards announce they will be blasting the uncensored version out their windows at supposed snowflakes (which is seasonal, at least). Someone makes the preposterous argument that Shane is “actually” using a euphemism for a lazy person. ![]() The arguments about the use of an offensive epithet for homosexual – the one that rhymes with “maggot’ – go through the same cycle each year. You won’t need to be reminded of the disputes around the Pogues’ warhorse. The arguments about Do They Know It’s Christmas? are, if anything, even more tiring In this sense, at least, Christmas was less exhausting. No contemporaneous equivalent of that edgelord English actor declared he would refuse to substitute ‘Inuit” when gathered round the family piano. Nobody worried about Nat “King” Cole noting that folks were “dressed up like Eskimos” in The Christmas Song. Tis the season for fraught discourse about Christmas songs. Please shut up about Do They Know it’s Christmas? What’s that? Apparently, I now need to tell you to shut up about Baby, it’s Cold Outside. ![]() Please shut up about Fairytale of New York.
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