I’ve been shoveling the past two days. I’m sore, and not the way a man in a 1940s movie is sore. I’m actually wincing each time I type a letter. So long PC—we’ll see him again next year, I’m sure. We do hope to have another project, but the response to 77 Santas is so strong each year, how can we stop? I just ordered two new Christmas compilations last night so I’m not going anywhere.
Here are some new drawings. We are getting close to 77! It promised to be a doozey. I’ll be here until Wednesday to send all of you into Christmas Eve in style. So get ready—as usual, I’m closing things out with an explosion of goodness.
Her voice… It’s… Ah, it’s good, it’s good.
Jim, it sure doesn’t.
Ring, ring, ring.
Totally off-the-wall piano.
An 80s classic.
It’s in the air, can’t you hear it?
Sadly, this song rings all true.
I don’t care what you call it, this is a keeper.
Lead singer Steve Ripley used to play guitar for Bob Dylan. He also used to smoke a lot of cigarettes, or at least it sounds that way.
I love the cash register at the start of this song.
Nothing like some psychotic rockabilly.
One of my favorite country Christmas tunes.
Hushed and soft, another great version.
1. Is mom cheating on dad? 2. Does mom not know some more updated dances?