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Merry XXXMas

These naughty local rockers might be getting nothing for Christmas, because they've been nothing but bad.

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For the most part, Christmas-season entertainment options are snow-pure: Barbra Streisand singing carols, Tim Allen in a fat suit, "family-friendly" films and countless characters in countless sitcoms and TV dramas dropping their differences and learning how to love again. But there are a few deviant possibilities, such as the disturbing Santa-as-hefty-hacker Silent Night, Deadly Night film series, the excellent Beavis and Butthead Christmas special that spoofed Hall and Oates' "Jingle Bell Rock" video and, most important, Blowfly and Rudy Ray Moore's collections of dirty ditties. (A holiday note to the easily offended: Season's greetings. Stop reading here.)

Moore, or Dolemite as he's known by legions of blaxploitation fans, struck first with This Ain't No White Christmas! which featured unorthodox takes on chestnuts such as "A Night Before Christmas" (hint: creatures were stirring). But Blowfly, a formative influence on Tech N9ne, upped the stakes with Blowfly Does XXX-Mas, which offered the world such joyful gems as "Deck the Halls (Dick the Hoes)," "Jingle Bell Cock" and the "Silver Balls"/"Jingle Balls" double-header.

At press time, no local acts have recorded holiday albums that are more naughty than nice, but a few releases from earlier in the year might make the perfect gift for that friend or relative who is always telling you in no uncertain terms what you can stuff in your stocking. For added convenience, these albums are rated for offensive content using a special Blowfly-approved scale of measurement.

The naughtiest, and most musically competent, comes from the Pornhuskers, whose Porn on the Cob butters up listeners with catchy hooks while assaulting them with over-the-top obscenity. Much of the sex talk is cleverly done; after all, it takes quite a poet to rhyme bald baby beaver with Caesar the one-eyed pleaser, or cock in my hand with reprimand. (But while praising the group for its intelligence, it's worth noting that the title of the tune from which the latter line comes is misspelled "Masterbate.") And though some knee-jerk reactionaries quickly branded the group sexist after catching its live show (with its gigs opening for Reverend Horton Heat inspiring particular outrage), the Pornhuskers are actually equal-opportunity offenders. During the group's theme song, vocalists Ms. Cowgirl Cannibal and Ms. Bustanut proclaim themselves "female chauvinists" and order "stupid hicks" to "suck [their] clits."

If the band's name doesn't warn away the morally inclined, the song titles should: "Doris Speaks of Dildos," "Sleezbag Peepin' Tom," "Blue Balls." And if these references are too obtuse for people who don't get out much, the first lines of the tunes (One of my favorite things is licking ass opens "Brown Eye Blues") often spell out the group's message in graphic detail.

People who enjoy the Pornhuskers' sound -- a double-barreled guitar attack teamed with an earthquake-simulating rhythm section and a singer whose voice alternately recalls Iggy Pop's yowls and head Bosstone Dicky Barrett's too-gruff-for-ska delivery -- usually aren't squeamish about dingy rock clubs, profanity or sex-talk. Which is good, because it would be too bad if garage-punk fans missed out on hearing top practitioners of the art due to some sort of aversion to vulgarity. The Pornhuskers stretch the limits of comfortable filthiness, stopping before there's any question whether the band actually contains intolerant misogynists. (The world needs only one Anal Cunt, thanks.) If you're a borderline case awaiting a last-minute judgment from Santa, pledging allegiance to the Pornhuskers might well swing your pendulum in the naughty direction. But seeing the group at the Pub on Friday, December 21, with As Memphis Burns in the opening slot, might be worth that risk. Blowfly's rating: Four jingle balls

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