21 December 2009
Wherein Likely Encounters Some Fine Phantasmal Fanny
~ A Christmas Carry On, Part Three ~
For the previous chapter, do please click hither.
“ENCHANTED, I must say,” I said to the rather seductively-shaped spirit who had suddenly materialised in Mr. Scrooge’s bed-chamber. “And you are?…”
“I am the Ghost of Christmas Past,” said the Ghost of Christmas Past, hovering in front of me at just the right height for me to be at eye-level with her glorious, ghostly globes. “I am here for Mr. Ebenezer Scrooge…”
“Him?” I scoffed, jerking a thumb behind me, to where the aforementioned miser was cowering behind a curtain, muttering prayers under his breath for his wretched life to be spared. “Why on earth would such a splendid-looking spectre travel all this way from the afterlife to seek out that cranky old coot?”
“It concerns Mr. Scrooge’s welfare,” the ghost replied. “His soul is in great peril, for he is a wicked man.”
“Ah, if it is a wicked man you desire, m’dear, then look no further – I can be very wicked indeed!”
“Please, sir, I have work to do,” the ghoul said dismissively, and then she glided right through me as if I were not even there.
“Egad!” I exclaimed excitedly. “I have not been so thoroughly penetrated by a woman since the time I attended that dominatrix party in Soho…”
I turned about to see the ghost approach Mr. Scrooge, who’s continued attempts to remain hidden behind his curtains had resulted in him becoming completely tangled up in them, leaving him to the mercy of the advancing apparition. As the spectre warned Scrooge about his impending spiritual reclamation, I decided to prepare a surprise for our ghoulish guest.
“And so, Ebenezer, that is why you must take my hand and come with me..”
“Ahem! Ms. Past?” I interjected. “I believe it is traditional at this time of year for people to share a kiss ‘neath the mistletoe, is it not?…”
Exasperated, the spirit turned around to face me. “Please, sir, I must tend to this…wait a moment…I do not see any mistletoe at all…”
“Cast your eyes lower, m’dear,” I beamed, arching an eyebrow suggestively. The ghost did so, until her eyes fell upon a sprig of mistletoe fastened to my belt, just above a spectacularly large protrusion in my trousers, caused by my ever-mighty Lord Palmerston.
“Oh!” gasped the ghoul. “OH!” she went on to exclaim, her eyes widening at the sight of my trousered tent-pole.
“‘Oh’ indeed, m’dear…so how about it, eh? You must surely miss a bit of rumpy-pumpy now and again, what? I’d wager that the last time you had something stiff in your box was when you were buried…”
“Heavens! I can resist you no more!” exclaimed the spirit, and then, using her supernatural powers, she lifted me clean off of my feet, and hurled me onto Mr. Scrooge’s bed, where she quickly joined me for a spot of paranormal hanky-panky.
“Wh-what is going on?” blurted Mr. Scrooge, disentangling himself form the curtains.
“It is probably for the best that you do not ask, sir,” replied Botter. “Things are about to get rather odd.”
*****
TWO o’clock came and went, and then three o’clock passed by. It was not until the clock heralded the arrival of four o’clock that the Ghost of Christmas Past and myself emerged from our sensual seance, to a small group of rather shocked onlookers. Now joining Mr. Scrooge and my man-servant were two more spectres: one, large and plump, with a big, red beard who was surrounded by food; the other a rather more sinister figure in a dark cowl.
“PAST!” bellowed the fat phantom, tossing a half-eaten chicken leg over his shoulder. “There you are! Have you quite finished haunting this man, may I ask?”
“Haunting?” said the Ghost of Christmas Past.
“There appears to be ectoplasm all over my sheets,” Scrooge observed as he inspected his bed-covers.
“We heard plenty of wailing and moaning coming from within that bed, so we assumed that…” the Ghost of Christmas Present (for it was he) trailed off, as Past lowered her head. “Hold on a moment…you…you DIDN’T, did you?”
“Aye, sir,” replied the spirit, who would have undoubtedly blushed at this point, if she were indeed able to do so.
“HA!” roared the Ghost of Christmas Present, spraying crumbs from his mouth. “Good work, sirrah,” he exclaimed, turning to me. “I have been longing to do the same myself…”
“Listen, can we hurry up and get this job done?” whined the other ghoul, the Ghost of Christmas Future. “It’s bloody freezing here, it’s Christmas Day and I have a party to go to. And if you think I’m going in this dreary old robe then you are sorely mistaken.”
“Oh, put a cork in it, you bony berk,” snapped Present.
“Hmph! Why don’t YOU just shove another cake into that over-stuffed cake-hole of yours, hmmm?” Future shot back.
“Are you saying I am FAT, you cad?” asked Present.
“No, not at all,” said Future. “I’m saying that you are FATTEST.”
“RIGHT!” boomed Present. “That does it! Have at thee, sir! I shall snap you like a bloody cocktail stick…”
“Sirs, please!” implored the ever-lovely Ghost of Christmas Past. “Let us not fight. ‘Tis Christmas Day, after all, and we still have a man’s soul to save…”
“Hmmm,” I mused, stroking my magnificent moustache in contemplation. “Deceased ladies and gentlemen, I think I have a solution to all our problems…”
*****
AND so we all adjourned back to Likely Towers, whereupon I threw a most magnificent festive shindig, which was naturally very well attended. I got blind, roaring drunk, while Botter just got blind and roaring (he temporarily lost his sight after a cork shot into his eyes, leading him to subsequently topple into the fireplace). Meanwhile, the spirits quaffed spirits which served to raise their spirits, resulting in much raucous laughter and shenanigans.
I took it upon myself to raise Mr. Scrooge’s mood, plying him with plenty of booze. Soon enough, Mr. Scrooge went from hum-bugging to bum-hugging, as he chased many a delectable damsel about my estate, a sloppy grin spread about his previously gloomy countenance. Truly, ’twas a Christmas miracle.
And all it took was a visit from the Host of Christmas Party. HUZZAH!
A very MERRY CHRISTMAS to you all, dear readers! Lord Likely bless you, ev’ry one!
- Lord Likely.
