Grand Avenue by Steve Breen and Mike Thompson

Grand Avenue

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  1. Yochanan204

    Yochanan204 said, about 2 years ago

    Jingle Bells isn’t a Christmas song; it’s a winter song. It was written for the time around Thanksgiving, and now we never hear it between Dec. 26 and October.

  2. Clark  Kent

    Clark Kent said, about 2 years ago

    ♫ ♪ Chesnuts floating on an open sewer…… ♪ ♫

  3. capndunzzl

    capndunzzl said, about 2 years ago

    John Fahey/“christmas soli” guitar solo album

  4. zoidknight

    zoidknight said, about 2 years ago

    @Yochanan204

    Yet.

  5. perceptor3

    perceptor3 said, about 2 years ago

    Oh God. . . Our “easy listening” station in St. Louis has been playing Christmas music since halfway through November. That has to be some kind of crime against humanity. . .

  6. david_42

    david_42 said, about 2 years ago

    The worst part is they play the same songs, by the same artists, at the same time, in the same order, every fraking hour.

    Although to give the DJs some credit, they get calls if people have to listen for more than ten minutes to hear their favorite song.

  7. comicsssfan

    comicsssfan said, about 2 years ago

    And the size of the tv is so much bigger now, too.

  8. Comic Minister

    Comic Minister said, about 2 years ago

    Oh boy.

  9. BRI-NO-MITE!!

    BRI-NO-MITE!! said, about 2 years ago

    @perceptor3

    Easy listening is a crime against humanity.

  10. Wolf Emperor

    Wolf Emperor GoComics PRO Member said, about 2 years ago

    I listen to the same songs repetitively, just not Christmas ones. E.g. I’ve been listening to the same two Angela songs over and over whenever I drive in the car for about 2 weeks now. Movies, on the other hand, I rarely watch more than once per year, at most.

  11. burleigh2

    burleigh2 said, about 2 years ago

    That’s about how I feel about Christmas music… it’s the same dozen or so songs redone hundreds of times by different people (some to different tunes). Just one reason that there’s only a few Christmas songs that I like (mostly unique ones that haven’t been redone ad nauseum). :-s

  12. Nathaniel_W

    Nathaniel_W said, about 2 years ago

    Chipmunks roasting on an open fire, Hot Sauce Dripping from their toes

  13. Ly Taylor

    Ly Taylor said, about 2 years ago

    Kids still watch Rudolf the Red Nosed Reindeer? Serious?

  14. samfran60

    samfran60 said, about 2 years ago

    I love listening to the Christmas songs on the radio. What really irks me is when they don’t tell the artist’s name when you aren’t sure who is singing. But they will announce someone like Elvis Presley who even newborn babies recognize the voice.

  15. Neo Blakkrstal

    Neo Blakkrstal said, about 2 years ago

    Day One

    Dear Nuala,
    Thank you very much for your lovely present of a partridge in a pear-tree. We’re getting the hang of feeding the partridge now, although it was difficult at first to win its confidence. It bit the mother rather badly on the hand but they’re good friends now and we’re keeping the pear-tree indoors in a bucket. Thank you again.
    Yours affectionately,
    Gobnait O’Lúnasa

    Day Two

    Dear Nuala,
    I cannot tell you how surprised we were to hear from you so soon again and to receive your lovely present of two turtle doves. You really are too kind. At first the partridge was very jealous and suspicious of the doves and they had a terrible row the night the doves arrived. We had to send for the vet but the birds are okay again and the stitches are due to some out in a week or two. The vet’s bill was £8 but the mother is over her annoyance now and the doves and the partridge are watching the telly from the pear-tree as I write.
    Yours ever,
    Gobnait

    Day Three

    Dear Nuala,
    We must be foremost in your thoughts. I had only posted my letter when the three French hens arrived. There was another sort-out between the hens and the doves, who sided with the partridge, and the vet had to be sent for again. The mother was raging because the bill was £16 this time but she has almost cooled down. However, the fact that the birds’ droppings keep falling down on her hair while she’s watching the telly, doesn’t help matters. Thanking you for your kindness.
    I remain,
    Your Gobnait

    Day Four

    Dear Nuala,
    You mustn’t have received my last letter when you were sending us the four calling birds. There was pandemonium in the pear-tree again last night and the vet’s bill was £32. The mother is on sedation as I write. I know you meant no harm and remain your close friend.
    Gobnait

    Day Five

    Nuala,
    Your generosity knows no bounds. Five gold rings! When the parcel arrived I was scared stiff that it might be more birds, because the smell in the living-room is atrocious. However, I don’t want to seem ungrateful for the beautiful rings.
    Your affectionate friend,
    Gobnait

    Day Six

    Nuala,
    What are you trying to do to us? It isn’t that we don’t appreciate your generosity but the six geese have not alone nearly murdered the calling birds but they laid their eggs on top of the vet’s head from the pear-tree and his bill was £68 in cash ! My mother is munching 60 grains of Valium a day and talking to herself in a most alarming way. You must keep your feelings for me in check.
    Gobnait

    Day Seven

    Nuala,
    We are not amused by your little joke. Seven swans-a-swimming is a most romantic idea but not in the bath of a private house. We cannot use the bathroom now because they’ve gone completely savage and rush the door every time we try to enter. If things go on this way, the mother and I will smell as bad as the living-room carpet. Please lay off. It is not fair.
    Gobnait

    Day Eight

    Nuala,
    Who the hell do you think gave you the right to send eight, hefty maids-a-milking here, to eat us out of house and home? Their cattle are all over the front lawn and have trampled the hell out of the mother’s rose-beds. The swans invaded the living-room in a sneak attack and the ensuing battle between them and the calling birds, turtle doves, French hens and partridge make the Battle of the Somme seem like Wanderly Wagon. The mother is on a bottle of whiskey a day, as well as the sixty grains of Valium. I’m very annoyed with you.
    Gobnait

    Day Nine

    Listen you louser!
    There’s enough pandemonium in this place night and day without nine drummers drumming, while the eight flaming maids-a-milking are beating my poor, old alcoholic mother out of her own kitchen and gobbling everything in sight. I’m warning you, you’re making an enemy of me.
    Gobnait

    Day Ten

    Listen manure-face,
    I hope you’ll be haunted by the strains of ten pipers piping which you sent to torment us last night. They were aided in their evil work by those maniac drummers and it wasn’t a pleasant sight to look out the window and see eight hefty maids-a-milking pogo-ing around with the ensuing punk-rock uproar. My mother has just finished her third bottle of whiskey, on top of a hundred and twenty four grains of Valium. You’ll get yours!
    Gobnait O’Lúnasa

    Day Eleven

    You have scandalised my mother, you dirty Jezebel,
    It was bad enough to have eight maids-a-milking dancing to punk music on the front lawn but they’ve now been joined by your friends ~ the eleven Lords-a-leaping and the antics of the whole lot of them would leave the most decadent days of the Roman Empire looking like “Outlook”. I’ll get you yet, you old bag !

    Day Twelve

    Listen, slurry head,
    You have ruined our lives. The twelve maidens dancing turned up last night and beat the living daylights out of the eight maids-a-milking, ‘cos they found them carrying on with the eleven Lords-a-leaping. Meanwhile, the swans got out of the living-room, where they’d been hiding since the big battle, and savaged hell out of the Lords and all the Maids. There were eight ambulances here last night, and the local Civil Defence as well. The mother is in a home for the bewildered and I’m sitting here, up to my neck in birds’ droppings, empty whiskey and Valium bottles, birds’ blood and feathers, while the flaming cows eat the leaves off the pear-tree. I’m a broken man.
    Gobnait O’Lúnasa

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