Homer VanSlyke's Twelve Days of Christmas

When I was young, we only had nine days of Christmas. That was years before capitalism went nuts and we started tacking on Christmas days like they were candy, to give people more time to buy fruitcakes, hunting rifles and salad forks. There was a real ugly period there where America was doing everything to excess; we even added a half-dozen states just for the hell of it. Nevada? Give me a break. Two hookers and a bag full of dirt does not a state make. Same thing for Hawaii. And those Hawaiian assholes even paid us back by getting us into WWII. If that's a Hawaiian's idea of gratitude, they can keep their pineapples and fat chicks, thank you very much.

But thanks to this haphazard propagation of Christmas days, many people have forgotten what the original nine days stood for. Some people think they know, but that's just like them. The true meaning of the nine days of Christmas has been all but lost from the modern world, a knowledge maintained only by myself and Chester D. Arthur of Whitebridge, Illinois. And that big sack of wrong thinks the eighth day is for purple horseshoes, so you might be experiencing your last shot at the real scoop right here.

Nine Ladies Dancing. The ninth day was always for stoning people who couldn't be properly shamed into following society's rules about things like women not dancing or Welch people trying to vote.

Eight Maids A-Milking. Again, the past was not kind to the fairer sex. The eighth day before Christmas used to be all about telling your wife to get back in the kitchen and a-milk you something, pronto. I'll let you be the judge of what results our society has reaped from letting that one slip.

Seven Swans A-Swimming. The seventh day was about remembering the seven steps of proper car maintenance: gas it, wash it, wax it, oil it, vacuum it, put out all fires, and park it inside when it's hailing. Anyone who ignored those steps would get a visit from the Swan of Poor Performance, who has largely been forgotten as a harbinger of doom ever since his children's cartoon was cancelled in the 1970's.

Six Geese A-Laying. The sixth day was traditionally a reminder for everyone to take a good big shit before the holidays to make room for the copious feasting that was to ensue. This may sound silly to ears attuned to the hectic pace of modern life, but back in the day people only shat once a month, and every year people would die from forgetting how. The accelerating pace of modern life, and diets containing more than just meat, have made those days merely a happy memory.

Five Gold Rings. This one is pretty self-explanatory, a simple reminder to get yourself paid. Visa wanted to change this to "Five Gold Cards" in 1970, but the government shot them down because nobody should have five gold cards. That counts as serious wallet abuse and you can hurt your brain coming up with so many fake names.

Four Calling Birds. Again, a failed attempt by AT&T in 1987 to have this changed to "Four Calling Cards" served to fog over the verse's original meaning: a reminder for men to ring up some tail for a booty call or four before the long deep freeze of family time gripped them through the holidays.

Three French Hens. Should a Christmas reveler fail in finding enough birds for a satisfactory pre-Christmas orgy, European prostitutes were always a handy fall-back option.

Two Turtle Doves. This nonsensical verse served as a reminder to generations about the folly of making decisions while extremely inebriated, a state in which many spent the entire month of December. Urban legend had it that the song's composer was himself hammered by the time he got to this point in the song, thanks to his habit of taking a celebratory shot after every successfully completed verse.

And a Partridge in a Pear Tree. And finally, the Big Kahuna. A stark reminder to all that anyone who becomes too drunk and belligerent throughout the holidays is likely to end up locked outside, staring confusedly at a bird in a tree. So try to keep your shit within reason.

That's all fine and good, you're likely saying, but what are the 10th, 11th and 12th days for? For shit, is the truest answer. But rather than set off a national epidemic of insomnia with that riddle, I'll delve a bit deeper to explain. In 1945, Sears paid the government $10 million to have the tenth day added. So the tenth day is for Sears, as is explained in the popular Peter, Paul and Mary song, which mentions the ten lords o' leaping on the tenth day. As was common knowledge in that day, gaylords often hung out at Sears.

Similarly, the eleventh and twelfth days were bought by Macy's and Wanamakers, with the twelfth day passing on to the May Company after Wanamakers bit the silver bullet in 1960. Macy's is represented in the song by the eleven pipers piping, since in those days the ripe stench of pipe smoke was the surest sign that there was a Macy's nearby. Wanamakers only got stuck with the twelve drummers drumming because all the other good counting stuff had been taken already.

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