Scrooge Redux

Cadwallader Scrooge, great-nephew of Ebenezer, woke in the wee small hours to the sound of rapping on his door and the dragging of chains. He knew, it being Christmas Eve, that it was Steve Marley, great-nephew of Dickens's Marley, and the notorious purveyor of fraudulent Sri Lankan junk bonds, back to haunt him again.

"C'mon, Steve," said Scrooge. "Give it a rest. I had a late night. Too much Brand X egg nog." 

"Be warned," intoned Marley, giving it his best Ken Nordine imitation, "three ghosts will come to visit you this night."

"Tell them to make an appointment," said Scrooge. "Have their people call my people."

Marley dragged his chains away, off to torment various MPs, MLAs, premiers and prime ministers. A long night ahead.

Scrooge had drifted off, dreaming of old Esther Williams movies, when a spectral presence appeared at his bed. A spectral presence in the form of Bernie Madoff.

"I," said the figure, "am the Ghost of Christmas Past. Look back, O Mortal, to those times when you left meagre, insufficient tips in restaurants, at hair dressers, and shoe shine stands. Should you not mend your ways while there still is time, you will spend eternity as a bus boy in Hades."

Scrooge reached for the Grey Goose vodka under his bed and went back to sleep. For a moment. Came then another knocking at his door, and a voice ringing out,"Cadwallader Scrooge! I am the Ghost of Christmas Present."

Scrooge replied, "Sorry, buddy. You have the wrong address. The man you're looking for moved last year. Check your address book."

"Sorry, guy," said the ghost, and departed.

Scrooge was back in dreamland, playing the lead role in a 649 commercial, when the next visitor appeared. "I," said a juvenile voice, "am the Christmas Future." A figure appeared in the guise of Justin Biebert.

"What," said Scrooge, "I couldn't get Lady Gaga? I couldn't get Feist?"

"You get what you deserve," said the ghost, as he suddenly transformed into Robert Goulet. "And here is what awaits you. Elizabeth May as Prime Minister. Rick Mercer as Governor-General. Twenty-four-hour 1970s elevator music. A pipeline running through your bedroom.  A tax audit. Nothing on television except adult diaper and walk-in bathtub commercials. An investigation into..."

"No, no," cried Scrooge. "Stop! Tell me what I can do to prevent this."

"A simple gesture of generosity," said the ghost, "Merely sign over your shares in Apple, Microsoft and RIM to Ghosts.Inc."

"Where do I sign?" gasped Scrooge.

The ghost smiled, handed him a pen, and said, "Sign here."