The staff here at Lewd Cognoscenti would like to be the latest entity to wish you a happy holidays. And in the spirit of festivity we now present…
A Christmas Carol
rewritten by finite jester
Marley was dead, there can be no doubt of that simple fact or nothing that I am about to relate to you will be half as wonderful. Marley had passed away back in 1981 and achieved the status of legend, his dreadlocked visage immortalized on countless t-shirts and posters. He was buried in Jamaica with his Gibson guitar, a bud of marijuana and a bible. His funeral was well attended, and despite some negative comments made by Peter Tosh, he has been sorely missed.
But this is just back-ground, and not even terribly relevant. Facts are that it was Christmas Eve, and in a smallish town somewhere in Michigan, the finite jester was acting most unseasonably.
“Bah-mother-f-ing Humbug.” the jester said as he sprang awake at one in the afternoon. The sunlight was reflecting off grungy snow-banks and attacking his sensitive eyes. “I swear, this holiday gets worse every year, it’s all just an excuse for the huddled masses of humanity to spend their hard earned money on a bunch of plastic crap that lights up and sings. I suppose the positive side will be that our land-fills will become terribly festive places in a few more years, then we can take tours of Christmas past, wearing gas-masks and pointing at the giant inflatable snow-globes that were all the rage for a brief, shining moment of stupidity.”
He dressed quickly and, carefully navigating his ice-covered stairs, headed for the local convenience store. What a terribly ugly scene it can be when the snow hasn’t been falling and all that’s left are snow banks striped brown with road grime. What an ugly world it can seem when confronted by a brain recovering from too many martinis.
Through the windows he passed, the finite jester could see Christmas trees covered in tinsel and lights, all the magic of Christmas came rushing out to greet him. He spat.
“Murderous holiday, honestly. It’s not enough that we run out and buy all this plastic garbage, we’ve got to cut down several forests worth of trees to prop up over the whole ghastly tableau.”
Now you’re probably asking yourselves… is he really such a crotchety poop-head?
The honest answer is sometimes. For all of his laughs and merriment, the finite jester keeps, quite close to his heart, a deep and potent cynical streak.
Something about this season seems to provoke it. He’s been known to snarl at people in Santa-hats and Christmas sweaters who try to wish him any sort of holiday cheer.
In the convenience store he bought a bag of white-cheddar popcorn, a quart of grapefruit juice and a two-liter of mountain dew. On returning to his apartment he ascended his treacherous stairs cautiously, keeping his eyes on his feet so that he failed to notice the strange transformations that had occurred to his door-knocker during his absence.
The most startling thing was that he had a door-knocker at all, for in the many months he’d been living in that apartment, there had never been a door-knocker, and the place where they traditionally reside was glass. He’d never even thought of having one installed, seeing as how it would be impossible unless you were willing to resort to suction cups.
Nevertheless, there it was, a door-knocker; cheap-plastic from the look of it too. But what was quite strange was the fact that it seemed strangely familiar. Weren’t those dreadlocks sticking out from under the Santa hat, and wasn’t that a big ol’ doobie, albeit a red and white striped one, sticking out of lips clinched around the plastic wreath that served as the knocker proper.
The literary references raced through his head. Of course, this was just a horrible pun, perpetrated on him by one of his weird friends. A smile crossed the finite jester’s face, and for a moment there he was ready to forgive the season its many faults when…
The knocker lit-up. Ghastly, horrible illumination from LED lights buried beneath the Rastafarian’s plastic skin suddenly began to flash.
Then it began to sing. In utterly blasphemous tone, a cheap speaker issued the elevator music version of ‘Kaya’ and a poor impersonation of a wonderful voice began to sing.
“Wake up and celebrate!
For the snow is falling!
Got to have Christ-mas now
Got to have Christ-mas now
Got to have Christ-mas now
For the snow is falling..
I feel so high, I think I’m in a sleigh, above the falling snow
I feel so good in my neighbor-hood ‘cuz it is Christmas day
Got to have Christ-mas now
Got to have Christ-mas now
Got to have Christ-mas now
For the snow is falling..”
Oh it was an abomination! The little plastic doobie lit up to keep time with the music, the lights in Marley’s face made him look like a reject from an untalented glam-rock band.
The finite jester screamed and struck the apparition from his door.
And there you have it! A Christmas Carol!
“Wake up and celebrate!
For the snow is falling!
Got to have Christ-mas now
Got to have Christ-mas now
Got to have Christ-mas now
For the snow is falling..
I feel so high, I think I’m in a sleigh, above the falling snow
I feel so good in my neighbor-hood ‘cuz it is Christmas day
Got to have Christ-mas now
Got to have Christ-mas now
Got to have Christ-mas now
For the snow is falling..”
Happy Holidays… sorry ’bout the general stupidity,
but ’tis the season!
finite jester
December 26th, 2005 at 1:02 pm
you know, when I sat down to start this post my initial thought was that I would re-write the entirety of the story, you know the three ghosts and everything. The truth is that I pretty much ran out of steam, and figured since I had written a ‘christmas carol’ by brutalizing the lyrics to ‘Kaya’ that was as far as I needed to go, maybe I’ll dust this thing off next year and get further in it… but I don’t know… how about you tell me.
Is this unbearably stupid and better off forgotten?
Or should it be spruced up re-posted in an even longer form next season?
January 4th, 2006 at 1:55 pm
I vote re-post
We all know your twisted mind can create many alternate realitys.
Have a smoke and a drink. Then you can think.