A Christmas Carol

Rebecca watched Chris as he slept. The heat had gone from the Melbourne air and she was glad. But it wasn't a New York Christmas all snowy and white like in Friends. In fact, it was nothing like that. It was another shitty Christmas with Chris lying next to her stupified by drink.

He stirred under her not entirely friendly tone.

"Ooooh, jeez, oooh, no, Kinkosaurus, no." he muttered.

Rebecca nudged him hard.

"Hey fuckwedge," she whispered with a terrifying purposefulness into his ear, "Wake up."

The idiot stirred.

Where am I, he murmured, what's going on? His eyes opened an inch, the stench of a million beers coming from his parched mouth.

Rebecca lifted herself onto one elbow and her obviously fake tits moved not a millimetre with the resultant gravity.

Chris told her the story of his mad delusion of being transported to medieavel France and thus not being able to remember how he had been on the alcohol soaked boozy boat trip that he had allegedly been captaining.

Rebecca gave him a disdainful glare but that didn't matter, as the incident had tied up a storyline that wasn't really going anywhere and took loads of work.

"Well you haven't been in ancient France or whatever babes, you've been out drinking like a two headed Scotsman. Anyway, merry Christmas babes. I remembered even if you didn't. I'll see you downstairs in halfa, I'm going for a shower."

As she got out of the bed and glided over to the ensuite, she chuckled to herself. That dolphin shaped shower head she'd treated herself to would be paying for itself in just a few minutes.

Chris didn't care. Or thought he didn't care. Or thought he had no reason to care. But he had a reason to care. A BIG reason to care.

He was barely a blink back into his sleep, dropped deep into Morpheus' grasp, when the clanking of the chains began.

As Rebecca applied the multi-purpose shower head to her crisply shaven undercarriage, a great fever struck Chris in the room but two metres and a wall betwixt away.

The rattle of the malevolent chains grew louder and Chris was insensible.

"WAKE O CHURLISH ONE!" came a low cry.

Chris forced his eyelids open against all his better judgement.

"YOU SEE ME NOW!" came the voice again, "TELL ME WHAT YOU SEE!"

Eyes blurred, Chris saw but a ghostly haze, only great shining eyes defining it as something recognisable.

"Leave me hideous shade! I care not for Christmas cheer! Take thine rattling and fattling and be done with you!"

But the shade, for it was Benny Cousins, the Ghost of Christmas Past, was not so easily dispersed.

"Piss off shitlicker," Casper Cousins said, "I'm here to remind you what a dumb fuck you are. Remember when we were at West Coast and you were captain and me and Azza and Mick and Kerry and every cunt was getting into the gear and then when your contract ran out you fucked off back to Melbourne and let every cunt think it was something to do with us? Well ooooh ooooh I'm a ghost, both as a person, and more importantly now as a footballer since you made me play for Richmond, so I'm here to haunt you and shit."

(The ghost of Chad Fletcher enters stage right)

"Chaddo!" cried the shade, "Have you got those ummm ... pizzas ... we talked about?"

The ghost of Chad Fletcher nodded solemnly.

"Sweet as. Yeah, to sum up Chrisso mate, you're a fucken fraud. Your nice guy act is over. Word of advice, don't try and eye gouge the final ghost. Laterz biatch!"

And with that, the Ghost of Christmas Past disappeared.

Chris was barely recovered when he was struck by a terrible visitation. A boat rocked upon stormy seas. Seas so stormy they threw a great froth, a spray. Chris looked closer. It wasn't a sea of normal water, it was a distended yellow, bile yellow. It was a sea of beer.

"WOOOOOOOOOOH!" uttered Levi Casboult, unfortunate Carlton rookie forced into a a dangerous drinking game, "WOOOOOOOOH! Oh captain my captain, where is my captain?"

And Chris saw himself at the back of the boat, engaged in trite conversation centring on himself with a few tired club officials. The phantom let out an unearthly howl and the boat sank as if struck by hit a torpedo, Chris drinking merrily even as the waves lapped up and over the innocent's face.

He knew then he'd seen the Ghost of Christmas Present.

What now he thought, rising into a halfworld that wasn't sleep yet was far from wakefulness. What new torment awaits?

"GIIIIDDDAAYY FUCKFACE!" a shrill voice sang, like the world's most annoying smoke alarm.

Chris shrank beneath the covers of his expensive bedding now, wanting to hide his eyes yet daring not lest the apparition turn violent.

"I'MMM JAAARKYN LOCKHEEEED! AND I'M THE GHOST OF CHRISTMAS FUTURE!"

Suck Shit Dumb Cunts!

Brendan sat contendly with his newborn child resting against the scar where his once magnificent breasts had been. But his loss, our loss, was not so raw these days.

He'd fitted in well at Brisbane, the boys making him feel more than welcome. And the knowledge that his coach and a few team-mates had been involved in a savage bar brawl made him think that the joint had a culture almost designed for the likes of him.

And now this. He was watching TV reports about two Carlton players who'd been banned from the casino after causing trouble. So much for the theory that getting rid of him would somehow erase a 'bad culture' from the joint.

He reached for his phone and his pressed the green re-dial key. He'd been dialling this number repeatedly all day.

After two rings, Sticks picked it up.

"Yes Brendan, what is it this time?" he asked with exasperation plain in his voice.

"Oh," said Fev, "I just wanted to ring to say SUCK SHIT DUMB CUNT!"

Sticks hung up and Brendan chortled to himself. It wasn't going to get old anytime soon.

The looked at his phone again and this time press the hotkey for Chris' number. He put the phone up to his ear but it simply rang out. Again. Hadn't been picked up all day.

Where WAS Chris when Brendan wanted so much to taunt and goad him?

It wasn't like Chris to go missing when the heat was on with off-field matters.

Not like him at all.

Feareth not!

Sorry for lack of updates lately. Been mega busy. But feareth not, not the travails of Sir Chris the Overrated shall be back soon to amuse yon masses during Yuletide.