HAIRSHIRT
Helping You Get the Most Out of Your Misery
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HAIRSHIRT Helping You Get the Most Out of Your Misery |
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Saturday, December 25, 2004A Christmas Carol
Scrooge threw open the shutters and peered out at the crisp London morning. A thin coat of snow covered the old town and the glare of the sun bouncing from it hurt his eyes. A young boy flew past Scrooge's front gate, his scarf trailing behind him. Scrooge stopped him with a yell.
"You there! Boy!" The boy skidded to a halt and meekly returned to Scrooge's walk. "Me, sir?" He said to the strange old man in his dressing coat who addressed him. "Yes, you my good fellow. What day is this?" The child seemed a bit taken aback by Scrooge's question. "Today?" he asked. "Why it's Christmas!" Scrooge's heart leapt in his chest and he danced a little jig in the window. "The spirits did it all in one night!" he thought exultantly. His delight knew no bounds. He could begin his reformation that very morning! And who better to start with than Bob Cratchit and his family, who had suffered so at Scrooge's hands. He assailed the young boy again. "Boy, do you know the poulterers the next block but one?" Like any good boy, this lad knew his poulterers. "I should think so, sir." Scrooge beamed. "Delightful lad. Remarkable lad." He mumbled to himself. He spoke again to the boy. "Do you know the prize turkey in the window?" "What, the one as big as me?" The young boy's eyes grew wide at the thought of such an enormous turkey. "Splendid boy. Intelligent boy." Scrooge muttered, more to the world than to the boy himself. More distinctly, he said, "The very same! Go and fetch the poulterer. Tell him I wish to purchase that turkey." The young boy stared confusedly up as Scrooge disappeared from the window momentarily and then re-emerged clutching a small bag, which he tossed down. "There's a farthing for your troubles. If you come back within fifteen minutes, I'll give you half a crown" The boy, inspired by the thought of the huge sum mentioned by Scrooge, took off like a flash. Scrooge pulled himself back inside and ran about the room, making ready to go out into the world for his first Christmas in ages spent as part of the human race. He put on his top hat even before he put on pants. He laughed. "Why, I'm as light as a feather! I'm as giddy as a school boy! I'm as..." Pain shot up Scrooge's arm and he felt a great tightening in his chest. He slumped to the floor, dead of a heart attack. Outside, the poulterer beat the living shit out of the young boy for making him leave his house on Christmas. The boy became embittered and renounced his belief in God, eventually becoming a pimp. Tiny Tim, who did die, never really walked right. And Scrooge's nephew, Fred, got a divorce two years later. The moral of the story? Gruel is very high in fat. God bless us, every one. Except you.
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