The Utter, Festive Absurdity of It All
Seriously? Forty-two hours? Forty-two consecutive hours of Christmas carols? Someone clearly has too much time on their hands, and an alarming lack of taste. This sandwich shop proprietor, bless his cotton socks (or more likely, sweat-soaked polyester), decided that the pinnacle of human achievement was inflicting Mariah Carey upon the world for longer than a reasonable person can endure a particularly bad holiday party.
Let’s be clear: Christmas songs are charming in small doses. A sprinkle of festive cheer is delightful. Forty-two hours? Its sonic torture, pure and simple. I picture it now – the poor man, bleary-eyed, voice cracking, desperately clinging to the last vestiges of “Jingle Bells” while his customers slowly back away, muttering about needing a strong cup of tea and possibly therapy.
And for what? A Guinness World Record? As if that validates this act of musical aggression. I’m fairly certain there are more useful records to pursue – fastest time to assemble an IKEA flatpack, perhaps, or most consecutive minutes spent avoiding small talk with relatives. But no, we have a man dedicating himself to the prolonged and repetitive assault on our eardrums.
Honestly, its just… exhausting to even contemplate. I need a lie down. And possibly earmuffs.
