The Kid Who Sits Behind You Explains

A Christmas Carol

So there's this old dude named Scrooge--which I'm not sure if the word means cheap and mean like the Grinch on account of it was his name or vers vice-a but anyway he was all "I love money and don't like people". So he didn't go to the mall to buy gifts or nothing.

There was this guy, Bob Cratchet, who worked for him and his name sounds like "scratch it" 'cause he was poor and lived in a crappy house and so I think they had fleas and lice and stuff. He had to help count Scrooge's money but didn't get any for himself. He wanted Christmas off for a holiday so Scrooge was all "You suck so come in early the next day".

Then Scrooge went home and he started having visions of Bob Marley, which is probably 'cause some of that Jamaican ganja can kind of mess you up, and this ghost Marley was all singing reggae stuff about how Scrooge was gonna end up dragging chains after he died.

Then three other ghosts show up. The past Christmas ghost is all "Look you used to not suck but then you got all money hungry" The ghost of Christmas present--not the ghost of Christmas presents, cause that would be like that Nightmare on Elm Street lego set I got when I was eleven and it was a present with ghosts--anyway that ghost was all "Look here is your nephew and Bob Cratchet's family and they all feel sorry for you and hate you and think you suck." And there was some creepy guy with long hair who was kind of fat with bad teeth and he had this little ukelele and sang "tiptoe through the tulips" in this kinda helium-like voice and his name was Tiny Tim.

And then the future ghost shows up and he's all "Look there's your grave and everyone's laughing that you're dead" and Scrooge is all emo and then he kind of gets like the Grinch when his heart grew 7 times or whatever and turns nice. I kinda think this Dickens guy totally ripped off the story from Dr. Seuss.

So he buys a turkey and is all nice to Cratchet and gives him a raise and stuff, but if I were them people I'd totally figure he was being fake and check the egg nog for rat poison or something.

Oh, and that Tiny Tim guy says "God bless us everyone" which is totally weird talking 'cause on account of he could just have said "bless everyone" but he didn't really want to bless everyone so he's kind of selfish and mean cause he really just meant "us" which wasn't really Scrooge 'cause on account of they were poor and Scrooge wasn't one of them so it's like a sort of secret shot at the old rich guy kind of like when we tell my French teacher that we really like his ties but we think they're hella stupid looking.

I gotta go buy some presents now dude. It's like Christmas eve and I spent the last three days playing Halo and I'm so screwed if I don't go to the store quick. Later.

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Editor's note: I know "it isn't funny if you've got to explain it" but for the benefit of those readers under 40 (which is most who read this) a couple of links about the Tiny Tim mentioned above:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tiny_Tim_(musician)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=skU-jBFzXl0

In the mid 70s he was pretty well known. Just like today, there's no accounting for what earns people their 15 minutes of fame.

The Cynical Career Counselor Explains Your Future as a

Retired Person

Oh hi. No, I'm done with appointments--at Christmas they don't much care for the future beyond how long it's going to take to get to the airport, ski hill or shopping mall. Want a shot? Here--I don't normally keep a bottle in here, of course, but 'tis the season.

Me? Not a whole lot, I guess. I mean, the kids will do the obligatory thing on the 26th or maybe the 27th--we haven't pinned that down yet. Son's got to work apparently so he can't do more than maybe a lunch, he says. Daughter wonders if I'd be hurt if she accepted her boyfriend's offer to go with his family to Aspen. Probably best to go along with it than have her come over and sulk.

Presents? I give gift certificates--music stores mostly. What about you? Really--just three months? I didn't realize you weren't even going to finish out the school year. Me? No, I just look like I should be close to packing it in. Must be the fluorescent lights in here--that or the smokes and the Jack Daniels. Sorry--don't mean to get maudlin.

Really? You want me to give you my career advice on retirement? I never really thought anyone would ever ask that. I usually tell most of the kids to expect to be dead or bankrupt by 60--saves them coming back and saying I built up their hopes, you know? Easiest not to expect much, I've learned--then you don't end up disappointed.

So--retirement, huh? Well, you're what--56? Wow--if I hadn't gotten divorced I'd probably be able to go at 58. Now my bank account says that isn't in the cards. Anyway, 'nough about me.

So, you'll probably have all these great ideas about travel and adventure, right? But how old's your wife--she retiring? Aha--just as I thought. So you'll retire and want to get moving on with the adventures, but she still has the workaday thing to do, so you'll go play golf and putter around the garden while she resents you as she has to get up and go into her daily grind.

Eventually she'll get her three weeks vacation and you'll suggest something exotic--like backpacking in the Himilayas--but she'll just want a beach, a chair and a pitcher of margaritas. You'll settle for something in between--a cruise that includes "the best of both" and delivers little more than intestinal parasites that leave you in the fetal position for two weeks.

She goes back to work and you get bored, so you take her advice and volunteer for a variety of good causes--maybe the soup kitchen, or reading for the blind, or delivering meals to shut-ins. You won't just make it a once a week gig; you'll throw yourself into it wholeheartedly, and soon you have an entire little social world with the other volunteers, and your wife points out that you might have well have just kept on working. You explain it's all about the satisfaction of making a difference in the world, but her eyes have glazed over by that point in the conversation.

Eventually she retires and you start retirement in earnest. You buy the big motor home you'd always wanted--fully decked out with satellite t.v. and a jacuzzi tub. Of course it costs more to fill it with gas and pay for campsite rentals than it would have cost you to fly around to four star hotels, but you delude yourself into thinking you're getting in touch with the great outdoors. In fact you're simply learning how long small town garages can milk repair jobs while you are stuck in a cockroach-infested motel eating barely digestible meals at the local greasy spoon.

One day when you're struggling to get the fifth wheel unhooked from the truck you strain your back. You end up in hospital for a few days, and have to hire someone to drive the camper back while you and your wife fly home. That ends your camping days.

You try going back to the volunteering, but the back problems limit your ability to be much help, and you give it up. Meanwhile, now your wife is showing the same restlessness you felt when you first retired, and she directs her energy into her garden, soon winning prizes at local produce fairs with her vegetables and flowers. You become a fixture in your recliner, and watch your waistline grow as you wear the numbers off the t.v. remote.

Your wife becomes more and more involved in her gardening club, and soon is heading off too conventions all over the country. You notice she doesn't seem to mind too much when you beg off, and you also wonder why the gardening club has so many late weeknight meetings. You're taken by surprise when she files for divorce and shacks up with a man ten years younger.

Hey, but you can still come visit us here, right? You know where the Christmas party is, by the way? Nobody seems to want to tell me.

Poetry by Dythandra

Satan's Little Helper

'Twas two weeks before Xmas
And I made the mistake
Of choosing the mall
As a shortcut to take.

I'd forgotten the crush,
The stench of the crowd
And the holiday music
Played annoyingly loud.

Still, I must carry on,
Now the decision is made
'Nought to fear in these shops
Why should I be afraid?

Sure I'm thinner, I'm darker,
More nocturnal than most
But I'd chill with Jack Skellington
Or Scrooge's chain-rattlin' ghost.

I'm two-thirds of the way
Through the holiday madness
When a sight fills my heart
With some holiday gladness.

She was just a year older,
When I, a troubled sophomore,
Was sent by well-meaning others
Through the peer counseling door.

She attempted to "reach me"
Her advice was unheeded,
'Til one day she discovered
'Twas just friendship I needed.

Things then gradually got better,
And I thought she was great,
We'd share hopes and our dreams
On our weekly lunch date.

Still it felt like a dagger
When a boy she might mention,
See, she thought we were friends,
But I had other intentions.

Sadly my mentor was
Taken from me,
By repercussions arising
From unplanned pregnancy.

I suggested she end it--
"Go see Planned Parenthood",
But her Catholic parents,
Thought that wasn't so good.

So without one goodbye
Due to all of this drama
My friend suddenly vanished
To go live with her Grandma.

Now two years have passed,
Since she was torn from my side,
But here she's running toward me,
And she's clutching her side.

"Oh hi--it's Dythandra..."
She gasps out a name,
That others dismissed
As a silly girl's game.

I nod, she continues;
"Long time no see,"
I ask her what's wrong
But she suddenly flees.

I follow behind her
To the washroom--she's quick
There she spends the next minutes
Being violently sick.

While I'm trying to help her
I think to myself
Why is this poor sickly girl
Dressed up like an elf?

"Can you help me?" she moans
When the spasms have expired,
"If I go home on a Saturday,
I think I'll be fired."

She goes on to explain
'Bout her gainful employ
Taking photos of Santa
With young girls and young boys.

Had it been anyone else,
I'd have rejected the plea
But one look in those eyes
Simply mesmerized me.

I was troubled to remember
How I missed the warning
When two years before,
She'd get sick every morning.

And as if she could read,
My thoughts as they grew,
She looked up and assured me
"It's only the flu."

Then as if in a dream,
And in spite of myself
I was suddenly clad
In the garb of an elf.

The kids were excited,
Loud, rambunctious, elated
While St. Nick just sat there,
In a job that he hated.

"What should I ask for?"
So many they wonder,
And with the worst of intentions
I deliberately blunder.

"Try asking your father
To come straight home from work,
When he lives at the bar,
It just proves he's a jerk.

Or tell mommy to buy you
A new bike instead,
Of treatments that botox
The lines on her head.

Better yet, ditch this place
With its sentiments fake,
And spend holiday cash
Where a difference you'll make.

Some nice cosy blankets
Would surely be pleasing
For the folks who on cold
Downtown streets are found freezing.

Or send a donation
To those folks who try
To give the impoverished
A safe water supply."

Alarmed at my sentiments,
As I burst her kid's bubble,
One mom fetches the manager
To come give me trouble.

"Hey, you're the not the one
Where's the regular elf?"
Clearly he'd never hire
One so strange as myself."

"Leave that poor girl alone,"
A deep voice suddenly rumbles,
Santa stands up and a child
From his knee gently tumbles.

"Stay out of this Jack,"
He dismisses St. Nick,
His target is chosen
And he'll finish me quick.

"No I won't," Santa says
With a gleam in his eye,
"If you get rid of her,
Then I'm saying goodbye.

I've sat here quite meekly
And watched you destroy,
The true meaning of Christmas,
To sell a few toys."

The manager's ready
To shout at this Claus,
When he's stopped by the sound
Of bystanders' applause.

"Nevermind." Then he's gone
Santa gives me high five,
And goes back to his place
Now more strangely alive.

I'm thankful, though his good will
Might sorely be tested,
If he remembered last year
I nearly had him arrested.

I feel I've been weak,
And it's rather annoying
That I've given voice to thoughts
That I usually find cloying

Just don't get used to the change
That you've seen in myself,
It just must be that I'm dressed
Like a stupid store elf.

Or perhaps that a girl
Whom I once had been stalking
Just happened to be
In the mall I was walking.

My next poem won't be pathetic
It's just holiday timing,
I despise sentiment
And I really hate rhyming.