The Goat's Take
This Week's Topic:
A CHRISTMAS CAROL
I gave myself 20min to write this piece of garbage. So shut up and read it already. It’s the Goat’s retelling of Charles Dickens’ "A Christmas Carol." And yes, I am going to start it with “once upon a time,’ because that’s how all good writers write stuff, bitch.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Once upon a time, there lived a miserable old bastard named Ebenezer Scrooge. One reason he was miserable was because his name was Ebenezer. Not only did he get his ass kicked by everyone back in high school, but nobody ever took him seriously until he made his millions during the industrial revolution through clubbing baby seals and prostitution. And by industrial revolution, I of course mean the steam-powered robot uprising of 1837.
Another reason Scrooge was so miserable and grouchy was because he worked with a poor douchebag named Bob Cratchit. The only way Scrooge thought he could stay rich was to hire dumbasses that allowed their bosses to walk all over them. One day, that stupid prick Bob worked up enough hairy marbles to ask Scrooge for a raise so he could better feed his family. However, the plea fell on nearly deaf ears, as Scrooge did not hear pleading, but instead this: “Blah, blah. I’m wasting your valuable money by sitting here talking to you. Please hate me and my family even more than you do right now. I also love it how you laugh every time I mention my crippled son, Tim. Man, he sure is a gimpy bastard. Remember that one time you kicked him in the nuts just to see him hobble around in pain? That was so freaking awesome, even though he pissed blood for a month and I’m still paying the medical bills because you offer no decent health insurance.”
Without a second thought, Scrooge flipped him the finger and told him, “Get back to work. Those letters aren't going to copy themselves.”
“But sir, you didn’t make room for more ink in the budget, and I am nearly out.”
Scrooge slapped him across the face, “Then use your own blood and quit whining. One could only hope that will also run out so I won’t have to listen to your insufferable crying, fag.”
Bob tried a different tactic, “But tomorrow is Christmas, have a heart, Ebenezer.”
“Christmas?” Barked Scrooge. “Christmas is a gimmick for rich fools, and last time I checked you aren’t rich, fool. What did you get your family last year, a boot? Talk to a charity, buddy, maybe they will make your children think Santa Claus doesn’t hate them as much as everyone else does. I own you.”
That night, Scrooge’s old, dead business partner, Jacob Marley, tried to wake him up. Since Scrooge didn’t believe in ghosts, wasn’t expecting company, and was balls-tired from avoiding Bob Cratchit all day, he slept through the whole night. The Marley ghost went back where it came from, and got his ass chewed-out by his ghost boss for failing to do his task. He was fired the next morning, and was forced to live on the streets even though it was Ghost Christmas.
The next morning, Scrooge woke up and returned to work. He gave an outraged roar when he realized that Bob Cratchit was not there. After repeated telegraphs to the Cratchit house, he finally coaxed the hooky-playing son of a bitch back to the office. After a heated argument about religion and work ethics, Scrooge lost his temper and pushed Bob down five flights of stairs, ran out into the street, and ate some babies.
The End.
What’s the moral of the story? Don’t work for money-grubbing, baby-eating maniacs, because your ass will get pushed down some stairs. Also, I guess ghosts can be assholes too? Or maybe it is this: If you look at the word “cratchit” for a while, it starts to look like its own kind of nasty cuss word.
Merry Fucking Christmas.
--The Goat
A CHRISTMAS CAROL
I gave myself 20min to write this piece of garbage. So shut up and read it already. It’s the Goat’s retelling of Charles Dickens’ "A Christmas Carol." And yes, I am going to start it with “once upon a time,’ because that’s how all good writers write stuff, bitch.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Once upon a time, there lived a miserable old bastard named Ebenezer Scrooge. One reason he was miserable was because his name was Ebenezer. Not only did he get his ass kicked by everyone back in high school, but nobody ever took him seriously until he made his millions during the industrial revolution through clubbing baby seals and prostitution. And by industrial revolution, I of course mean the steam-powered robot uprising of 1837.
Another reason Scrooge was so miserable and grouchy was because he worked with a poor douchebag named Bob Cratchit. The only way Scrooge thought he could stay rich was to hire dumbasses that allowed their bosses to walk all over them. One day, that stupid prick Bob worked up enough hairy marbles to ask Scrooge for a raise so he could better feed his family. However, the plea fell on nearly deaf ears, as Scrooge did not hear pleading, but instead this: “Blah, blah. I’m wasting your valuable money by sitting here talking to you. Please hate me and my family even more than you do right now. I also love it how you laugh every time I mention my crippled son, Tim. Man, he sure is a gimpy bastard. Remember that one time you kicked him in the nuts just to see him hobble around in pain? That was so freaking awesome, even though he pissed blood for a month and I’m still paying the medical bills because you offer no decent health insurance.”
Without a second thought, Scrooge flipped him the finger and told him, “Get back to work. Those letters aren't going to copy themselves.”
“But sir, you didn’t make room for more ink in the budget, and I am nearly out.”
Scrooge slapped him across the face, “Then use your own blood and quit whining. One could only hope that will also run out so I won’t have to listen to your insufferable crying, fag.”
Bob tried a different tactic, “But tomorrow is Christmas, have a heart, Ebenezer.”
“Christmas?” Barked Scrooge. “Christmas is a gimmick for rich fools, and last time I checked you aren’t rich, fool. What did you get your family last year, a boot? Talk to a charity, buddy, maybe they will make your children think Santa Claus doesn’t hate them as much as everyone else does. I own you.”
That night, Scrooge’s old, dead business partner, Jacob Marley, tried to wake him up. Since Scrooge didn’t believe in ghosts, wasn’t expecting company, and was balls-tired from avoiding Bob Cratchit all day, he slept through the whole night. The Marley ghost went back where it came from, and got his ass chewed-out by his ghost boss for failing to do his task. He was fired the next morning, and was forced to live on the streets even though it was Ghost Christmas.
The next morning, Scrooge woke up and returned to work. He gave an outraged roar when he realized that Bob Cratchit was not there. After repeated telegraphs to the Cratchit house, he finally coaxed the hooky-playing son of a bitch back to the office. After a heated argument about religion and work ethics, Scrooge lost his temper and pushed Bob down five flights of stairs, ran out into the street, and ate some babies.
The End.
What’s the moral of the story? Don’t work for money-grubbing, baby-eating maniacs, because your ass will get pushed down some stairs. Also, I guess ghosts can be assholes too? Or maybe it is this: If you look at the word “cratchit” for a while, it starts to look like its own kind of nasty cuss word.
Merry Fucking Christmas.
--The Goat