This one will be short.  I just wanted everyone to know that I’ve spent the better part of my afternoon trying to figure out which of these men, singing me Christmas songs, I love the most.

Is it the King of Rock and Roll, all bedroom eyes and crooning?



Or maybe Rhett, with the honky-tonk twang and unbelievably great rock star hair?



Or any of these four, circa 1967, looking sixties fab and harmonizing in Spanish?



Clearly it’s a difficult choice.  Right this minute, I’m leaning towards Mike Naismith.  I mean, Davy Jones was my very first crush ever, but how I overlooked Mike and the beanie cap he always wore, I have no idea.  He’s clearly the brains of the operation.  And he carries off some impressive sideburns.

I don’t know.  I can’t work all of this out tonight.  I have to go get dressed for the Jingle Ball.  I am looking forward to putting on my most festive boots and hanging out with the girls, but I suspect there will be some bad dance music in my future.  No matter. There is honky tonk ahead, too.

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