Last week, I was feeling very Scrooge-like.
"Why am I writing this stupid Christmukkah blog?" I asked myself as I trudged up Beach Street, spitting on the ground. "I don't even like Christmas. I don't celebrate Christian holidays."
I walked by a make-shift Christmas tree lot, set up in the parking lot of a Mickey D's restaurant. There was snow on the ground and crappy Christmas music was playing from a speaker on the ground.
"Bah humbug!" I said. "I'm going to close my Christmukkah blog. I don't care about the holidays and I don't care about people. All they do is catch me in lies on my other blog. And their "holiday cheer" is phony. After the holiday, they just go back to being dum dums and morons!"
That night I started writing a blog post explaining why I was cancelling Chrismukkah posts, and basically insulting every person I've ever met.
All the anxiety must have made me very sleepy, because I fell asleep before I had a chance to press "publish." That had never happened before.
I was awakened by the presence of a shadowy figure.
"Scarlett?" I asked. "Is that you at last?"
"No, Thomas. It is the Ghost of Christmas Past."
Yikes.
"The Ghost of Christmas Past? What do you want?"
"What is this bullshit about you shutting down your blog this year?"
"Uh, why do it anymore? Hanukkah is already half over. And I'm not even Jewish. I don't like Christmas either."
"But don't you remember how much you loved Christmas?"
My Ghost reminded me of a happy Christmas when I was a kid.
"Well, you're a more sentimental person than me. I'm selfish. What's in it for ME?"
The Ghost started to fade.
"Ghost, where are you going?"
"Thomas, you old pathetic fellow, your heart has turned to stone. I'm unable to change your ways. Now the BIG GUY will come for you."
"The big guy? Who are you talking about? Are you talking about God?"
The entire room shook like a tornado. Smoke filled the room and another ghost walked toward me. He was older than me, and short. He was dressed in a blue suit and had dark, bushy eyebrows.
"Thomas..." he spoke.
"Who are YOU? Are you God?"
"Of course I'm not God, you schmuck. I'm Irving Berlin."
"Irving Berlin? You're the Big Guy?"
"Irving Berlin. Songwriter, born Isreal Baline. My father was a cantor in the synagogue."
"So what? What do you want from me?"
"I also had doubts about Christmas. What do I know about Jesus? But then I said to myself, 'What do the goyim know about writing a Christmas song?' It takes a Jewish imagination to come up with "White Christmas." Some wonderbread in a cardigan like Bing Crosby sings it. He gets the glory, but I get the babes."
"Babes? You got women from writing "White Christmas?"
"Come, Thomas, let me take you to
my Christmas past."
Irving Berlin took my hand and we flew out the window. We flew from Queens to Manhattan...and then to 6th Avenue and Radio City Music Hall. Suddenly, we found ourselves in a penthouse apartment. In front of us was a scene from the past -- a younger Irving Berlin dancing cheek to cheek with three naked Rockettes.
"You see, Thomas. Shiksas love Jewish men who can write a good Christmas song."
My eyes widened. For once in my life, I was speechless.
"You mean if I keep writing my Christmukkah holiday blog this year with all these female bloggers around...I will...?" I asked.
"First, let me show you what will happen if you DON'T write the Christmukkah blog this year."
The composer grabbed my hand and we flew back to Beach Street, into the future -- to MY FUTURE. Time blew away like sand through my fingers and we found ourselves in my room, watching the future Tarquin. It was Christmas Eve 2007, and I was sitting by myself, the computer in front of me and...my pants unzipped.
"What am I...am I looking at online photos of Britney Spears' vulva and playing with myself?"
"That's what it looks like!" said Irving Berlin. "Ha ha! The best part is that in a second a staff person is going to enter your room with friends she invited over for coffee and arsenic cake (which is another story!) and everyone is going to be shocked, especially Toto, the woman's young dog."
"This really sucks. I can't stand it. Stop it! Stop the future!"
"What about the blog..."
"Ok, Ok, I won't close the Christmukkah holiday blog. Just take me from this future. This is shameful! Take me away!" I screamed.
I grabbed the arm of the ghost's jacket and we flew out the window and into the night.
"I understand now. Thank you for letting me see what could happen. I am a changed Tarquin. Or, at least I am changed for this one minute. I will not badmouth my blog. I want to make people happy and not just SAY that I do. I want to please the female bloggers so much that I get three naked women kissing my cheeks, just like you did! Please, Mr. Berlin. Show me the other future. Show me the REAL Christmas Eve after I write the Christmukkah blog."
Time swirled like a tornado and we were back in my room on Christmas Eve.
"Here is your REAL future, Thomas."
I was sitting in front of my computer, still leering at photos of Britney and my hand was reaching for a can of Crisco...The staff person was about to open the door, her friends and dog behind her.
"What the fuck!" I yelled. "It's the
exact future as before! What about the blog? What happened to MY three babes?"
"The blog is great. But you with three women? What do you want from me, you schmuck? A miracle? I'm Irving Berlin, not God!"
