Snow is made up of frozen water crystals. Meth is crystal. Frosty is a snowman. Frosty is a big pile of meth.
This is a simple, straight-forward post. I’m only stating the obvious. I’m posting this to stop the indoctrination. It seems Christmas music isn’t just an assault on the nerves and ears, it’s also a very real threat to our nation’s youth.
I have no facts to support this, but the holiday classic Frosty the Snowman is a gateway to hardcore drug abuse and a life with no teeth.
Just think about it. Or, here, allow me to do that thinking for you.
Frosty the Snowman, was a jolly happy soul,
With a corn cob pipe and a button nose, and two eyes made of coal.
A pipe is paraphernalia. Is that sentence grammatically correct? Who cares. Right off the bat, we have Frosty who is jolly precisely because he has a f**king pipe in his mouth. It’s no accident that those two facts are in the first two lines. He also has eyes of coal. Because they’re fucking dilated as fuck. Yeah, I decided to not censor “fuck” for the rest of the post.
Frosty the Snowman, is a fairytale, they say.
He was made of snow, but the children know he came to life one day.
Please refer to my opening thought. Change snow to meth. Frosty the Methman.
There must have been some magic in that old silk hat they found,
For when they placed it on his head, he began to dance around!
Magic begins with M. Hey, guess what else begins with M? You’re goddamned right meth does. And who stores shit in hats? People who are hiding things. Illegal things. It’s where Frosty keeps his stash. Once he gets some of that magic in his system, he begins to get a little restless. Needs to dance around. Hey Frosty, quit picking at your skin.
Oh, Frosty, the Snowman, was alive as he could be;
And the children say he could laugh and play,
just the same as you and me.
“As alive as he could be,” you say? Which is to say as alive as possible. He’s pushing the limits here. Kinda going full tilt. Kinda like he can’t stop himself.
Thumpety thump, thump, thumpety thump, thump,
look at Frosty go.
Thumpety thump, thump, thumpety thump, thump,
over the hills of snow.
At this point all anyone can do is watch this tweaker go. Thumpety thump thump, indeed.
Frosty the Snowman, knew the sun was hot that day,
So he said, “Let’s run, and we’ll have some fun now, before I melt away.”
This is the first time Frosty speaks and you just know he’s tripping balls. Enough to think he’s melting. Or just be afraid he’s going to melt. Melt away. He’s paranoid.
Down to the village, with a broomstick in his hand,
Running here and there, all around the square,
sayin’, “Catch me if you can.”
What the fuck does he have a broomstick for? Suddenly he has a broomstick. What a random thing to have as he charges on down to the village. I think that’s threatening. He’s running around, brandishing a stick as he taunts everyone. You just know he’s feeling no pain. He’s feeling invincible.
He led them down the streets of town, right to the traffic cop;
and only paused a moment, when he heard him holler, “Stop!”
Right to the traffic cop, you cocky son of a bitch.
Have you ever asked yourself why the traffic cop is ordering Frosty to stop? The fact is that Frosty has attracted the attention of a police officer and that officer immediately wants to detain him. From that, we can only assume that the cop has seen something illegal. Something that might be a threat to public safety. Something that caused him to fucking holler. No one thinks that’s an alarming thing to put into a children’s song? Just me? If I’m down in the village and I hear an officer holler “STOP!” you better believe my priorities will suddenly shift. I’m dropping whatever I have and looking for cover. But no, I guess I’m just weird that way. Let’s just ignore the horrifically pale meth head brandishing the stick and go about the day, shall we? Better yet, let’s write a song and celebrate it!
For Frosty, the Snowman, had to hurry on his way,
But he waved goodbye, sayin’ “Don’t you cry, I’ll be back again some day.”
Yeah, he had to hurry on his way because he was fucking tweaking. Oh, and he’s also refusing a direct order from a law enforcement agent. The lyrics aren’t ambiguous. Frosty is flagrantly breaking the law in the final lines of the song. And causing the children near him to cry.
This song is why America is fucked. For decades, we have embraced a holiday tune that chronicles the tale of a man who ingests a substance, becomes uncontrollable around a group of children, charges into a village with a stick in his fist, and flees from a police officer, refusing an order to stop. Someone handed us all of this evidence and we sing it. Kids sing it every year and then go on to abuse meth. Maybe not all the kids who hear it. But I guarantee, if you ask a meth head, “Have you ever heard the song Frosty the Snowman?” they’d get a faraway look in their eyes and answer:
“Yeah, man. Yeah, I have.”