This song takes my hatred of cats and my hatred of schlocky Christmas carols, shakes them up in a Yatzee tumbler, and then produces a royal flush of disgust. T
I don't get how you could enjoy this, Mr. Anklevich. I'm now thinking of writing a story about a Passover tarantula, that wraps a juicy fly up in its web, not to eat it, but to keep it warm from the chilly winds that blow through the child sweatshop/brothel in which it lives. It'll be just as true-to-life as this song. But with a better tune.