A Christmas Carol
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Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Don't own anything but my two front teeth.
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"Bah! Humbug! Another Christmas!" Came the grumpy mutter of Ebenezer Scrooge, aka Ric Flair, who looked very red faced and stuffy in that silly wool coat he had to wear. The old dude wrinkled his nose, and tugged at his color, receiving a snicker from the nice and comfortably cool Bob Crachit played by our own Jericho, who had on the costume of a normal poor dude. 100 percent cotton, baby.
"Really, Mr. Scrooge, Christmas is pretty fun. Don't be such an ass clown." Jericho-I mean Bob Crachit, his secretary, said between the muffled laughter. He tugged his scarf across his face, and continued scribbling away in a ledger.
Outside of the dark little building, people ran by, Christmas shopping, having a jolly good time. The setting is England, and Jacob Marley is dead, though his name is still on that creaky wooden sign outside the door. Why I brought that up is beyond me, dudes and dudettes.
Kurt Angle, playing some random shopper, stops and stares at it, scratching at his curly headed wig, "What do they actually do in that building anyway?" Luther Reigns, random shopper number 2, shrugged, and tugged his coat sleeve, "Dunno. C'mon, let's go throw snowballs at Big Show then run away like the immature brats we are." Kurt smiled, and the two walked off, allowing our cameraman to come back to the discontented Scrooge and Crachit.
The old misery man was counting out money from little bags he kept in a safe, inside a safe, inside a bigger, but inexpensive safe. Gold piece after gold piece fell out, and it was making even Jericho's hair, which –cough- won't be around for another, like, hundred years –cough cough cough- look dull and unpretty.
Crachit eyed the money sadly, and went back to pretending to shiver, while Ric cackled over his wealth. Things would have gone on like this, in the little office with no actual heat, at least not that which you knew of, if the door hadn't burst open, a rusty old bell jingling in a not so merry fashion as it did.
In stepped Randy Orton, playing the lovely Fred. Fred was a young and lively, but poor man, although that which is portraying him makes more in a month then my momma makes in a year.
He smiled brightly at his 'uncle', and ran over, "A merry Christmas, Uncle Ebenezer!" He and Jericho, I mean Crachit, snickered at the funny name.
"Christmas! Bah! Humbug!" Scrooge growled, and slammed his fist on the table. "You little moron nephew of mine, whaddya want? Can't you see I'm trying to co8unt my money?" He stuck out his tongue at our dear Fred, who smiled in that arrogantly sexy way of his. Note the swooning of women outside the door.
"Uncle, don't be so glum. It's the season to be jolly, and all that sh-I mean wonderful stuff. I've come to invite you to dinner at my place, with a few friends and my wife." Fred crossed his fingers behind his back, giving Crachit a good hoot.
The miser rolled his eyes, "Kid, you realize that we're about to get into an argument about the spirit of this damned money draining season we call Christmas?"
"Well, yes, but"
"And that you have a beautifully prepared speech for me?"
"That's what the director said…"
"But realize in the end, I still don't give a shit?"
"…"
"Good. Let's solve this like real men."
The two tackled each other. Bob Crachit grinned, and jumped in the brawl. So did just about everyone who was nearby. People stood at the window, cheering 'Fred' on, because well, he's the good guy remember?
Ten minutes later…
Sweaty and disgruntled, Ebenezer Scrooge adjusted his tie, and spoke to his nephew, eye twitching, "G-Good afternoon, you little son of a…"
"Merry Christmas Uncle! And a happy New Year!" Fred gaily left the office, high-fiving the secretary on the way out.
Bob Crachit smirked. He hadn't remembered a finer Christmas rumble. Forget the speeches.
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