I am not the man I was

Spirit, why are we in a church yard in the middle of the night? There are drug dealers about. We could get mugged.

Caw!

You're pointing to a grave stone. ... The grave of the man half-eaten by his cats and whose possessions were sold off by theives?

Caw!

Before I draw nearer to that stone to which you point, answer me one question. Are these the shadows of the things that will be, or are they shadows of things that may be, only?

Caw!

Perhaps you could clarify that caw? ... Men's courses will foreshadow certain ends, to which, if persevered in, they must lead. But if the courses be departed from, the ends will change. You know, like an alternate timeline. Say it is thus with what you show me.

Caw!

OK. Whatever. I'll read it. ... "ATOWN LIKER." Ah, freakin hell! Am I that man who lay upon the bed?

Caw!

No, Spirit! Oh no, no! I can't believe I was killed twice by a non-alcoholic beer!

Caw!


Spirit! Hear me. I am not the man I was. I will not be the man I must have been but for this intercourse. I'm sorry I don't know why I just said intercourse. ... Why show me this, if I am past all hope? Good Spirit. Your nature intercedes for me, and pities me. Assure me that I yet may change these shadows you have shown me, by an altered life. I swear I shall never again drink a non-alcoholic beer, or even a light beer.

Caw!

I will honor Christmas in my heart, and try to keep it all the year. I will drink Celebration Ale. Or Rudel Elf. I will stop saying 'intercourse.' I will live in the Past, the Present, and the Future. The Spirits of all Three shall strive within me. I will not shut out the lessons that they teach. Oh, tell me I may sponge away the writing on this stone!

Been there done that

Caw!


You're annoying. ... This is the Cratchits' dump. Been there done that. What's next?


Caw!


And he took a child, and set him in the midst of them. ... Don't cry mother!

It's my eyes, Peter. The candlelight makes them weak. ... They are better now. I wouldn't show weak eyes to your father when he comes home, for the world. ... It must be near his time.

Past it, rather. But I think he's walked a little slower than he used, these few last evenings, mother.


I have known him walk with -- I have known him walk with Tiny Tim upon his shoulder, very fast indeed. But he was very light to carry and his father loved him so, that it was no trouble -- no trouble. And there is your father at the door!


So, the kid didn't make it?


Caw!


Sunday. You went today, then, Robert?


Yes, my dear. I wish you could have gone. It would have done you good to see how green a place it is. But you'll see it often. I promised him that I would walk there on a Sunday. ... My little, little child! My little child!


OK, I get it. Let's go. Now where's he going? ... Oh. The dead kid's upstairs. ... You have a lotta bodies laying around in this town. No wonder everybody is sick. ... When do they invent Purell?


I saw Mr. Scrooge's nephew Fred today. He was extraordinarily kind. He is the pleasantest-spoken gentleman you ever heard. He said, 'I am heartily sorry for your loss, Mr Cratchit and heartily sorry for your good wife.'


What else did he say, Robert?


He said. 'I must go now. I'm not in this version. Yabba Dabba Do.'


Now you see why he's not in this version.


I am sure we shall none of us forget poor Tiny Tim -- shall we -- or this first parting that there was among us. ... I know, my dears, that when we recollect how patient and how mild he was; although he was a little, little child; we shall not quarrel easily among ourselves, and forget poor Tiny Tim in doing it.


Caw!


Outta there at last! The Cratchits are depressing. I don't suppose there any good bars you could show me in the future, say, after the invention of refrigeration ... or soap?


Caw!


I get it. The future is depressing. ... And maybe if I wasn't such a shithead things would be better. And maybe if Scrooge and Player's offered health benefits, maybe Cratchit's kid wouldn't be dead. ... But who was that other dead guy with the cats?


Caw!


What the heck! ... I recognize this street. ... There's my office. Wonder if there's any more cash floating around in there. ...


Caw!


The office is redecorated! Beige. I hate beige! And who the hell is that guy sitting in my desk. Karl? ... Where the hell am I?


Caw!


The church? ... The church yard? What the hell would I be doing there in the middle of the night?

It's a judgment on him

Let the charwoman alone to be the first!


Let the laundress alone to be the second; and let the undertaker's man alone to be the third.



Look here, old Joe, here's a chance. If we haven't all three met here without meaning it!


You couldn't have met in a better place. Come into the parlor. Hack. You'll have to excuse me. Got a touch of the H1N1. ... I see you've got some of his things.
Every person has a right to take care of themselves. He always did.


That's true, indeed. No man more so. Who's the worse for the loss of a few things like these? Not a dead man, I suppose.

If he wanted to keep them after he was dead why wasn't he natural in his lifetime? If he had been, he'd have had somebody to look after him when he drank that non-alcoholic beer, instead of lying with his head in an armoire, gasping out his last breath, alone by himself with them cats gnawin' at his carcass."


It's the truest word that ever was spoke. It's a judgment on him.




I wish it was a little heavier judgment and it should have been, I could have laid my hands on anything else. Open that bundle, old Joe, and let me know the value of it.



Sheets and towels, a Phillies cap, Phillies T-shirt, Philies sweatshirt. A polar bear rug. Some beer steins. A beer tray, what in heaven's name is a Daeufer's? ... Well, I always give too much to ladies. It's a weakness of mine, and that's the way I ruin myself.


And now undo my bundle, Joe.


What do you call this -- Phillies bed curtains?

Ah! 2008 World Series Champion Bed-curtains.
You don't mean to say you took them down, rings and all, with him lying there?
I do. ... Right after the World Series was done. And with the cats bitin' at his leg. Why not?
These are his blankets? Hope you washed them.



Whose else's do you think? He isn't likely to take cold without them, I dare say.

Hmmm.

And you may look through that Chase Utley jersey till your eyes ache; but you won't find a hole in it, nor a threadbare place. It's the best he had, and a fine one too: 2008 World Series Champions. They'd have wasted it, if it hadn't been for me."

Wasted it?

They put it on him to be buried in, to be sure, but I took it off again. He can't look uglier in the old Mets Delgado one I put on him.

Hey, um, Big Bird. Delgado? This sorta sucks.

Caw!

Now what? You're pointing at a corpse? ... You want me to go see who it is? Not interested. ... Jeez, somebody should really chase those cats off of him, whoever he is.