Variations on a Theme by Dickens
The holidays are over, but the vibe still lingers, so I dashed off this nonsense. Happy new Year!
“Do you know whether they’ve sold the prize Turkey that was hanging up there?—Not the little prize Turkey: the big one?”
“What, the one as big as me?” returned the boy.
“Yes, my buck!”
“They sold it last week.”
“Oh, well then fuck it.”
-
“Do you know whether they’ve sold the prize Turkey that was hanging up there?—Not the little prize Turkey: the big one?”
“What, the one as big as me?” returned the boy.
“Yes, my buck!”
“It’s hanging there now,” replied the boy.
“Is it?” said Scrooge. “Go and buy it.”
“Wot? I just said it was as big as me, din’t I?”
“Yes?”
“‘Ow then, am I, a mere lad, to carry it?”
“I didn’t expect that you–”
“Mad bugger.”
“They do deliveries. Just have them–”
“Like ‘e don’t understand the laws of mass and physics ‘n wotnot.”
“Could you just listen–”
“Wants to give me a turkey hernia…”
-
“Do you know whether they’ve sold the prize Turkey that was hanging up there?—Not the little prize Turkey: the big one?”
“What, the one as big as me?” returned the boy.
“Yes, my buck!”
“It’s hanging there now,” replied the boy.
“Is it?” said Scrooge. “Go and buy it. Tell ’em to bring it here, that I may give them the direction where to take it. Come back with the man, and I’ll give you a shilling.”
“May I ask ‘ow you intend to dispense wif this massive fowl, sir?”
“Of course, my fine lad! It is to be a surprise for my employee Bob Cratchit and his marvelous family.”
“Hmn.”
“It’s a symbol of my spiritual renewal and intent to do better by him in the new– wait... Why did you say hmn?”
“It’s not my place, sir.”
“No. I insist.”
“Well sir. Turkey is a notorious ‘ard bird to cook sir. Requires a great deal of time, which can make it come out monstrous dry.”
“I see…”
“And if it’s as big as me, let’s say it’s in the range of 50 pounds. At 15 minutes per pound, we’re looking at a cook time of over twelve hours, which seems a burden on Mrs. Cratchit at best, and a terrible disruption if, like me own sainted mother, she’s had the details of her own Christmas feast planned for months.”
“Yes, that…”
“Now I s’pose one could spatchcock the bird, or break it down into component parts, reducing the overall time considerable…”
“No no no, that’s fine. You’ve made your point. Sigh. I’d really hoped to give them a gift though.”
“Well, just so ‘appens sir, that I’m selling these delicious chocolate bars to fund my competitive chimney sweeping team…”
-
“Do you know whether they’ve sold the prize Turkey that was hanging up there?—Not the little prize Turkey: the big one?”
“What, the one as big as me?” returned the boy.
“Yes, my buck!”
“It’s hanging there now,” replied the boy.
“Is it?” said Scrooge. “Go and buy it. Tell ’em to bring it here, that I may give them the direction where to take it. Come back with the man, and I’ll give you a shilling.”
Come back with him in less than five minutes and I’ll give you half-a-crown!”
“You’ll give me a whole crown.”
“What?”
“Clock’s ticking old man and that turkey’s not getting any fresher.”
“Now see here–”
“Price just went up. Two crowns.”
“Now young lad, money isn’t everything. Let me tell you the tale of what happened to me last night…”
“Three spirits? Past-present-future? The whole deal.”
“Why, yes. How did you–”
“Oh they visited me last year.”
“What?! They visited a boy like you? And you haven’t changed? You still value money above all?”
“I’m young! I’m never gonna die! HAHAHAHAHA!”
Triumphant, Donald Trump’s great-great-grandfather ran down the snowy London street, cackling all the way.
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For a bit more Christmas Carol comedy from me, check out this video I made about a year ago:
In my other other life, I’m an Emmy-winning comedy writer. If you’re looking to staff, get in touch! And if you love the newsletter, you can always consider tipping me, by enrolling in the paid tier!