Celebrity Christmas Carols

Alan Greenspan

(To the tune of Hark! The Herald Angels Sing!)

Hark! the Wall Street anglers cry,

"You've raised interest rates too high!"

Look, I'm just inflation's foe,

So, stock market, down you go.

For investors, it's been stormy;

That'll teach them to ignore me.

I warned all in '99:

"Cool your greed, or court decline."

So stop griping, gentlemen.

Or I'll jack up rates again.

Rick Rockwell and Darva Conger

(To the tune of/Saw Three Ships)

We saw our ship come sailing in,

When Fox TV sent out its plea:

"Agree to marry a stranger, and

You'll be incredibly famous."

The outcome sucked, drew boos and jeers,

But pumped some life into Rick's career,

And Darva did well posing here:

We made a buck---who can blame us?

At Christmas, we're annulled, it's true---

We milked the bit, and then we split

But hold your judgment, 'cause lots of you

Got hitched for reasons much dumber.

Before our morals you would dis,

Just bear in mind: If we'd found bliss

TV'd be loaded with shows like this;

Your brains would be even number.

Regis Philbin

(To the tune of The 12 Days of Christmas)

On the first day of Christmas, you see me on TV---

Rewarding schmucks for trivialities.

On the second day of Christmas, I'm on my morning show---

(It's better with Miss Sweatshop gone, you know.)

On the third day of Christmas, I'm back on "Millionaire"---

Though you want to, you just can't leave your chair.

On the fourth day of Christmas, I'm ratings king once more---

(That's so much more refined than ratings whore.)

On the fifth day of Christmas, I'm on Discovery---

Where a team of surgeons clears my arteries.

On the sixth day of Christmas, I'm on both morn and night---

It's dawning on you: I'm too big to fight.

On the seventh day of Christmas, I'm on "Late Night" again---

Making bypass jokes with David Letterman.

On the eighth day of Christmas, again I'm in prime time---

And by now, you would rather watch a mime.

On the ninth day of Christmas, a grateful ABC

Kills Peter Jennings, gives his job to me.

On the tenth day of Christmas, now every time I ask---

"Is that your final answer?" you shriek, "Yes!"

On the eleventh day of Christmas, with way too much ado---

I play a narc on "NYPD Blue."

On the twelfth day of Christmas, my infomercial flies---

I pitch my line of shirts and shiny ties.

On the last day of Christmas, it's ominously clear---

You're doomed to "total Reege" for one more year.

Sean "Puffy" Combs

(To the tune of O Christmas Tree)

Who dissin' me? You dissin' me?

Damn, you know that pisses me.

Motherfucker mess with me,

His sorry ass is history.

[Chorus]

I'm Bad Boy; front my enemies.

I'm down with several felonies.

And underneath my Xmas tree?

Lots of nice new weaponry.

Oh, listen to this shit from me,

Talking like some gangster

And not the one-man industry

That I really am, Sir.

[Chorus]

I've restaurants and a fashion line,

Enjoy the Hamptons, drink fine wine,

And Donald Trump's a friend of mine---

Please, judge, don't make me do the time.

Jeff Bezos

(To the tune of Santa Claus Is Coming to Town)

You need a stuffed trout? A shed? A glass eye?

Whatever you want, we'll quickly supply---

Amazon.com's in your town.

That's how we got huge in such record time:

We'll sell you a quarter for only a dime!

Amazon.com's all around.

[Chorus]

We know our stock has fallen.

Investors seem to dread

The fact that when we reach the black

They'll probably be dead.

I thought up "e-commerce," and millions got hooked.

Now I'm worth billions (well, last time I looked).

Amazon.com will rebound.

[Chorus]

Pros said, "You'll blow a fortune."

I said, "That's quite all right."

They said, "You're crazy as a loon."

Gee, maybe they were right.

At holiday time, I wish you good cheer,

And fervently hope that this time next year,

Amazon.com's still around.

Elian Gonzalez

(To the tune of I'll Be Home for Christmas)

I'm back home for Christmas,

Not the States, alas.

I miss that fun, when everyone

Lined up to kiss my ass.

Thanks for nada, Reno.

No mas Disney's land.

I'm getting socks and tetanus shots

This Christmas---ain't that grand?

Only one advantage

To Cuba, do I see:

That loca Marisleysis

Can't get her hands on me.

Eminem

(To the tune of The Holly and the Ivy)

The body in my ivy

Is just some queer I hacked

Up with razor blades.

Now I think I'll trade

My young daughter for some crack.

I said my mom's done more dope than me.

Now dear Ma is on a suing spree.

And I might do time

For some thuggy crime:

It's all great publicity.

My music's filled with hatred

For a world that will not see

When I tell my wife,

"Slut! Just take your life!"

It's a cry for sympathy.

If you find my songs repulsive,

That just gives me Christmas joy:

When the grown-ups shit,

It's a surefire hit

With the average teenage boy.

There's just one little flaw in

My raging street rap act:

Though it works for me, in reality,

"Eminems" are never black.

Rudy Giuliani

(To the tune of The First Noel)

The worst Noel

That I've ever known:

My career plans, my marriage,

my prostate---all blown.

Chemotherapy, how swell.

And if that's not enough,

My wife did some play

Where they talk with their muff.

Pure hell, pure hell,

It's been pure hell.

Plus, I found out Dad did jail time as well.

The truth to tell,

I suspect I've been cursed:

Sharpton hired some witch doctor

And said, "Do your worst."

But what definitely hurts

Like chewing ground glass

Is knowing I could've kicked Hillary's ass.

Oh well, why dwell?

I should just wish you well.

But you know me. So this Yule: Go to hell.

John Rocker

(To the tune of White Christmas)

I'm dreaming of a white Christmas.

Now watch the press make hay with that!

They'll call me a bigot

Again, but frig it:

'Cause had press can't mess with my stats.

Sports journalists can bite my ass.

If they don't like you, you get skinned.

But they don't trash assholes

Who've got great fastballs;

You're not a "sicko" if you win.

I'm sorry I said gays, Arabs

And welfare moms are all a blight.

But before I get too contrite,

I'll bet most fans think that I was right.

Britney Spears

(To the tune of Jingle Bell Rock)

"Imbecile, imbecile, imbecile rock,"

Critics exclaim. They envy my fame.

Bashing and trashing me 'cause I don't write

Or play or sing so well; such spite.

My demographic's a white girl, age 10.

Scoff all you want, she's got cash to spend.

Tell Aguilera that when you're this hot,

Grammys don't mean squat.

Boy do I get criticizing---

It gives "rock purists" fits

That I buy all the songs I sing.

(And please, no cracks about my tits.)

Holiday joy I wish to them all,

Despite all their mean harangues---

Thanks to "imbecile rock" I'm worth

20 K.D., 20 K.D., 20 K.D. Langs.