God damn it, no one on Earth likes the motherfucking Chipmunks and their awful fucking Christmas song. Sure, the stupid cunt sold like gangbusters when it first came out, but that's only because people were buying it as a gag gift to give to other people. No one ever bought a copy of it for themselves. The dick who came up with the Chipmunks never figured that out though, so here we are with the Chipmunk Christmas Special. Fuck.

The mind-numbing jackassery begins with this little boy who's dying. That's cheery. Meanwhile, Alvin and the Chipmunks are sucking shit as usual, singing assloads of their idiotic played-at-the-wrong-speed garbage. Fucking disease-carrying bastards. Anyway, Alvin feels bad for the sick kid so he gives him his harmonica, but then, wouldn't you know it, it turns out he needs the bitch for gig so he has to engage in these antics to get enough bread to buy a new one. Okay, aren't Alvin and the Chipmunks supposed to be big rock stars or something? And they don't have forty bucks for a top-line harmonica? Seriously, their manager Dave practically shits a brick when he finds out Alvin wants to buy something for himself. What the hell is that asshole doing with all their money? It's probably going up his nose. And apparently he's not the only one with substance abuse problems: that night, Alvin dreams about pink elephants, and we all know what that means. I assume he took a nip right before bed to dull the pain of the coke-fueled off-screen beating he got from Dave for daring to question his handling of the band's finances. In the end the harmonica magically makes the sick kid better (translation: he was faking it) so he shows up at the concert and plays a couple of songs with the Chipmunks while Dave hangs out backstage blatantly macking on his mom and way underage sister. Seriously, this girl is like eleven years old, tops. People in the music industry are such fucking degenerates.