A Christmas Story…Story? No way. Come on, Hollywood. You’ll shoot your collective eye out.
BQB here with a review.
Actually, it’s not so bad.
If you own a TV, then surely you have seen 1983’s A Christmas Story. TBS runs it 24 hours a day on Christmas and I can still recall laughing up a storm the first time I saw it. Even years later, having seen it a zillion times, it’s hard not to leave it on in the background while you go about your holiday merriment.
Alas, the sequels didn’t come until much later, presumably because the film didn’t really become the much beloved classic until cable TV started blasting the crap out of it over the airwaves in the 1990s. By then I can only presume all involved had moved on and unable to make a sequel. Either that or is a single ever possible for such a great film?
Ah but once the film grew a big fanbase, the sequels were attempted. 1994’s My Summer Story is largely unknown. 2012’s straight to video A Christmas Story 2 was cute but ultimately forgettable.
Thus I was surprised a new sequel was attempted this year.. It stars original Ralphie Peter Billingsley, though when I first learned that I doubted if that was enough to save it. Turns out, the answer is a resounding, “Not bad.”
The plot? in the 1970s, Middle aged Ralphie lives in Chicago with wife Sandy (Erin Hayes) and kids Mark and Julie. Ralphie has taken a year off to write an epic sci-fi novel, which seems like something Ralphie would do, given his love of pop culture and all things nerdy as a kid in the original film.
Alas, the publishing houses have all told Ralphie to eat the proverbial big one and as the end of the year draws nigh, he knows he needs to either publish or perish, to make money on a writing career or give up and take a boring old job and get a steady paycheck.
At least he has a planned Christmas visit with his parents to look forward to, but sadly, his old man, “The Old Man” passes and a loving tribute to the late Darren McGavin, who passed in 2006, is paid.
Ah, but the older we get, the more adults tend to, well I was going to say they don’t fear death but they still do, it’s just, by the time you’ve hit the elderly stage, you’ve run out of tears to cry, for you have experience so much loss already. This, Ralphie’s mom (played by Airplane comedy legend and owner of the sweetest voice ever Julie Hagerty who takes on the role as Melinda Dillon has retired from acting) urges Ralphie, Sandy and the kids to buck up and have the best Christmas ever, for this is what the Old Man would have wanted.
Comedy hijinx are mixed with somber moments. There are plenty of Easter eggs and references to the original film, while this one tries its best not to so much repeat old gags but play homage to them, or at least repeat running themes. Adult Ralphie still has a wild imagination that gets him into trouble and riddles him with anxiety as he pictures the smallest hangup leading to horrifying consequences. Bullies go to war with Ralphie’s kids who must learn to stand up for themselves. Comical injuries abound. Ralphie still wants to be an old west sheriff because what Baby Boomer didn’t?
A cavalcade of ex-child actors from the original film, now all grown up and in the middle of life, stop by, and it is surreal. Not knocking anyone but as you see adult actors reprise roles like Flick (the kid whose tongue froze to the light pole) or Schwartz (was he the kid who double dog dared him? I forget) and the once evil bully Scott Farkus (can bad kids mend their ways in adulthood?) you can’t help but think time is really a bastard. All these kids were so cute once and Hollywood was happy to capitalize on their cuteness, but sadly none of them really grew up with the looks that Hollywood wants to see in leading men. Even so, as a fan I’m happy to see them, like walking around your home town and bumping into an old friend. Even Ralphie’s little bro, an all grown up Randy drops by.
Does it all add up to something? I don’t want to give it away but if you think about how adult Ralphie yearns to be a famous writer, and author Jean Carroll leant his iconic voice to the original film but did so in the role of adult Ralphie telling the story of one wacky Christmas in his youth…OK I’ll let you figure it ou.
STATUS: Shelfworthy. If you have HBO Max, it’s free and worth your time. It won’t win awards. It won’t be something you’ll want to watch again and again. What it is is a loving tribute, a rare sequel that straddles the line between capitalizing on your love of the old flick but still remaining true to its spirit. There are sad moments, funny moments, emotional moments. If you’ve ever lost a parent, you know the pain adult Ralphie experience, the expectation of an adult to keep moving on even though a person who comprised a large part of their world has shuffled off the mortal coil. Everyone involved did well here.
John McClane. You know him. You love him. He’s America’s favorite divorcee turned terrorist fighter. Is his movie a Christmas movie? Yes it is. From BQB HQ in Fabulous East Randomtown, USA here are the top ten reasons why Die Hard is a Christmas movie.
#10 – It’s All About Love
You don’t think so, but it is. John and Holly love each other but are going through a rough patch and trying to work things out. Officer Al loves his wife and his job and is trying to overcome his feelings of inadequacy so he can be the man his family needs him to be. Even Hans Gruber’s #2, Karl, loves his brother so much that he vows vengeance upon McClane when he kills and defiles his brother’s corpse. (Seriously, I get JMC had to defend himself but did he really have to put a Santa hat on Karl’s brother’s dead body?) BTW what is the name of Karl’s brother? I’m too lazy to look it up.
I’ll admit it is a lack of character development in that we don’t learn who Hans loves, or if he is capable of love. Frankly, he is cold and calculating and just loves money. It would have been cool to have gotten some backstory on how he ended up this way. Rather than the two stupid post trilogy sequels, Hollywood might have invested in some Hans prequels telling us how he became a terrorist/robber. Hollywood, feel free to hire me to write this. I’m not doing anything constructive.
#2 – It Takes Place at Christmas
A lot of movies and TV shows reference or take place during Christmas, but Christmas is a big part throughout. I mean, it happens during an office Christmas party, right?
#3 – A Lot of Rooftop Action
Santa and John. Two dudes that like to hang out on your roof. Santa goes up there to deliver presents. John goes up there to transmit radio messages, hide from terrorists, shoot at Al’s car to get his attention and so on.
#4 – Christmas Music
Run DMC’s Christmas in Hollis. Al humming Let It Snow while he buys twinkies. (BTW where does that fat store clerk get off busting on Al for being fat when he, himself, is fat?)
#5 – There’s a Pregnant Lady
You know who was born in a barn? Jesus. You know who was born at the Nakatomi Office Christmas Party? Holly’s secretary’s kid. Oh, wait. He or she wasnt. But the pregnant lady was pretty close such that your first time watching you wonder if amongst all the chaos there’s going to be a baby delivery as well.
#6 – Hopes. Dreams.
Hans and friends hope to be super rich. John hopes to save the day. (Sidenote: should John have just sat back and let the crooks run off with the dough? Answer: no because remember the crooks were going to load everyone on the helicopters and then blow them up as a diversion so the cops think the terrorists croaked and don’t look for them when they run to the Carribbean and earn twenty percent interest off their stolen bearer bonds.) BTW why do so many robber movies involve bearer bonds? Channeling Seinfeld. What’s the deal with all these bearer bonds? Why do I want to buy a bearer bond when anyone can steal it from me and claim to be the bearer of the bond?
#7 – Al Gets His Mojo Back
Funny how times change. Back then, Al shot a kid and was benched because he became psychologically unable to draw his weapon again. This made Al ineffective as a street cop because if he faced a bad guy carrying a bazooka, three chainsaws, a nuclear bomb, 17 handguns and a pile of ginsu knives, Al still wouldn’t draw his gun because of the fear that he might accidentally shoot a kid again.
Times sure have changed. Today, quite understandably there is a lot of heat on cops to make sure their shoots are clean, in light of a lot of high-profile cases where police shootings have been anything but. Back in 1988, we cheer for Al when he finds the courage to draw his gun and gank Karl before he gets the drop on John but ultimately, if the movie were made today, Al probably would have been canned after shooting the kid and would have never even made it to Nakatomi.
#8 – Every Tool is a Johnson
You know the FBI agents who play into Hans’ hands are Johnson and Johnson, the joke being the government has oodles of non-descript, clean-cut schmucks ready to go by the rulebook even when the rules are being thrown out the window….did you know the anchorman Dick Thornburgh fights with is Harvey Johnson? In conclusion, every useful idiot is a Johnson though I’ll admit I have no idea how this connects to Christmas. Maybe because it’s funny and Christmas is a good time for laughter?
#9 – Who Wouldn’t Want a Ride Through LA in Argyle’s Christmas Limo?
I sure would.
#10 – It’s Christmas, Theo. It is the time for miracles.
Hans wants the miracle of independent wealth. John wants the miracle of saving everyone and reuniting with his wife. What miracle do you want? Now is the time to think about it.
Ho ho ho, 3.5 readers. Am I in the festive spirit? No, I’m just calling 3 out of 3.5 of you prostitutes.
You’re probably one of those commie pinkos who thinks that Ebenezer Scrooge only becomes the hero of A Christmas Carol at the end of the story when he starts giving away all his stuff, but come with me and you’ll see that Old Scroogey was the tops all along.
#1 – Scrooge was a self-made man.
Started at the bottom, now he’s here. You know he got there? A lot of hard ass freaking work. You know how he didn’t get there? Laying about. You know how he doubly didn’t get there? Handing out his hard earned Victorian era gold coins to good for nothing reprobates.
#2 – Belle Sucks
The Ghost of Christmas Past, one of three socialist specters who barge into Scrooge’s bachelor pad in the middle of the night like they own the damn place, takes Scroogey Pants to his youth, where he sees his young self getting dumped by his then fiance, Belle. The man’s crime? He worked too much.
Let me reiterate: his dumpworthy crime was that he worked too much.
Holy shit. Charles Dickens was peddling this Lifetime Channel for Women crap long before there was a Lifetime Channel for Women. Do you want to know why men have such a hard time understanding how to make a woman happy? It’s because Lifetime Channel for Women Christmas movies literally have the same plot points, ironically all within the same films:
Woman dumps high school boyfriend because HE lacks ambition.
Woman dumps boyfriend she met in the big city because HE works too much. Fuck that guy for having way too much ambition.
Woman returns to hometown. Reconnects with high school boyfriend. Appreciates how he is laid back and supportive and has time for her and…will support her while SHE works hard and pursues her AMBITION.
Lost after the end credits – the part where now successful woman grows resentful of how ambitionless HS BF is a wimpy moocher so she has an affair with a rich successful dude who is ambitious AF.
All I’m saying is if Belle had loved Scrooge, she would have stuck with him and supported him in his goal of becoming the most successful usurious counting house operator in all of Old London Town. Flip the script. If Scrooge had dumped Belle for having goals, that same busy body ghost would be dragging his old ass out of bed just to rub it in his face that if he’d just supported his fiance’s dreams, he’d be knee deep in Belle’s knickers by now and not all alone on Christmas Eve as a decrepit old fuck.
#3 – Mr. Fezziwig Blows
Past Ghost also drags Scrooge to an old office party, showing the old coot that once upon a time, he had a boss by the name of Mr. Fezziwig and that boss knew how to have a good time. Yes, on Christmas Eve, Scrooge’s very first employer would push all the desks to the side and bring in the band and the food and everyone would have a rocking good time…on whose time? You guessed it. On the shareholders’ dime.
Yeah, you might think Fezziwig is a barrel of laughs, but do the math. He’s one of those dumb Wall Street types who caused the market crash in 2008. Remember all those stories of executives going wild with their companies’ profits? Spending lavishly on extravagances, all the while ignoring the fiscal health of their corporations? You know what these shitheads spent money on? Parties. You know what they didn’t spend it on? A mother-humping rainy day fund that would have kept the company afloat and the low-level Cratchit type office drones employed through hard ass times.
You got a boss like Scrooge who demands that everything be business as usual on Christmas Eve? Good. Thank his ass for keeping the company you depend on to put food in your mouth afloat and not spending your next paycheck on stupid ass parties.
#4 – Fuck Fred
Fuck Fred and all of his dumbass holier than thou trust fund millennial bullshit. Fred acts like he’s the shit because he’s young and hip and has friends and they get together and have hot and swanky Marco Polo parties where blindfolded guests try to find each other and maybe every so often a gentleman will rub up against a lady’s ankle. Scandalous, I say!
You know what Fred doesn’t know about? Work. Fred can whine about how grumpy his uncle works but if Fred had any idea how much freaking blood, sweat and tears his deceased parents put into funding the trust fund that pays for him to be a swanky ass Marco Polo party throwing gentleman, or how hard Scrooge has worked and how he still finds time to manage that trust fund so Fred doesn’t end up in some Victorian back-alley giving hand jobs to Jack the Ripper types for a six pence, he’d shut his damn gob and for once in his useless life, thank his uncle for everything, then go to his parents’ graves and thank their dead asses too. Seriously, Fuck Fred.
#5 – The Cratchits Need to Stop Fucking
Look, overall Bob Cratchit seems like a good egg and I would say is another unsung hero of the story, second only to Scrooge. Bob is a broken down old middle aged asshole who probably had a lot of hopes and dreams when he was young but then somehow took a few wrong turns and ended up as a scrivener in Scrooge’s counting house. For those not in the know, being a scrivener in the 1800s was basically the equivalent of being a human printer. Scrooge would just dictate his letters like, “Hey Fuckface! You owe me 50 gold coins! Pay up or I’ll foreclose on your shack!” and then dutiful employee that he was, Cratchit would dip his quill pen in an ink fountain and scrawl across a piece of fresh parchment, “Hey Fuckface! You owe Mr. Scrooge 50 gold coins…”
Anyway, we all make mistakes in life, some of us more than others and in Cratchit’s case, you can’t fault a man who is on the ropes yet keeps getting back up to let life take more swings at him. He comes to work every day and takes Scrooge’s verbal abuse and never talks back and listen up kids, because any adult worth their salt will tell you that literally half the battle when it comes to holding down a job for the long term is a) keep showing up and b) keep taking your boss’ verbal abuse while saying nothing in return.
But Bob and Mrs. Cratchit have a big problem. They like to fuck. And it’s old times so there’s no rubbers or contraception and I think everyone in this time period thinks all of that is evil anyway. Plus, everyone is potent as all get out because all the food is fresh with no preservatives. There’s no microwaves or laptop computers on your junk or cell phones in your pocket transmitting signals to your junk. There’s no soda pop or fast food or bad food and no tighty whitey underwear so literally, every fuck session results in a kid. Fuck. Boom. A Kid. Fuck. Boom. Another kid. If you lived in Victorian England under the reign of Queen Vicky and Prince Albie and you fucked, then clear your schedule for 9 months because a baby is on the way.
But let me ask you this. Is it Scrooge’s fault that Mr. and Mrs. Cratchit like to get their fuck on? I don’t think so, yet that leftist troll Dickens sure seems to think it is. For Christ’s sake, Scrooge gave Cratchit a damn job when no one else would and yet, Dickens acts like just because Cratchit acts as Scrooge’s personal photocopying machine, that somehow requires Scrooge to pay for every single one of the Cratchit offspring from the cradle to the grave.
Look kids. Here’s a breakdown of whether or not your employer is required to pay for every last living expense of every last one of your progeny.
QUESTION #1 – Did your your boss hit that pussy? If no, then shut the fuck up and a) either stop fucking or b) get a job and you know what c) tell your wife to get a damn job too. If yes, then alright, he should pay for the resulting kid but you need to talk to your wife and demand that she stop fucking your boss.
That’s it. There is no question 2.
Sidenote: Could Scrooge have a heart and spare some dough to help Tiny Tim get a fucking operation to cure his gamey foot and leprosy and downtrodden street urchin syndrome and whatever else old timey disease he has? Sure…IF HE WANTS TO.
A) Scrooge didn’t get his fuck on. We know this, because he’s a lonely old son of a bitch who lives all by himself in a dusty old mansion. Life is all about choices. Scrooge chose money over pussy and given the way Belle treated him, I can’t say he’s wrong. Cratchit chose pussy over money and as a result, he might be rich in love but it really isn’t Scrooge’s responsibility to give up his loot whenever the Cratchits bump uglies. Had Cratchit wanted to be rich, he could have just as easily told Mrs. C to cool her jets because he needs to take on more scrivening jobs and become a multi-million-gold-coin aire/human mimeograph mogul but he didn’t. He chose to fuck and so he gets what he deserves. In the end, we are all the sum of our choices.
#6 – Screw Scrooge’s Ungrateful Mortgagees
You know what the best moment of my life was, noble reader? The day I got approved for a mortgage. That meant I got to put down roots on my own piece of land and be the king of my own castle. Pretty great feeling. You know what happens when you get your own place? You get lots of junk mail – rat bastards who want to loan you money because they know you must have some if you got approved for a mortgage.
You know why I like having my own place? Because I can do whatever I want in the privacy of my own house. That’s right. If I want to draw a clown face on a paper grocery bag and throw it over my head and masterbate myself gently to sleep whilst enthralled in a marathon of old Airwolf episodes I can, and fuck you and everyone else who doesn’t think the best show ever made starring Jan Michael Vincent as the pilot of a top secret CIA spy copter isn’t the tits.
But I digress.
The Ghost of Christmas Future shows Scrooge a couple who were about to lose their home because they fell behind on the mortgage payments. They learn of Scrooge’s death and are elated because this means they get more time to come up with the cash.
Look, my mortgage lender is a coldhearted, faceless corporation, but let’s say, for the sake of argument, that my lender was just like, a dude named Steve. Say I hear it through the grapevine that Steve fucking croaked. Am I going to be happy about this? No. Know why? Because I’m a decent human being and my first reaction is to be sad when any human being dies and also, I’m grateful to Steve for believing in me enough to help finance my dream of home ownership. Steve didn’t have to loan me all that money, but he did. He thought I was a bet worth making. And you know how I’d feel if I was late with a payment? Sad. Ashamed I let Steve down. I’d go out and bus tables, take extra work, shine shoes, collect tin cans, suck a hobo dick, do whatever it takes to get Steve’s money back to him on time so he doesn’t think less of me because after all, it touched my heart that he thought enough of me to loan me all that money in the first place.
You know who else believed in people, all over all of Old London Town? One Ebenezer Scrooge. That’s who. Even though his fiance dumped his ass for the high crime of being an overachiever, he still didn’t lose faith in humanity. People come to him looking for him to finance their dreams and he did. They were all too happy and eager to take the money but when it’s time to pay back the money? Oh no. Now they act like they’re doing Scrooge a favor. They act like they’re doing Scrooge a solid for giving him what already belongs to him according to a pre-approved time table that they agreed to. You know who made it possible for you to have a roof over your head and a place to sleep and raise a family? Ebenezer Scrooge, so maybe instead of cheering his death because you were too fucking lazy to get off your ass and earn the next mortgage payment, maybe go to his funeral and pay your respects and give him one last thank you for believing your stupid sorry ass and then go suck a dick…ten, no twenty dicks. Suck as many dicks as you need until you have enough money to pay your next mortgage payment to Scrooge’s estate…ON TIME.
#7 – Scrooge’s Housekeeper Should Go to Jail
Here’s another dumbass that Scrooge believed in. Gave her a job. Gave her a purpose, gainful employment, paid her a wage. Trusted her to come into his house and how does she repay him? Stealing all his shit the second his old ass dies. The Ghost of Christmas Future shows Scrooge this scene on the premise that Scrooge is such a crusty old jerkwad that even his housekeeper has no love for him and sees his death not as a reason to mourn but as one last chance to line her pockets with Scrooge’s belongings.
Pardon my language but…FUCK…THAT…BITCH. Oh, what? Like she was on her way to Vasser to become the first female Prime Minister of England before Scrooge enticed her into a lifetime of being paid to keep a mansion clean? Yeah, no. She was no doubt giving handies next to the Thames two at a time before Scrooge and will have to go back to that life after Scrooge. There are way too many people in this world who resent the shit out of their employers rather than thank them for giving them the job that keep s the lights on, the heat on, the roof over their head, and the hobo’s dick out of their ungrateful mouths. I
Seriously, if this woman had an ounce of loyalty in her wretched heart, she’d weep for her boss and then put in one last day making sure the mansion is nice and clean for whoever inherits it, which we can only assume will be Fred and ….aw, fuck Fred!
#8 – No Solicitors
Remember those charity collecting do-gooders who harass Scrooge for a handout in the beginning, looking to help the poor? And Scrooge’s response is to ask if the prisons and workhouses have been shut? And then the collectors say people would rather die than go there and Scrooge says let them and reduce the surplus population?
Look, I can’t condone Scrooge’s Thanos-like argument, but keep in mind, in Old England, prison was like the government’s only social program and the workhouse was the equivalent of getting a first job at McDonalds. So, translated today, Scrooge is telling these do-gooders to tell the poor to go get some food stamps (that his tax dollars already paid for) and go get some entry level employee training at Burger King and leave him alone because this rich ass dude is already doing his part to keep London clothed and fed. He’s giving everyone the loans they need to keep a roof over their head and you want him to buy everyone a Christmas goose too? Fuck that.
#9 – Marley Was a Cuck
Look, I don’t care how many chains and oversized novelty locks Scrooge’s old partner, Marley, is required to carry around in the afterlife. Marley did nothing wrong and he is being falsely persecuted. Marley taught Scrooge everything he knows about usurious money lending and the gold coin counting trade and he shouldn’t be ashamed of it, no matter what those other hippy ghosts say.
You know who was loyal? Scrooge. He was the only one who showed up to Marley’s funeral and he never changed the name of his counting house. Never painted over the Marley and Scrooge sign. Loved the man too much and why not? Because he taught him how to get rich AF. Don’t be like Marley. Don’t apologize for being rich AF.
#10 – God Bless Us, Everyone
So in the end, the best thing about being rich is you can intervene in the lives of poor people. You, as a rich fucker, might see someone having a rough go of it and you might think, “This reminds me of that time I had a rough go of it and if only some rich fucker had intervened on my behalf…” and then you go and intervene on the downtrodden person’s behalf.
It’s awesome that Scrooge decides to take it upon himself to save Tiny Tim’s life by buying the Cratchit family a Christmas goose and then apparently taking on every single last medical bill that Tiny Tim’s leprosy ridden body requires.
But Scrooge should only do this because he wants to, not because he was guilted into it, and the entire time Bob Cratchit must be reminded that he is less of a man because his boss of all people had to intervene and pay for the sickliest Cratchit’s gamey limb treatments. Bob should feel like a pathetic, loserish pile of donkey dung and should immediately go out and get a second scrivener job. I mean, holy shit, this dude has so many kids that he needs to be scrivenering all day, night and weekends just to pay for them all. And you know what? Mrs. Cratchit should take in some laundry and some seamstress work and not gonna lie, both Mr and Mrs C should be sucking hobo dick on the sly for tuppence just to make ends meet.
Know who shouldn’t be guilted into paying for everything? Scrooge.
This won’t be a long review. I enjoyed this movie largely because we got to see Emilia Clarke’s actual, human side, without any sci fi or fantasy costumes. If there was a question as to whether or not she could perform outside of a geek movie, this shows she can. As rom coms go, it was pretty good. OK, that’s all I have to say.
I’ve been writing this blog since 2014. Next March, it will be 5 years. My Christmas wish is that next year this little enterprise will actually start turning a profit. Toilet Gator will hopefully come out in 2019 and if a book about an alligator who eats people while they are pooping can’t make me a millionaire then I don’t know what will.
In the meantime, check out one of my books below and if you have a spare 99 cents, feel free to buy one.
What is your Christmas wish? Discuss in the comments.
And the night is just normal because it isn’t holy because we will no longer be subjected to the patriarchy’s puritanically rigid belief system that forces the ignorant into modifying their behavior in accordance with the whims of a fictional man in the sky who simply isn’t there.
Fall on your knees!
But only if you want to take a rest.
But if you don’t, that’s ok.
In fact, don’t because then you’ll get grass stains on your jeans!
A night that is not divine!
No, it’s just another night as usual except is it just me or is this night hotter than usual? Damn it, when will you all learn that global warming is real, people?!
HIM: That’s cool, you’re free to leave at anytime. You’re a strong, independent woman in charge of your own agency, capable of making her own decisions and if remaining here is not your wish then I bid you adieu.
HER: I’ve got to go away.
HIM: No problem. There’s the door. Right there. Good evening. Drive safely.
HER: This evening has been…
HIM: I’m sorry, but I see you’re lingering. Would you mind signing this memorandum indicating that you remained on the premises even though I distinctly said you were free to leave and I in no way impeded your exit?
HER: …so very nice.
HIM: Don’t mind me. I’m just going pull out my phone so I can stream us on Facebook live and, ok, here we are. Hello, everyone. Shout out to all my followers. I just want to show the world that I’m being a total gentleman and I am not keeping this strong, independent woman from leaving. See? Right there’s the door. Nothing is blocking it. I’m all the way over here. She’s free to go whenever she chooses.
HER: I ought to say, “No, no, no, sir!”
HIM: You have and I respect that. Just a reminder you are more than welcome to walk out the front door and I will not interfere in any way.
HER: At least I’m going to say that I tried.
HIM: Yes, and as loudly as possible I am telling all 257 of my Facebook friends that I am trying to make sure that you are aware you are free to vamoose.
HER: My mother will start to worry.
HIM: Hold on, I’m going to get on my landline because I’m one of the last few people ot have one of those and I’m calling your mom and, “Hello Her’s Mother how are you? Him here. Say, just wanted to clue you in on the situation. Her is fine. Totes fine. She’s here. I’m being totally respectful and I would never keep her here against her will.”
HER: My father will be pacing the floor.
HIM: You know, it dawns on me that maybe you aren’t leaving because you don’t have cab fare. Now, please don’t take that the wrong way. I understand you are a very powerful, strong, independent woman who earns her own living and doesn’t need a man to pay her way but please, my treat, let me call you an Uber on my account and we’ll have the driver take you home or anywhere you want to go. By the way, I will also pay a private detective to run a full background check on the driver and I will hire two armed guards to accompany you in case anyone tries to touch you during your ride.
HER: My sister will be suspicious.
HIM: Nope, she’s fine. Hi, sis! Thanks for friending me. See? Your sister’s A-OK. Hey I’m just going to step outside myself and I don’t even care if there’s 6 feet snowdrifts out here I’m just going to step out here on the front porch and, ah, that’s better! There we go! Now you’re safe in the house, and I’m out here so as to avoid the appearance of impropriety. No one can say anything unsavory happened if you’re in there and I’m out here. See that, Facebook? Everything’s totally legit.
HER: My brother will be pacing the floor.
HIM: I’m just going to send my carrier pigeon to your brother with a note in his beak informing him that you’re fine and if he or any of your other family or friends would like to come over and verify that you’re OK, they are welcome to come here and do so. Away you go, pigeon! In the meantime, I will keep speaking to you through the open door but I will remain outside in these arctic conditions so that you remain safe.
HER: Your welcome has been…
HIM: Oh thank god, it’s a police officer out on patrol! Officer! Yoo hoo! Would you be a pal and stand next to me to verify that I am not doing anything to harm this strong, independent female and Her, just an FYI if you feel unsafe I’m sure this officer would be willing to escort you past me just, again, to be on the safe side. You can never be too careful.
HER: …so nice and warm.
HIM: Shit! She won’t leave. Let me get on the phone again. Hello? Ajax Public Relations Firm? Look, there’s going to be a huge story about me tomorrow and we need to get ahead of it ASAP. Cancel all your business. I’m putting you on retainer because it is going to be blasted all over the inter webs and I’ll need your full staff ready and waiting to field press inquiries 24/7. I want to tell you right up front I did not lay a hand on this strong, powerful woman and in fact, I streamed our entire evening on Facebook from outside the house while a police officer was present and what? Well…no, of course I’m not calling her a liar! I’m not saying that tomorrow, she might believe that something bad might have happened, I’m just saying that I will not be the culprit. What? What do you mean that’s as good as calling her a liar? No, I don’t believe all women lie. Yes, I believe all women…
HER: So really I’d better scurry.
HIM: Officer, if you’d be so kind as to handcuff me and yes, there we go. My hands are now restrained behind my back. Officer, if you wouldn’t mind to use my phone to keep the Facebook stream going. Wait, let me shout to my neighbors. NEIGHBORS! COME OUT AND BE MY WITNESSES, PLEASE!
HER: But maybe just a half a drink more.
HIM: Oh no. There’s no alcohol here, ma’am. I’m not implying that you, as a woman, would somehow be prone to abusing alcohol or that women should not feel free to imbibe, I’m just saying I do not keep alcohol in the house so as to prevent a situation where a woman might become inebriated because then she would be in a state where she could be taken advantage of. You are welcome to get some tap water but please keep your hand over your drink at all times as you never know when someone might slip a mickey into it.
HER: My maiden aunt’s mind is vicious.
HIM: That’s fine. See? My neighbors came outside so I have over a dozen witnesses on the scene who can testify I did no wrong here.
HER: But maybe just a cigarette more.
HIM: I’m sorry, there’s no smoking allowed here. By the way, it just dawned on me that maybe you are not leaving because you fear reprisal if you do. Please rest assured that no harm will come to you, should you decide to leave. There will be no harm done to you at any time in the future, whatsoever. I will not say anything bad about your reputation and we don’t work in the same field so I have no power to get you blacklisted or drummed out of your profession and you know what? I’ll put this in writing. Let me just write this down. OK. Here’s a fully binding legal document indicating you are free to leave and there will be no repercussions for doing so and I will not interfere with your livelihood if you go and hey? Isn’t one of my neighbors a notary? Fred, you’re a notary, right? Cool. Fred just notarized this.
HER: You’ve really been grand…
HIM: By the way, just now, I wrote that all behind my back. I trained on how to write while handcuffed just for occasions like these. Her, it now dawns on me maybe you’re not leaving because you think you want to engage in voluntary sexual congress with me right now but perhaps thirty to forty years in the future you will regret having sex with me and will consider the act a violation of your person. It just so happens, one of my neighbors is a fortune teller so I’m just going to let her…
MADAME OLGA: By the light of the full moon, I gaze my eyes upon the wonders of my crystal ball and I look forward into the mists of the great beyond. Oh spirits, tell me if sex that happens today will be appreciated or despised in four decades time.
HIM: You know what? Cut that, Olga. I’m just going to refuse to participate in any sex at all. You hear that, everyone? I refuse sex. There is absolutely no way to tell if this woman, who has gotten all naked and is lying spread eagle on my bearskin rug, licking her lips and beckoning me to come hither with her finger whilst a bright, flashing neon sign points to her vagina that says, “OPEN FOR BUSINESS!” Yes, to the untrained eye, it looks like this strong, independent woman desires sex but there’s no way to know for sure. Anyone could have put that sign there. I’ll just decline. Fred, draw up a legal memorandum indicating my declination of any and all possible sex acts this evening.
HER: But can’t you see? Baby it’s cold outside…
HIM: Oh my god! She’s coming this way! Quick, officer! Shoot my dick off! I beg of you! I don’t want to be declared the next sex pervert du jour on the inter webs tomorrow! Please! Shoot my dick off! I beg you!