I guess our disgruntled DJ of Christmas past  was working on the mix! Hallelujah! (Make sure you read the cozy short story of the first Momma T's Holiday Mix below... or else...)

(A COZY SHORT STORY OF THIS FABLED CLASSIC)... Once upon a snowstorm, deep in the quaint town of Mistleton, there lived a disgruntled DJ who was not satisfied with the Christmas music situation on the radio. Not because it was bad—though he’d argue 70% of it was—but because every December, his record selection ideas were ignored by record labels in favor of the usual jingling bells and endless Mariah Carey reruns. One night, in a fit of eggnog-fueled defiance, he locked himself in his studio with a crate of vinyl, a questionable amount of tinsel, and a singular goal: to mash up holiday classics into something so outrageously addictive, it would dethrone the Queen of Christmas herself. He layered Bing Crosby’s crooning over electronic wobbles, added beats to "Jingle Bells," and spliced a moody minor chord into “Silent Night” that could make even the Grinch shed a tear. The pièce de résistance? A mesmerizing remix of “Chestnuts Roasting On An Open Fire” featuring trip hop drums with a cozy attitude. When he finally emerged, looking like he’d lost a fistfight with a garland factory, he named his creation Momma T’s Holiday Mix. He burned exactly one CD (yes, CD—he is known to keep it retro) and dropped it off at a local record store as a joke. The next morning, chaos ensued. A customer named Granny Perkins got her hands on the mix. She popped it into the store’s player, and within minutes, shoppers abandoned their awkward browsing to a state of deep intrigue to what was playing in the shop. Soon, Momma T’s Holiday Mix, was all over Mistleton. Bootleg copies circulated faster than fruitcake regifts. Our disgruntled DJ was horrified by the unintended fame—his only goal was to offer up something above the commercial standard and show the world there are other holiday songs out there then what is played over and over and over on the radio. He was now forced to flee his apartment when carolers demanded a live DJ set blended over their caroling. He took refuge in the local library, which no one visited because, honestly, Mistleton wasn’t exactly a bookish town. By the following December, Momma T’s Holiday Mix had reached somewhat mythical status. A-list celebrities were pumping it from their Range Rovers while conspiracy theories swirled about subliminal messages in the mix. Despite all of the fame—or perhaps because of it—he refused to release another holiday mix. “Lightning doesn’t strike twice,” he quipped to the local librarian, who had become his confidante. The librarian, a sharp-tongued woman named Margo, suggested he embraces his notoriety while shelving books with a dramatic flourish. Years later, Momma T’s Holiday Mix, was considered a fabled classic among the most discerning audiences and every December Mistleton’s radio stations plays it quite heavily. Our disgruntled DJ eventually returned to his studio, crafting moody tracks no one paid attention to—except Margo, who always said his original work was his best. And so, the man who (kinda hated) what Holiday music had become in the town of Mistleton, became its most enduring mystery. On frosty nights, if you listen closely, you might hear him humming a suspicious version of what could be “Little Drummer Boy." The citizens of Mistleton are left wondering, could this be a glimpse of Momma T’s Holiday Mix Part 2?

One night, in a fit of eggnog-fueled defiance, he locked himself in his studio with a crate of vinyl, a questionable amount of tinsel, and a singular goal: to mash up holiday classics into something so outrageously addictive, it would dethrone the Queen of Christmas herself. He layered Bing Crosby’s crooning over electronic wobbles, added beats to "Jingle Bells," and spliced a moody minor chord into “Silent Night” that could make even the Grinch shed a tear. The pièce de résistance? A mesmerizing remix of “Chestnuts Roasting On An Open Fire” featuring trip hop drums with a cozy attitude. When he finally emerged, looking like he’d lost a fistfight with a garland factory, he named his creation Momma T’s Holiday Mix. He burned exactly one CD (yes, CD—he is known to keep it retro) and dropped it off at a local record store in the slightest chance someone might listen to it. Well the next morning, chaos ensued. A customer named Granny Perkins got her hands on the mix. She popped it into the store’s player, and within minutes, shoppers abandoned their awkward browsing to a state of deep intrigue to what was playing in the shop. Soon, Momma T’s Holiday Mix, was all over Mistleton. Bootleg copies circulated faster than fruitcake regifts. Our disgruntled DJ was horrified by the unintended fame—his only goal was to offer up something above the commercial standard and show the world there are other holiday songs out there then what is played over and over and over on the radio. He was now forced to flee his apartment when carolers demanded a live DJ sets blended over their caroling. He took refuge in the local library, which no one visited because, honestly, Mistleton wasn’t exactly a bookish town. 

By the following December, Momma T’s Holiday Mix had reached somewhat mythical status. A-list celebrities were pumping it from their Range Rovers while conspiracy theories swirled about subliminal messages in the mix. Despite all of the fame and hype—or perhaps because of it—he refused to release another holiday mix. “Lightning doesn’t strike twice,” he quipped to the local librarian, who had become his confidante. The librarian, a sharp-tongued woman named Margo, suggested he shuts his trap with that nonsense talk while she shelved books in a dramatic flourish. "Embrace you noteriety Mister and stop being a scrooge. MTHM became a holy grail of holiday mixes and year after year you leave people hanging." Margo hoped the pep talk would cause him to take some action. But no, not even a hint that he may be fol.heh  among the most discerning audiences and every Holiday season Mistleton’s radio stations played it with relentless fervor, igniting the airwaves like a feverish obsession.". radio stations play it quite heavily. Our disgruntled DJ eventually returned to his studio, crafting moody original tracks no one paid attention to—except Margo, who always said his original had potential if he would just finish them But to the shegrin of the citizens of Mistleton year after year a sequal to Momma T's Holiday Mix just didn't happen. And so, the man who (kinda hated) what Holiday music had become in the town of Mistleton, became its most enduring mystery. On frosty nights, if you listen closely, you might hear him humming a suspicious version of what could be “Little Drummer Boy." The citizens of Mistleton are left wondering, could this be a glimpse of Momma T’s Holiday Mix Part 2?