Just one carol today. I'm in Vermont with Tom and Katie. Yeah, that Tom and Katie; and my young protege Karoline. Tom and Katie are hilarious, of course. Oh! And they have some little baby. I wasn't really too keen on that idea. I mean, it's a bit like taking your pets on holiday, hmm? The baby's name is Suri or something. It's nice that all she wears is baby Chanel, but still...
It's not like she's my assistant designer or anything. She's just a BABY. And she doesn't do anything! She can't even sketch! I don't understand it. It's not like my child was ever a baby (I'm not admitting to it, anyway. Never).
Anyway. I'll just avoid Le Baby. You should see her. The way she stares at me. She's got something in for me, I tell you. And then she says "Mamma! Mamma!", which I'm convinced is a kind of swear word, because every time she does that Katie gets out some kind of crack for children. She calls it "Apple mash" or something. And then Le Baby makes some slurping sound, but I know that it's code for "Karl, you better watch your step".
Luckily there's a closet here. I'm hiding in here with Karoline for the meantime. Yohji's meant to arrive in his batplane any minute now.
Anyway, there's a little carol below for all of you to sing. And below that is my reply to Jeunesse, in brackets. It concerns fattie school teachers, and just may branch off into it's own post, in the furture!
The 12 days of Chic-mas.
(Yes, I know it doesn't follow the form strictly at all. And I don't care. I'm Karl. Also, this is not the Noel Coward one. Just insert an instrumental solo into it, hmm?)
On the first day of Chic-mas,
my true love muse sent to me,
a Chanel fishing rod
On the second day of Chic-mas,
Anna sent to me,
a fur coat made of vodka
On the third day of Chic-mas,
the fatties sent to me,
some vulgar gift from a celebrity brand
On the fourth day of Chic-mas
Jane sent to me,
a giant shoe shaped collar
On the fifth day of Chic-mas,
the fatties called again,
and I threw them on a grill
On the sixth day of Chic-mas,
Yves sent to me,
a letter, claiming he was dead
On the seventh day of Chic-mas,
Rei sent to me,
a polka dotted unicorn or three
On the eighth day of Chic-mas,
Tavi sent to me,
a spaceship to eliminate the demode
On the ninth day of Chic-mas,
Bob Dylan gave to me,
a lightbulb to keep a clear head
On the tenth day of Chic-mas,
The surviving demode offered to me,
some purses at half price (I threw up)
On the eleventh day of Chic-mas,
an ex model gave to me,
some cocaine and a pipe for thee
On the twelfth day of Chic-mas,
I gifted to me,
a house made in my own very likeness
(Jeunesse, how very horrible! You know, it warms my ice-cold heart to know that some children have the beginnings of chic-ness! Say hello to your daughter for me, and make sure you give the fattie teacher a portrait of me. In fact, give all the adults a picture of me! I'm sure they secretly fantasize about me, as all people do. It's just a fact, hmm?)