Dropjaw slid onto stage — his brakes locked up on ice. The glare off his shades blinded the front row. He was about to bring the house down.

It would come to be known as How Dropjaw Stole Christmas. His rendition of Jingle Bell Rock had the ladies fainting. His fingers danced nimbly on the keys sending waves of raw sexual energy through the warm holiday audience.

He stepped up to the microphone with his hips a’swivelling; his upper lip a’quivering:

“JANGLE BELL, JANGLE BELL, JANGLE BELLLL Rrrrock!”

Undergarments of all shapes and sizes flew onto stage…stockings full of cheer. Egg nog circulated through the crowd.

They were jumping now…jumping with lighters ablaze. The whole place was shaking; screams hit a fever pitch; the stage was on fire.

Dropjaw’s heart grew five sizes that night. His pants caught on fire, but he just kept on rocking. Someone in an elf costume rushed on stage with a fire extinguisher and doused him. He told the band to fight on, but they couldn’t…not without their fearless leader.

In the ambulance, Dropjaw thought, I could go out just like this: on top of the game. He wasn’t upset until he reached the hospital.

The psychologist asked him, “At what point did you set yourself on fire? What prompted you to take your clothes off? Why were you squealing? Why barking?”