You know I couldn’t let it get to Christmas without my annual posting of this classic MTV, Santa Claus, the Slam Dancer! I get all nostalgic every year thinking about when this first ran during Headbangers Ball and 120 Minutes. I laughed so hard I woke my parents up at 1:00 a.m. It was the Christmas season, though, so all was right with the world regardless. When MTV was simply MUSIC.

–Ray Van Horn, Jr.

By chance, did you get yourself some fried chicken during the weekend sprint to the Christmas shopping finish line? Before online commerce, the mad rush to the malls and brick and mortar stores was the norm, especially toy shops, most hilariously roasted in the holiday comedy flick starring Arnold Schwarzenegger and Sinbad, Jingle All the Way.

Now those dudes were hyper focused as ultra busy dads thrust into the retail hell of finding their kids that elusive sold-out toy no parents wanted to be the ultimate letdown by missing out on, Turbo Man. In real-life, the bloodthirsty competition torched in Jingle All the Way would have Cabbage Patch Dolls and Tickle Me Elmos. Talk about your ghosts of Christmases past.

But I digress. I’m here to poke fun at Kentucky Fried Chicken and a back-then promise by Colonel Sanders’ corporate goons to offer stressed-out gift buyers a little relief from their cram, carry and shove modes of the holiday season. No, not a flask of whiskey which would make the most sense for some (you saw Sinbad had no shame in sharing his tuckaway stash with Arnie in one of Jingle All the Way’s moments of truce), but chicken. Then again, the still-fierce contests for parking spaces in modern times leaves room for calorie burns, given you’re lucky gonna get stuck in the annex lot. Thus, KFC is here for you!

I’m guessing by the ladies’ fashion in this silly ad it ran somewhere between the late 1960s to mid 1970s. A Mary Tyler-Moore type gives the Colonel her best googly eyes and a Lucille Ball wannabe (closer to the Colonel’s age bracket) drops her chin upon his shoulder with equal suggestion. They’re not after what the Colonel’s peddling here, sorry. Or so the corporate goons would have you believe. As it says inside the ad and as KFC has blasted as its totem for decades, it’s finger lickin’ good.

Christmas stress relief being where and how you find it, in this case. Oh, Colonel, you stud! You are the man for all seasons.

–Ray Van Horn, Jr.

The egg nog’s been consumed, all rounds dashed with nutmeg inside my glass Marty Moose glass (as you see in Christmas Vacation), a few with added rum. I’ve had the Christmas horror offerings on spin, ala the first Silent Night, Deadly Night, Krampus, The Nightmare Before Christmas and the Tales from the Crypt episode “And All Through the House” (even if the source material EC comic book story came via Vault of Horror issue number 35).

Yes, there’s been more innocuous holiday viewing material spread on the tube like A Mickey Christmas Carol, The Muppet Christmas Carol, Jingle All the Way, Christmas Vacation, A Charlie Brown Christmas, the 1966 How the Grinch Stole Christmas and many of the old Rankin Bass stop-action animation holiday gems I grew up with and still love. You know, Santa Claus is Coming to Town, Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer and The Year Without a Santa Claus.

Y’all know me well enough to know it’s the horror section which satiates my desire for dark delights. It’s been a while since I sat down with the original 1974 Black Christmas, and my opinion remains the same. There’s some genuinely terrifying stuff, especially the premise taken out of true crime events in Canada. Despite Margot Kidder and John Saxon checking in with some of their earlier roles and the finest Juliet on film, Olivia Hussey, Black Christmas always feels like it was missing something. Yet that final frame pulling away from Clare’s remains left undetected by the town in the upper window is creepy as AF and for me, is the film’s legacy. That, and knowing director Bob Clark would go back to the holidays less than a decade later and win immortality with A Christmas Story.

Even with two future remakes, the ’74 Black Christmas retains its dank intrigue and place in horror history as one of the first true slasher films.

–Ray Van Horn, Jr.

I remember seeing this ad in a doctor’s office sometime during the holidays in a doctor’s office. I’m snickering just thinking about it. My younger, more juvenile self thought the same thing my older, still juvenile self thinks about this vintage Eighties pitch for People magazine.

You just know Santa Claus has to take breaks on such a hectic night shoveling cookies, milk and other leftover goodies on his global mission to spread love, cheer and, of course, toys. At some point during the night, if not more than one, you have to figure ol’ Saint Nick has to relieve himself. I mean, all that compression of his bulk down one chimney after another worldwide has to do a number on his bowels. He’s not as lucky as his reindeer, who can simply drop bombs in mid-flight and keep on charging.

Thank God for People magazine, so Santa has something to read on those necessary emergency unloads! I mean, is that a kneel or a suggestive squat from Santa in this ad? You be the judge.

Sidebar, what fun if you were alive at the time to spot old famous faces on these issues of People from the celebrity circuit back then, like Willie Nelson, John Davidson and the bodacious divas from Dallas. Victoria Principal alone would’ve had me taking a trip to the bathroom, but for different reasons than dropping a deuce.

–Ray Van Horn, Jr.

What you see on these two pages represents my Christmas of 1977. I can’t believe I found these catalog scans of the toys that I got from my mom and dad that magical year. Only the Karate Men, Isis, the monster figures and the Batcave weren’t in my Christmas stash. The rest, heck yeah! All those DC-heavy superheroes (yeah, Marvel’s Spidey and Green Goblin were in the mix that awesome morning), the Batman exploding bridge, the Joker van with the squirting flower, Steve Austin, the Six Million Dollar Man, Star Trek, Planet of the Apes, Evel Knievel.

Not pictured but also dropping my way from “Santa” in ’77 was a fan operated U.S.S. Enterprise replica that lifted and spun around and an Enterprise bridge playset for the figures to frolic in. I remember the twist around “beaming down” apparatus I loved so much. You know I franchise clashed on the Enterprise deck with all those action figures! Sub out the monsters for superheroes and Planet of the Apes you see on the catalog page, yeah, that’s accurate. I also had a blast pretending the Joker had taken his van into outer space and squirted the Klingons out of the way for his hostile takeover of the Enterprise.

The double LP soundtrack of John Williams’ original Star Wars score was there that morning, and it landed on my turntable forever. A toy Happy Days guitar, Stretch Armstrong, a set of Hot Wheels cars, an army figure mountain playset called “The Guns of Navarone” and a set of Batman and Robin walkie talkies rounded out my haul that year. There was also an elasta-plastic dome “medical center” for Steven Austin that had a perforated section for him to blast out of. I loved that you could peek through the back of his head and see out, plus his roll-up forearm skin.

Sadly, the walkie talkies were busted that same afternoon when my childhood buddy, Donnie and I were playing with them long distance and the antenna on Robin’s got bent and out of commission. My mother was brokenhearted and being a parent myself for 17 years, I get why. Final note, I was talking to TJ about this incredible Christmas being the last one my parents would have together as the following year would end in divorce. I’ve made such a big deal about this Christmas because of my parents’ nightly fighting and how, for one day, everyone seemed so happy. My wife made the astute observation the blowout likely came with the knowledge they’d reached the end of their rope and wanted to give me one final hurrah together.

–Ray Van Horn, Jr.

My dad was a rabid Schlitz drinker. With the age of microbrewing and higher APV (alcohol by volume) in today’s beers, it’s amusing to me Schlitz was considered a choice pilsner of its time. Honestly, Schlitz was the first beer I ever tasted from my dad, a sip once, then a full glass winning a bet I could take him in chess. I won’t tell you what ages those were. My dad was a ferocious chess player, and he beat his young, still-learning son over-and-over until he pissed me off by roasting me. I bet him and I won, fair and square. The man was flabbergasted, and he ponied up. My one and only time beating him at the game, since we never played again after that. Most satisfying victory of my life.

It took my stepfather much later in life (again, no ages divulged here) to refine my beer drinking tastes by introducing me to the German fineness that is Spaten Optimator. Dark, rich, it forever dictated my approach to beer appreciation. Now, in more recent years, I’m all over the place with beer. I hated IPAs originally, now I love them as much as stouts, bocks, ales, ambers, altbiers, Kölsch, Belgians and rich lagers.

So much I consider Schlitz one of the weakest beers ever produced. You want a rich, American classic lager? Laugh all you want, Pabst is king. You wouldn’t tell Schlitz was ever considered subpar in the American public, touting its totem, “The Beer that Made Milwaukee Famous.” Especially now, I think Milwaukee can do far better than that. Still, this holiday ad made me smile, made me think of my dad who loved this swill to both good and bad effects. It’s Christmastime, though, and I’d rather think of the good times with my late father. Steamed shrimp on Christmas Eve, just adult versions of father-and-son, Schlitz on the side. This ad’s for you, old man. I miss you.

–Ray Van Horn, Jr.