Marley was dead…dead as a doornail
So begins Charlie’s festive tale.
‘Give to the poor your ill-gotten gain
For you, Old Scrooge, are a right-royal-pain!
Learn to do good with that which remains
Or walk eternity bound in chains.
Tonight, Penny-pincher, you’ll be visited by three.
Heed their warning or in hell join me.’
Such was Marley’s warning to Scrooge—
This Karmic time-bomb his to defuse.
When the clock struck twelve that Christmas Eve
His senses Scrooge did disbelieve:
Before him appeared a pimple-faced sprite
With a perilous warning, cold as frostbite:
‘I am the ghost of Christmas past.’
Said she to Scrooge’s flabbergast.
Choking on his whisky mug
Scrooge spat back, ‘Bah-humbug!’
To this the sprite yelled, ‘Listen, you miser
I am your miserable fate’s reviser!
Sent here to help you right your path
Quit turfing out orphans, you sociopath!’
Hand in hand down memory lane
The sprite showed Scrooge he’d wrought great pain.
The second to challenge Scrooge’s worldview
Was a giant that came when the clock struck two:
‘I am the ghost of Christmas present.
Neither card nor gift have you yet sent—
Start writing and gifting, you Skinflint—repent.’
Before him appeared the Cratchet kin,
Among them the sickly Tiny Tim.
At the coldest heart could that dear boy paw
But not one degree did Scrooge’s heart thaw.
The ghost of Christmas Yet to Come
But pointed only to a crumbled headstone
Untended, unremembered, and overgrown.
Upon the stone Scrooge read his own name…
But walled and icy was his heart
So came his riposte quick and smart
‘Casper, you must all think me a mug!
You’re the effect of a hallucinogenic drug.
Administered, no doubt, by rival landlords—
Here’s a penny, buy some vocal chords!’
Heads then tails spun through the air
Until Scrooge awoke in his wingback chair.
Neither hindsight nor love rewrote his tale
Avarice won out, his great white whale.
And so chose Scrooge for what remains
Sealing his fate—eternity in chains.