Friday, December 25, 2009

Eeeek!





Atown Liker was at the office early the next morning. If he could only be there first, and catch Bob Cratchit coming late! That was the thing he had set his heart upon.

And he did it; yes, he did. The clock struck nine. No Bob. A quarter past. No Bob. He was full eighteen minutes and a half behind his time. Scrooge sat with his door wide open, that he might see him come into the Tank.

Cratchit's hat was off, before he opened the door; his comforter too. He was on his stool in a jiffy; driving away with his pen, as if he were trying to overtake nine o'clock.


Dude, you're late.


I'm very sorry, sir. I am behind my time.


Tell me about it. Step this way, Kermit. Chop chop!


It's only once a year, sir. It shall not be repeated. I was making rather merry yesterday, sir. Someone sent us some very strange faux turkey and gifts and a large crate of liquor.


Now, I'll tell you what, my friend. I am not going to stand this sort of thing any longer. And therefore ...


Dude, if you fire me I swear to God I will freakin' kill you. Do you understand me?


I'll ignore that. ... And therefore I am about to raise your salary.


Just kidding, boss.


A merry Christmas, Bob. A merrier Christmas, Bob, my good fellow, than I have given you for many a year. I'll raise your salary, and endeavour to assist your struggling family -- including your shrew of a wife -- and we will discuss your affairs this very afternoon, over a Christmas bowl of smoking bishop and a case of Celebration Ale! Make up the fires, and buy another coal-scuttle before you dot another i, Bob Cratchit! Oh, and I'm sorry I killed your mouse.


Oh, sir! Thank you sir! And, good news sir. The talking mouse escaped the fire and has survived.


Merry Christmas, sir.


Oh thank heavens, the mouse is alive! It's a Christmas miracle! Let's open this case of beer right now! It's 5 o'clock somewhere!


Eeeek!


Sir, I'm afraid you may have squashed the mouse under that Celebration Ale.


No sweat! We'll just buy another one! ... Do you golf, Bob? There's a sweet set of Pings on sale at Golf Galaxy ....

****
Atown Liker was better than his word. He did it all, and infinitely more; and to Tiny Tim, who did not immediately die, he was a second absentee father. Young Tim eventually secured a royal appointment to Ireland, where he confiscated hundreds of acres of land and virtually enslaved an entire village. Those villagers later rose up and killed Tim, as well as his talking mouse. But that's another story.

Liker put Fred and Bob Cratchit in charge of his business affairs and returned to Parallel Time. Each week, Bob Cratchit placed a sack of coins in Liker's armoire as instructed. Liker might have become as good a friend, as good a master, and as good a man, as the good old city knew, except, of course, that he left. He couldn't stand the smell.

He had no further intercourse with Spirits. (Oops. I said it again.) It was always said of him that he knew how to keep Christmas well, if any man alive possessed the knowledge. May that be truly said of us, and all of us! And so, as Tiny Tim observed, "The villagers look really pissed off today. ... God Bless Us, Every One."

Thursday, December 24, 2009

A pigheaded old fool

Atown Liker went to church, and walked about the streets, and watched the people hurrying to and fro, and patted children on the head, and questioned beggers, and looked down into the kitchens of houses, and up to the windows, and found that everything could yield him pleasure. At least two people in those windows called him a pervert. He had never dreamed that any walk -- that anything -- could give him so much happiness. In the afternoon he turned his steps towards his nephew's house, which was quite hard to find because his nephew wasn't supposed to be in this version. He passed the door a dozen times, before he had the courage to go up and knock. But he made a dash, and did it:



Fred?



Why bless my soul! Who's that?



It's I. Your uncle Liker. I have come to Christmas dinner. Will you let me in, Fred?


Well, I thought I wasn't supposed to be in this version.


I changed my mind.

Oh, just like that?


Well, I thought this thing could use another post.

Who is it, Fred?

It's Atown Liker. He's come for dinner.


Well, let him in.

But I already set the table!

My dear niece, can you forgive a pigheaded old fool for having no eyes to see with and no ears to hear with after all of these years?


Yes, but it sounded so much better when Alastair Sim said it.

Fred, your wife's a looker. You've been holding out on me, my man! What's for dinner?

Brontosaurus burgers. Yabba Dabba Doo!

Wednesday, December 23, 2009

What the hell is a farthing?


Having realized the dead man was himself, done in again by an O'Doul's, Atown Liker, in his agony, caught the spectral hand. It sought to free itself, but Liker was strong in his entreaty, and detained it. The Spirit, stronger yet, repulsed him. Holding up his hands in a last prayer to have his fate reversed, Liker saw an alteration in the Phantom's hood and dress. It shrunk, collapsed, and dwindled down into a bedpost. The bedpost was his own.
He was so fluttered and so glowing with his good intentions, that his broken voice would scarcely answer to his call. He had been sobbing violently in his conflict with the Spirit, and his face was wet with tears.



What the hell! I'm back in bed? And, hey, I'm not crying. I have allergies! ... I will live in the Past, the Present, and the Future! And Parallel Time and, if need be, an alternate timeline or two. The Spirits of all shall strive within me. Oh Player! Heaven, and the Christmas Time be praised for this. I say it on my knees. ... My Phillies bed curtains! They have not been torn down!
I don't know what to do! I am as light as a feather, I am as happy as an angel, I am as merry as a schoolboy. I am as giddy as a drunken man. Actually, I still have half a load on after all the Celebration Ales. ... A merry Christmas to everybody! A happy New Year to all the world! Hallo here! Whoop! Hallo! ... There's a kid outside the window. Hello boy, what day is it!


Today? Why it's Christmas Day!


Boy, are the tofu turkeys still hanging in the health food store window?


I should think so, goober.


Go and buy them!


Bite me!


Bite me? ... Goober? What a remarkable boy! It is a pleasure talking to him. Boy, I am in earnest. Take this money and bring the tofulterer. Be back in less than 5 minutes and I'll give you one of these bigger coins.


Yes sir!


Those fake turkeys will make Tiny Tim's eyes pop out. And they're healthy, so long as you don't have a hormone problem or certain cancers. ... Ah! The turkeys are here. Nasty looking things. ... Take them by cab to 330 Admiral Wilson Boulevard in Camden Towne. And be careful not to get mugged!


Yes sir!


Now I need to buy some presents! ... Let's see. ... OK, I'll give Cratchit a raise and full health benefits for Tiny Tim. And no penalty for pre-existing conditions. I wonder if Cratchit golfs? Maybe a set of clubs! For Tiny Tim ... a football. Maybe he won't grow up to be such a sissy. For the other kids, iPhones. A family plan for all of them with unlimited minutes and an internet package with Google! For Mrs. Cratchit, booze. Lots of booze. ... Look! There go the two solicitors. Hello! Merry Christmas! I hope you were successful yesterday.


Mr. Scrooge?


Or Liker, if you prefer. That is my name, and I fear it may not be pleasant to you. Allow me to ask your pardon. And will you have the goodness to accept a big bag of these silly coins?


Allah be praised!


My dear Mr Scrooge, are you serious?


If you please. Not a farthing less -- by the way, what the hell is a farthing anyway? A great many back payments are included in it, I assure you.


Yes Mr. Scrooge! Thank you, Mr. Scrooge!


Now. ... What else? Fred! Yes! I'll write Fred back into the ending!