Sunday, 23 December 2012

The Snowman on Trial.

I just watched that dopey Snowman video again, the one they always show at least a hundred times every Christmas.

According to all received opinion, the snowman is taking the kid on a trip to the North Pole. We know it must be the North Pole and not the South Pole because:

1) The little girl watching them from her bedroom window has yellow hair, and we all know that only Scandinavian children have yellow hair.

2) When the travellers arrive at their destination, the kid is taken to Santa’s party, and we all know that Santa lives at the North Pole.

OK then, the evidence establishes beyond reasonable doubt that it’s the North Pole they go to. I rest my case, and I have two questions:

1) Why are there penguins and a forest at the North Pole?

2) How come it’s the snowman who pops his clogs at the end instead of the kid, who should have succumbed to exposure before they were even half way there?

4 comments:

Anthropomorphica said...

Oh Mr B, I laughed when I read this. Either, it's a magic snowman or the boy thinks he's woken up in his own bed but will actually never wake up again. Perhaps like the little match girl he has perished in the garden, to be found blue and rigid with an icicle in his hand...

JJ said...

Or a bag of his dad's white powder. I preferred 'When the Wind Blows.'

Madeline said...

The kid is clearly a witch of some sort, having used his evil magic to insert a demon spirit into an inanimate clump of snow. This also explains his imperviousness to cold. The penguins are the imps of the other child-witches, and the whole party obviously takes place, not in the North Pole, but in the icy ninth circle of Hell, which is home to traitors, Satan, and snowman-builders.

The ending is thus a happy one, in which the demon snowman is vanquished by the return of the sun god Jesus, and the child's plans for world domination through his floppy-hatted antichrist are destroyed.

JJ said...

You see, there you go again. The things you think of. I'm beginning to wish I'd accepted that hat now. Who knows what genius night have rubbed off.

Have Christmas greetings, and share some with Mrs North of Yonkers.