If St. Nick cums down your chimney with an entourage of horny little helpers clutching chocolate dildos Friday night, you’d better believe he’s Blowfly, the bigger and blacker Santa. All boys’-bathroom bawdiness (“Jingle Bell Cock,” “Dick the Hoes,” “Twats The Night Before XXX-Mas”), the only punch lines in this musical comedy are about spurting in tight pussies and even tighter asses. Fifty-four-year-old r&b singer Clarence Reid, a/k/a Blowfly, wants “to spend all night in your rump-pa-pum-pum.” And so go these 14 carol parodies showcasing his uncanny knack for rhyming words with “fucking”: Between Spector-girl jangle and Ringo romps, your holiday house-party mix tape sure could use a track or two.
Blowfly’s gravelly “soul-talking” has been featured on more than 50 albums for almost 40 years, almost all risqué “party records” released on small Southern independents—his 1962 single “Odd Balls” was purportedly the world’s first rap song. Blowfly liked it raw back when ODB was wearing diapers. He put the salty in Chef’s chocolate balls, and he’s the forerunner to 2 Live Crew’s and Kid Rock’s sleaze—the fuck-off stuff with gold four-finger rings, rotating pelvises, and facial muscles working overtime, licking mad orifice in hot tubs. It’s a party on your pussy, and everybody’s getting (and going) down.
Backed by laugh tracks and Casio-demonstration-button keyboard, the real action is Santa Blowfly’s trash talk. Frosty’s snow penis melts at its first encounter with a hot ass, but in Blowfly’s harmonious world, everybody else gets some: gay and straight, young and old. Even jolly old Mr. Claus, with his “dick all red and white.”