That’s it, it’s started. Here we are again in the middle of the period Mariah Carey. Every year, as Christmas approaches, we play his silly song “All I Want for Christmas Is You”, with these unbearable bells and these ridiculous elves. Seriously, “All I Want For Christmas Is You”? Sorry, but I don’t know anyone who says that in real life. When you ask someone what they want for Christmas, the answer is a bag, an Apple Watch, or if you’re American, a whole cow to make burgers over two days. But no one ever answers “you”. For what ? Because it’s stupid. Like heart-shaped balloons on Valentine’s Day. What people want that night is to have sex. So let’s be honest: make balloons shaped like bullet holes or penises. The truth, always. That’s my advice.
“What do you want for Christmas?”, “Well, money, Grandma. All your money. Look at your dining room, it’s been 35 years since you changed a piece of furniture. In the dresser drawer, there still has the instructions for the Grundig video recorder on which Papi recorded The Dorothée Clubwhich he watched alone in the evening, completely naked. So go ahead, spit it out, Grandma.” The truth, always. Before, at the end of the show, when people asked me “How is Nagui?”, I said “He’s nice”. Now, I answer “It depends days. When he doesn’t act like a little diva, it’s fine.” When I meet a colleague and he asks me “Are you okay?”, I answer “Well no, still this damn depression, I don’t see the point anymore.” I guarantee you that no one asks me how I’m doing anymore. A phenomenal time saver. The truth, always.
When someone asks me “Are we kissing?”, I answer “No, Coco, for 20 years there have been half-dead toothless people on cigarette packets and you continue to smoke. Your mouth , it’s a cellar full of rats by Anne Hidalgo”. And this freedom allows me to say that Mariah Carey pisses me off. Already, Christmas, if you think about it, is gloomy: we gather around a dead tree, we receive a Wonderbox for a weekend in a yurt in Franche-Comté. And at the shopping center, we are delighted to see an old bearded man in pajamas take your son on his lap. If the costume was green instead of red, we’d call the cops to take him down.
And Mariah Carey, every year she comes back with her overplayed sexy attitude. She works two months out of twelve, this lazy girl. I’m an average guy, so yes, I love breasts. For me, any part of the body that moves a little, it excites me. You swing your earlobes, my temperature goes from 36.7 to 42. But Mariah Carey is something else. She proclaimed herself the Queen of Christmas. She made a hostile takeover of the parties, it’s Kim Jong-un, but with reindeer.
And yesterday, I read on the website of 20 Minutes that Mariah Carey merch had just arrived on Amazon. Christmas baubles, with his initials, MC. If your name is Marie-Christine, it works. If it’s Mohammed-Caroline, in gender research, practical too. She sells rolls of wrapping paper for $20. It costs more than the crappy gifts we put inside. MC slippers too, it’s crazy. 25 years ago, she rubbed shoulders with bad boys in music videos. Now she sells slippers. Time flies. Steven d’Alliage is perhaps the belote champion today.
The rest to listen to and discover on video…
