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."