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| An X-Mas Song; Bah, hum fuck! | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Dec 2 2006, 10:44 AM (287 Views) | |
| Tabris Macbeth | Dec 2 2006, 10:44 AM Post #1 |
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The Baddest Ass
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Real family friendly joint I'm runng here, huh? So, An X-Mas Song! Any company worth their salt does a Christmas Carol parody, and my company is worth enough salt to kill a small child, or several puppies! So...here we are, two years later, and I've added...like, just this tiny part about the door knocker. But screw waiting until it's finished! Here's what have so far, a early Every Holiday in December Day present for all my wonderful posters! An X-Mas Song a bastardization of Charles Dicken's "A Christmas Carol" by Tabris Macbeth It was the best of times....that's a lie. The was the worst of times. Just the worst of times. It was seven years since old Marley died. But this isn't his story. That sentence had little, if anything, to do with the story. I'm just wasting your time now. I wasted several seconds of your life, and you can never have them back. Okay, now I will move on with the story, but only because I choose to. Marley left his business, estate, and all worldly possessions to his business partner, as well as sole friend and mourner, Scrooge. Scrooge had kept Christmas each year, but he kept it in a much different fashion than most men. Whatever fashion most men kept Christmas in, and how exactly one can "keep" a holiday- which is, by it's very nature, an intangible thing that one cannot possess- didn't matter. Scrooge treated it as any work day, and in the process, closed his heart to his fellow man. This is the story fateful night that changed him forever. Also, unlike the first two paragraphs, this wasn't a waste of time. It was midday of Christmas Eve. I suppose one could say it was Christmas Eve Midday, but that would be stupid, so I will say it was midday of Christmas Eve. The streets were teeming with life, people happily going about their business and whatnot. The spirit of Christmas was alive and well. But then Scrooge came around the corner, knocking the spirit into a mild, temporary coma. The very presence of the crotchity old man-crone canceled out every bit of holiday cheer around him. The chatter in the air ceased immediately. The crowds parted like the Red Sea as he stalked the street. His gaze shifted back and forth, as if keeping an eye out for an unseen assailant that was about to jump him. Just then, a thin young girl walked up to him. She was a pale, spindly little creature, dressed much like a stereotypical street urchin.The poor thing had no idea who this man was, or perhaps she was too hungry to care. "Spare some money, good sir?" No, she definately had no idea who this man was. There was precious little "good" about Scrooge. "No!" he spat venomously, "Bugger off!" "But sir!" she tried again, the sound desperation growing strong in her voice. "I said NO! BUGGER OFF! B-U-G-G-E-R, O-F-F, EXCLAIMATION POINT! Now get out of my way before I have you arrested for vagrancy! And assault! And maybe even attempted rape!" She stared at him with her sunken, glassy eyes, the slightest spark of hope flickering inside them. "But sir! It's Christmas!" Suddenly, he twitched. Scrooge's glare became cold enough to freeze the very fires of Hell. With a swift swipe of his cane, the sickly little girl went flying through the air, landing face first on the icy ground. Quite impressive for someone his age. The beggar girl ran off crying, not noticing her lip was split open. The sight would break anyone's heart, but not Scrooge's. Apparently, not only had he closed his heart to his fellow man, but to women and children, as well. Maybe even animals. Why, I wouldn't be surprised if he enjoyed beating that small girl. If he had the chance, he would most likely set her on fire, as well. As I said before, these were the worst of times. Bob Cratchit slowly, carefully, lifted a lump of coal from the...coal...storing...thing. With a quick glance to the window, he sighed with relief to know that he could get away with putting another lump into the dying fire. Then he jumped as he heard the door rattle open. Being as aggressively frugal as he was, Scrooge had never bothered to replace the rusty hinges. And to think, he wondered how the office had been broken into eight times last month. "Crapshit!" Cratchit was about to correct him before he was abruptly interupted. "What the bloody hell are you doing?!" "I...the fire was dying, so..." "Well, poke it! And retrieve the coal! Coal cost money!" Cratchit sighed. At least the burns might keep him warm. Scrooge began went to work, ignoring Cratchit's screams of pain as he retrieve the smoldering coal lump with his bare hands. So absorbed in...whatever he does, he failed to notice his nephew Fred sneak inside. He hushed Cratchit before he could greet him. There's was a mischievious smile curled upon his lips as he crept up on Scrooge. "Merry Christmas, Uncle!" As Cratchit and Fred laughed, Scrooge clasped his chest and his free hand fumbled under the desk, searching for his concealed pistol. "Damn you, Fred!" Scrooge screamed as shock went away, "What in the bloody hell do you want?!" "Only to wish you and Mr. Cratchit a very merry Christmas, dear uncle." "Christmas." Scrooge spat, "Bah, hum fuck!" "Actually, Mr. Scrooge," started Cratchit, "I believe it's 'bah, hum bug'." "And I believe you're a dumbass, Crabmit." Scrooge retorted. "Uncle, his name is Cratchit, and I really wish you would come to my party." "I wish you would jump up my bum." muttered Scrooge. "Oh, come now, uncle! There'll be hot old chicks there!" Fred then winked and nodded suggestively. And to that, Scrooge flipped him off. "Bah! If I wanted to get my pirate smoked, I'd rent a whore!" Fred and Cratchit stared at him for a moment, wondering what exactly getting one's "pirate smoked" entailed. "Well, Uncle," Fred finally said, "In any case, I wish you a merry Christmas." "Bah, hum fuck!" Scrooge screamed, swiping at Fred with his cane. "And a happy new year!" "Bah, hum fuck!" Scrooge yelled as he chased him out the door, "Bah, hum fuck! Bah, hum fuck! BAH! HUM! FUCK!" Cratchit went back to work, trying to ignore Scrooge as he jumped up and down screaming "Bah, hum fuck!" at the door. My, but Mr. Scrooge does has issues, doesn't he? One would think after seeing a man in his late fifties to early sixies jump about, screaming "Bah, hum fuck!" like an addle minded street person would discourage any and all solicitors, beggars, and the like from coming near the building. Unfortunately, one such soul who was collecting for an orphanage wasn't within earshot of Scrooge's fit. By the time he reached Scrooge's loan office (if you can bring yourself to believe a fellow like Scrooge would loan money to anyone), Scrooge had went back inside to be a bitter, jaded bastard, not unlike so many times before. "Merry Christmas, good sirs!" said the man, who for the sake of reference I shall call Mr. Pink. "Merry Chri- Ow!" Cratchit's greeting was cut short by a thrown inkwell to the head. "And what do you want?" said Scrooge, quietly adding "As if I didn't know." "Well, sir, I'm collecting money for the local orphanage." "And you want me to donate?" Scrooge grumbled, rolling his eyes. "Yes, sir!" Mr. Pink joyfully replayed, ignorant of the sarcasm Scrooge had implied, "And how much shall I put you down for?" "None." Scrooge flatly stated. Mr. Pink stared dumbfounded for a moment. Then a wide smile crossed his face. "Ah! An anonymous donation! Well, how much shall I not put you down for, good sir?" he said with a wink. "None." Scrooge said, his tone being sharper. "I....I don't understand. You mean you won't donate anything?" "That's what I said. I will not give money, nor will I give a rat's ass." "But sir! What about the orphans?!" "I didn't kill their parents. I didn't abandon any of them. Why should they come and take money from my pockets?" "For God's sake, man! You uppercutted one of them just this morning, so I heard! Have you no pity for these poor children?!" To this, Scrooge laughed bitterly. That small girl had flown quite far. It took perverse pride in knowing he still had a strong right arm. "Better that they hurry up and die and decrease the surplus population. Or that they get jobs and learn what the value of a pound is!" "But sir! It's Christmas!" "And as I said before, I don't give a rat's bleeding ass!" Scrooge yelled, pointing towards the door, "Now leave before I start kicking ass all over the place!" Mr. Pink couldn't believe any person could be so cold and mean spirited. He decided to try one more time, mustering all his diplomatic charm. "Won't you-" Outside, the streets had returned, albeit cautiously, to their state of holiday normality. Then Mr. Pink went flying through a window, shards of glass lacerating him and his diplomatic charm, as well as making the already drafty office even colder. "Well, go bugger a monkey, then!" screamed Mr. Pink, slowly, painfully getting up. Fred, who was waiting outside for just this moment, helped Mr. Pink up. "Thank you, Fred." Mr. Pink said, brushing off the glass, "Would you care to donate to the orphanage?" "Of course I would!" said Fred, "Will a huge wad of money do?" "Will it?!" Mr. Pink said happily, "That would be wonderful! God bless you, Fred! How you can be related to that violent tightwad uncle of yours is beyond me. How can you put up with him?" "He's my uncle." Fred said simply, "And I'm sure he'd be a bit more cheery if he got some once in a while." Poor Fred. He didn't know the problems his uncle Scrooge had weren't the sort casual sex could solve. No, these problems required the undead. But I'm getting ahead of myself. By the time Scrooge had made his way home, the incidents of the day had left his mind. After dinner, he would scour at the fireplace as he clutched a glass of brandy in his claw-like hands, holding contempt for his fellow man before retiring for the evening. But just as he laid a hand on the front door, a most curious thing happened. "Scrooge..." His doorknocker talked. The doorknocker was a cheap, ugly thing anyone that took the slightest sense of pride in their home would be ashamed to place on their door. Also, it was an inanimate object incapible of communicating in any language, so it was quite understandable that Scrooge would be taken aback by this. "Demon!" he screamed, "You dare possess my doorknocker, you son of a bitch?! I know how to deal with your kind!" "Scrooge..." the ghostly voice said, growing confused as Scrooge took out his penis. "Do you like golden showers, demon?" To the haunted knocker's shock, Scrooge urinated on it. "I piss on you in the name of our Lord and Savior!" Scrooge yelled, shaking his genitals so that he made a cross. And for my next parody: "The Jesus Who Stole Christmas" -Tabris |
Owner of a little nothing company that isn't real, administrator of WOAM, 98% of the posters here, and king of the lesbians.
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| crosseyedrevolution | Dec 2 2006, 12:31 PM Post #2 |
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Resident Intern
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And this is why I love the holidays. |
| It is a Tale told by an Idiot; Full of Sound and Fury, signifying Nothing. | |
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| Girl Chaser Meiko | Dec 6 2006, 12:34 PM Post #3 |
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Bibliophile and Girl Chaser
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"Aggressively frugal". I need to remember that term. Being one to always curl up with this Dickens classic when the holidays come...good lord, Tabris! You took a heart warming story of redemption and hope, and you turn it into a hilarious parade of cruelty! Please, good sir, finish this by next Christmas. ~Meiko |
| I am Girl Chaser Meiko! Defender of- Oh, who am I kidding? I'm a young cat lady. | |
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6:13 AM Jul 11