Well Dear Readers having returned from Jolly Olde England at this most festive time of year, I am truthfully pooped and jet-lagged. Therefore since my brain is a little mushy- like peas with an order of Halibut and chips, I looked back into the ROBBLOG archives and came up with this little Christmas Tale that I published several years ago when I was but a lad. Well, I wasn't in my sixties as of yet when I wrote it so, a lad I was. Here is a twisted take on A Christmas Carol. It may be a little "dirty" but we are all adults here and I make no apologies to Dickens or to you Dear Reader, therefore, read on...
A Christmas Fable- with some additions and deletions to the original.
You see, the
day was Christmas Eve, a few years ago.
By that I mean
it wasn't yesterday or last week. That's the idea I am trying to get across to
you, Dear Reader. The weather was temperate yet a less than real, potato-flake
snowfall clung to the lampposts and the Christmas Shoppers who were
scurrying along Bleeker Street in Camden Town.
At the far end
of Bleeker Street at number 172B, one found the dismal, store-front
business office of Squeegee and Surly- chartered accountants. The sign stating
the obvious was hung overtop the doorway. Below, inside the front window
in this dismal piece of a storefront office sat old Ebenezer Squeegee. Surly
left the company seven years before to become a WalMart greeter and Squeegee
hadn't bothered to change the signage. Anyway, Ebeneezer Squeegee sat counting
his money.
Not far away in
another chilly, dismal office, sat a shivering Bob Scratchit, Squeegee's
clark.
At least when
Bob told folks what he did at Squeegee and Surly, he referred to himself
as a "clark". It was probably just his accent, since in reality he
was a clerk.
Bob's Bic
pen scratched away on the paper in front of him.
"Fuck,
it's cold in here. So cold that I have to pee again!"- he grumbled under
his breath.
Setting the pen
down he slid from the wooden stool where he was perched and left his office
turning right down the hall to the gents. As he turned he saw Squeegee
counting his money.
"Old
Bastard"- he thought, even though Christmas was nigh.
After relieving
himself in the executive outhouse in the back alley, Bob walked back towards
his office. As he stepped towards his desk, he heard an unusually hearty
laugh coming from Mr. Squeegee's office. Right then and there, Bob decided
to grow a pair and ask for the following day- Christmas Day, off. Hell, he
might even ask for the whole week as long as he didn't have to do any special
favours for old Squeegee- if you know what I mean. Nudge. Nudge. Winkety-wink!
No! Not those
kind of favours Dear Reader and tsk tsk for you thinking that way! It's
Christmas after all. Now, pull yourself from the depraved gutter where your
mind lives and read on with a light heart. What I meant was favours
like washing his car or trimming Squeegee's ear hairs.
Really readers!
You all are
disgusting.
May Jesus- if
he existed that is, have mercy on your unholy souls!
Now back to
this yuletide fable...
No, Bob would
put his size 10 and a half down. This year there's be no bullshit favours
performed. In that he was uni-lingualy unanimous!
A shoe shine
perhaps in the spirit of the season but he wasn't going to look down into
Squeege's ugly, old, hairy ears again this year. He still shuttered when
he thought about it.
Yuck!
Bob was still
shuddering at the memory as he stepped into the doorway of Ebenezer
Squeegee's office. He knocked respectfully on the door before he spoke.
"Excuse
me. Sir?"
Squeegee
stopped counting and turned off his Samsung Pad.
Old bugger
probably looking at porn again, I'll wager- thought Bob Scratchit.
"Pardon
Sir, but what with tomorrow being Christmas Day, I thought maybe you might just
make the decision and close the office down for the next week so as both of us
might make merry and enjoy the holiday period"- Bob Cratchit
said meekly to his employer.
"Whaat?
Who the fuck is this Mary you wanna make?"- Squeegee's tone was gruff and
stinky. Actually the stinky part was probably his feet, since Bob could see
Squeegee had kicked his shoes off.
'What do you
mean Scratchit? Spit it out!"- Squeegee growled.
"I meant,
will you be needing me to come to work, sir? and...and...maybe you could take a
much needed repose yourself Sir. I mean you are looking rather old and
tired."
Bob wanted to
say he smelled as well but thought better of it.
"Old?
Tired? Screw you Bobby boy!" Squeegee paused and had a think. Well, either
he had a think or it was gas.
"So, you
want Christmas Day. Christmas Day! Bah, humbug!" replied Squeegee.
Bob Scratchit
started to tremble. He pee'd a bit too and just after he emptied his bladder.
Bah. Bumhug!
"I suppose
if you must have the day off ya better get the scissors and trim these ears of
mine and while you're at it sonny boy you can pluck away some of these
nasty nose hairs as well. Maybe even a Brazilian. Now get to work! Heh.
Heh." Squeegee started to smile.
Then, as he got up
from his chair Squeegee looked Bob right in the eyes and extended his hand.
"Ho Ho Bob. I had you for just a second- didn't I?"
Squeegee laughed an uproarious laugh. You know, the kind of laugh one laughs every single time Andrew Scheer speaks!
Bob looked at
Squeegee's strong, hard fingers and said-
"Well now
it takes a big boss to offer his hand to an underling. Thankee!"
"It's
simply a show of thanks for the season." crowed Ebeneezer his eyebrows twitching like mad as he smiled.
Bob Scratchit
felt small and awful. He grabbed Ebeneezer Squeegee's hand and gave it a hardy
shake.
As he did so
Squeegee cried out- "Ha Hah Bobby Boy. Gotcha! Just before you walked into
my office, I just had this hand down the front of my slacks having a good old
scratch.
Now you have my
plum pudding scent all over your pinkies. Cripes Bob Scratchit! This is the
best Christmas yet. Hah! Hah! Hah!"
"Very
funny Sir. Very funny. You sure got me this time- didn't you." Bob wiped
his palm on his pants all the while cursing under his breath.
"So are we
going to enjoy the holiday or not, Sir?" Bob asked again with a weak
smile.
Ebeneezer Squeegee looked
Bob Scratchit right in the eyes for a second time and extended his other
hand.
"Of
course. Now have a very Happy Christmas Bob. I mean it. Maybe I don't tell you
enough how valuable you are to me."
Bob looked at
Squeegee's other hand and warmly reached out to give it a firm Holiday shake.
"Hah and
Hah again Bob! You're just too easy. I got my "stuff" all over this hand too.
Hah. Hah. Ho.
Ho Ho!"
For Squeegee was a dirty, old devil of a man something like Alberta's Jason Kenny only more centre for Squeegee believed in the Holy sanctity of Gay Marriage. Whereas most Conservatives used stiff-bristled brushes to scrub the filth off their hands whenever they unknowingly came upon a person of the "Gay Persuasive".
Bob pulled back
his hand reaching for a wet nappy from a package that sat on Squeegee's
desk. Now he knew why they were there.
Yucky he
thought!
Squeegee was
still chortling as Bob finished wiping his hands clean and then disposing of
the wet nappy in the garbage can next to Squeegee's desk.
"Okay, Bob
my lad. Sorry. That wasn't as good as last year's Holiday prank when I poured
crazy glue all over the toilet seat in the gents but I guess it'll have to do.
Look Bob, take a good holiday break and just for being such a good sport and
employee I'm going to double your wages but be sure you are here all the
earlier the day after the Holidays are through. Christmas is not an excuse for
being a lazy clark! It's a poor excuse."
"Yes Sir!
Yes Sir! I'll be here and earlier than ever! You'll see!"
Bob was
ecstatic. He jumped up on Squeegee's desk and started to table dance to an old
Cher song playing on a radio somewhere in Squeegee's office. He looked
down at Ebeneezer Squeegee who was shoving his hands down the front of his
slacks. Bob soon
realized what his dancing was leading to and swiftly jumped to the floor!
Gaining some
composure and slicking his oily hair back into place he asked-
"So, Sir.
What are your holiday plans?"
Ebenezer
removed his panty-hands from his slacks.
"Well you
remember that blonde lad Bruce who brought me the prize turkey a few years
back?"
"Yes. I do
and just to confirm that lad was legal and 19. He also brought the butcher
back in record time- if I remember the story. Dickens of a day that was
Sir!"
"Indeed."
said Squeegee, "but now that lad is a sturdy 24 years old and built like a
brick
workhouse. I've
invited him over to sample my gruel tonight."
"Oh
Sir!" Bob smirked. "Gruel. Is that a euphemism for....?"
Ebeneezer
Squeegee scowled and glared at Bobby Scratchit straight in the eyes as was
his usual way and said- "Get your
mind out of the Christmas Guttersock Bob!"
Bob smiled a
wide holiday grin. "Good one. Sir! Merry Christmas! A very Merry Christmas
Sir!"
He turned on
his fashionable heels and headed back to his own office looking forward to the
time when he could put down his scratchy pen and head home
to his wife- Mrs. Beverley Scratchit. Beverley was a
cross-dresser and her name was really Roger but Bob didn't mind. He didn't mind
one little bit for Beverley could cook a turkey so moist it would make any
Queen weep. Also, Dear Readers, her giblets were superb!
Beverley's
giblets- not the Queen's, I mean.
That night,
Squeegee went home to his huge manor house. He ate a cold supper of salad
and oysters and waited for Bruce to arrive.
When Bruce
finally did so, Ebeneezer Squeegee encouraged the brawny lad- who in deed was
at the age of 24, not to waste a minute of time for the oysters were
starting to have their desired effect on Squeegee's manly bits.
Later, in the
middle of the night, Ebeneezer was awakened suddenly by a strange noise in his
room. It sounded like huffing and puffing. Was it a ghost of Christmas Past?
He sat up in
his bed and saw Bruce- who was 24 years old may I remind you, doing push
ups on the carpet across the room in front of the roaring fire.
Seeing this
vision of a man, Squeegee threw back the bedclothes and hurried downstairs to
consume even more oysters. Then, as quickly as he ran down the stairs, he ran
back up again taking the steps two at a time.
Silly old
bugger. He was past being athletic Dear Readers.
Way past!
Ebeneezer
needed to make merry once more- or at least in this case Bruce- and perhaps
have a good old game of "Blind Man's Buff"!
No explanation
required Dear Readers, if you catch my drift!
As Ebeneezer
Squeegee hopped back into bed he began to sing ever so loudly his favourite
Holiday tune of all time- O Come All Ye Faithful!
As Squeegee
sang every note in the Spirit of the Christmas Season, Bruce- who was 24 years
old you will by now remember, hopped back into bed, his massive
chest ruddy-red from the exertion of the push ups on the floor before the
flaming hearth.
Red just
happened to be Ebeneezer Squeegee's favourite colour- the old Queen that he
was!
As Bruce set to
work Ebeneezer sang out in the most perfect and wonderful High C ever
heard-
"Merry
Christmas, Everyone!"
The End.
