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Ha! Stoaty’s so Southern she’s related to herself. 🙂

A THANKSGIVING CAROL

Part One – Brave enough to ask?

T’was the day before Thanksgiving, and Bert Cratchett was shivering. It was a cold and blustery day outside, with autumn leaves swirling in the wind, and the solar-heated office which was never very warm even on the sunniest of days was icy cold. Bert blew on his fingers, which protruded from his tip-less gloves and tried to get them warm enough to hold his pencil. He gazed wistfully at the 486 computer on his desk; it gave off some heat when he was allowed to turn it on. He must be the only programmer left in the United States who wrote code by hand, he thought. The computer was only to be used for testing so that no unnecessary electricity would be wasted.

He looked up at the motivational posters which covered the front wall of his workspace.
The one his boss had placed immediately in front of his desk was a blown-up photograph taken from the bed of a Red Cross truck distributing emergency aid to starving natives somewhere. All you could really see in the photo was a sea of up-stretched empty hands and desperate-looking starving faces. The caption across the bottom of the poster said:

“Thousands of starving Asian Programmers want YOUR job!”.

Cratchett heard a familiar noise in the other room; his boss was putting away his bicycle. He instinctively put his head down and started writing code again, but he couldn’t concentrate. He turned his head to look out the window, olny to find that his view was blocked by a handwritten notice that had been taped onto the glass.

“Saving Toilet Paper saves the Earth and Saves MONEY! Bring your own.” .

Bert remembered the promise he’d made to his wife that morning. He sighed involuntarily, and then sat straight up and squared his shoulders. “Mini-Timmy so wants to have a real Thanksgiving together,” she’d said. “The doctors say it might be his last chance since National Healthcare is starting in January. They don’t expect him to live after that.”

He stood up, took a deep breath and strode to the door of his boss’ office. He rapped on the door sharply, and then remembering his subordinate position, followed the intial rap with a series of gentle taps.
”Come in Crachett said his boss. Do you need a new pencil already? Pencils grow on trees, you know and we must protect the earth by using as few of them as possible. Plus their cost is going up, up, up! .

Cratchett entered the office and said, Mr. Scrooge, it’s not about pencils this time. It’s about tomorrow, Thanksgiving Day, sir..

Scrooge looked up sharply over his reading glasses.

“Yes”, he said. ” A tragic day in history when the White Oppressors begin their rape and pillage of the North American continent and the wonderful Native Americans. When I think of the damage to the earth that has been caused since then – and the waste! – I want to cry. Well, what of it?

”Please sir, I’d like the day off. I understand that I won’t be paid for it but it’s the wife and the boy, sir. They want me there.” Cratchett said, as bravely as he could make himself.

“Thanksgiving, bah HUMBUG!” said Scrooge.

”I’m a full day ahead on the IRS programming rewrite, sir said Cratchett,” and I’d be willing to work Saturday for free to make up for being off. Please sir? I haven’t taken a day off since my mother died, sir.”

“Very well” said Scrooge.
”As long as you promise me that you won’t be eating any animal products, or endangered plants during your so-called feast. Not only are those things bad for you, they’re bad for the earth. Every breath a turkey exhales creates CO2 and CO2 creates global warming you know. Al Gore says so. It’s your stomach and your wallet that will suffer, but there’s only so much an honest employer can permit of his workers. ”

Cratchett gasped out his surprised thanks quickly, before Scrooge could change his mind.
Oh Thank you Sir! I promise – it’s only tofu and beans, and maybe a potato for dinner tomorrow. Thank you Sir! He hurried out of the office and back to his desk.

Part Two – Scrooge has a nightmare

It was a cold, cold night, cold even for November, and particularly cold for a skinny old man sleeping alone in the drafty bedroom of an old mansion. Scrooge shivered in his sleep and stirred uneasily. He knew he wasn’t going to get warm enough to sleep very well, but it was too cold to even consider getting out of bed to search for another blanket. His feet were like ice, even inside his socks, and his hat kept falling off his head. Suddenly he heard a noise in the dark – the creaking of floorboards as someone heavy walked towards the bed. Suddenly he smelled pumpkin pie! Out of the dark loomed a large jolly face with bushy eyebrows, plump round cheeks, and a stain of something dark – cranberry sauce? Turkey gravy? – on his shirt front.

” Ebeneezer, I am the ghost of Thanksgivings past. said the large figure, cheerfully. I’m here to take you over the river of memories and through the woods of the past to Grandmother’s house for Thanksgiving. ”

“Time’s a wasting, boy! Let’s go!”

Oh, boy! Story time!

Enas,

That phrase “she’s related to herself” sounds soooo perverted.

I like it.

I HAS A INNERNETS! But not for long.

I had to drive out to East Possumknuckle to deal with some bidness, and I stopped at the first place that advertised free wifi. Believe it or not, it was a Krystal!

Awwww…y’all probably don’t know Krystal. It specializes in little square hamburgers in boxes (I gather White Castle is something similar). They each have a little mound of diced fried onions and a pickle slice on them. They taste like…ummm…well, everybody called them “armpits” (I’ll never forget live TV footage of some local girl getting off a plane after a dreadful operation. They thrust the mic in her face and she blurted, “I’m dying for an armpit!”)

There was a Krystal ’round the corner from us when I was a kid. It was a magical place; all chrome and white tile. Armpits were fifteen cents each then.

Anyhow, the idea that Krystal is trying to attract customers with free wifi is…funny. Very, very funny. I thought about getting a bag of armpits, but I’m not sure my elderly constitution could take it. I opted for three little square chickenpits.

Ummm…and now I gotta go. I’m sure my Wicked has some pre-Thanksgiving things for me to do. This morning, she was trying a new yam recipe. It involved yams, olive oil, blue cheese and thyme. She decided against it, and I ate the remains of the experiment. I thought it was pretty good, but it gave me violent shits soon after.

I know what you’re thinking, Uncle B, but she didn’t make it up on purpose to poison me. I saw the recipe in the paper. It was from Nigella Lawson, so it’s pretty much your fault.

I used to swear that anything with blue cheese in it couldn’t be bad, but…yams?

If I’d had a chunk of coal stuck up my ass, it’d be diamond now.

Nigella Lawson?!

Oh, foolish weasel!

That’s the very hallmark of poison! She’s purveyor in chief of fucked-with food to the chattering classes.

I thought even Wicked wouldn’t stoop that low.

Weasel, When I was young and had a cast-iron stomach I used to eat White Castle – and, yes, they’re like Krystals.

Recently I bought a sack of ’em (WC’s) and ate ’em just like old times.

Trust me. Don’t.

I was having “emergencies” every few hours, and was dribbling hershey’s on and off for days. I think I still have a couple pairs of emergency underwear out in the car glove box.

Ya can’t go back….

MMMmmmmm…White Castles, or belly bombers in your case McGoo. My secret of not having problems with them is to scrape all of the onions off. Not even gas. And I have a very touchy ‘system’.

I’ll try your suggestion – when I work up the nerve to try them again. The last experience was truly uncomfortable.

Nothing beats a bag of Krystals at the tail end of a 3am pub crawl. Delicious. You’re not thinking about tomorrow anyway, so why not?