SG: A Tale Full Of Wholesome Holiday Cheer - It's A Fscking Wonderful Life

[Frobozz]

    Lucas stirred in his unusually comfortable bed, stretching out to 
luxuriate in unaccustomed decadence. Coarse cotton sheets shouldn't feel 
this good, now should they? If he hadn't known better, Lucas would have 
said that his sheets almost  felt like silk. Maybe... maybe his skin had 
become tougher after years of sleeping between the only crap that he could 
afford on his tiny pittance of a salary. Maybe his senses were learning to 
translate the horrific discomfort in which a superguy who sacrificed all 
for justice must live into purest pleasure. Maybe...
    Hunh. Sensory translation would explain the new comfort of his sheets, 
but Lucas' sleep-fogged mind could make neither heads nor tails of the 
puddle of warmth and softness that he found lying next to him. He was 
-reasonably- certain that the night before, he hadn't brought home a 
hooke--aha--a soiled dove in need of reform and financial recompense. 
Lucas usually remembered the times when he did that, and the sweet young 
thing lying next to him certainly smelled far nicer than the usual 
prostit--wayward angels whom he tended to hire by the hour. Suddenly 
curious about how things had come to this pretty -- well, hopefully -- 
pass, Lucas peeled back his preternaturally soft covers to reveal nothing 
less than an angel sleeping next to him. With a soft sigh whose sound and 
beauty could make the stars above jealous, the angel opened one baby-blue 
eye and peered up at her bedmate.
    "Hi," she said with a smile, clearly glad to see him.
    "Uhm, hi," replied Lucas, preparing to ask the dumbest question of his 
life. With the strength of a thousand men whose hearts were reasonably 
pure, he soldiered on to ask it. "Who the heck(sm) are you?"

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                Chris Angelini/Frobozz Magic Productions

                              -and-

                        Mademoiselle Muse Inc

                             -present-

               A Tale Full Of Wholesome Holiday Cheer

                    It's A Fscking Wonderful Life

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    "So, you woke up on Christmas eve," began Nick the bartender, while he 
polished his ubiquitous glass. Reportedly, Nick had been polishing this 
one glass since his place had opened in 1974, and after more than thirty 
years of work he had just about manages to wear it through. No one was 
sure what would happen once he actually managed to push through to the 
other side. Popular money was on him starting with a new glass the next 
day and working his way through -that- one.
    "Unh hunh," replied Lucas, taking another sip of his double bourbon.
    "And you don't remember your wife."
    "Nunh hunh."
    "But she's hot. Like, smoking hot."
    "Unh hunh."
    "I mean like... bazongas out to *here*. And with so much back, you 
could make peameal bacon out of her and still have some left over for 
sausage... if you get my drift."
    "Unh... hunh..."
    "And curves like... like... like a *rocket* launcher, if you get my 
drift--"
    "Could we move past my wife please?"
    "I'm not sure, but I can try. Uhm, so anyway, you find out that you're 
an internet millionaire..."
    "Unh hunh."
    "Where before you were a dirt poor reporter working to make ends meet 
so you could moonlight as a superguy--"
    "No! Not a superguy! Who gave you a silly idea like that? Heh heh, 
uhm... No, no, uhm, I moonlight as a... yoga instructor! That's it..."
    "Riiiiight. So you could moonlight as a superguy... and now you have 
two point five kids--"
    "Actually it's three, turns out tiny Timothy's surgery was a 
success..."
    "Okay, three kids. You're a respected member of the community..."
    "Unh hunh."
    "And you're saying -none- of this was true yesterday?"
    "Yup. I am. I went to sleep in low thread-count nightmares yesterday 
and today I'm awake in a satin dream."
    "And... you say you want to get -back- to your old life?"
    "Yes. Yes I do."
    "For the love of all that's Christmasy, -why-? Why in Elvis' holy name 
would you want to go back to being a two-bit loser?"
    "You don't understand. You really don't. I... I had a destiny! I had 
allies in the fight against injustice! I had a purpose in my life!"
    "As... a yoga instructor."
    "...uhm, yeah. Yeah, as that."
    "And you don't have any of those things in your new life?"
    "No... no, as far as I can tell, I'm just a layabout philanthropist who 
opens new wings in childrens' hospitals, maintains sixteen soup kitchens 
around the city and reads to the blind and deaf."
    "How... "
    "It involves braille tiles and twenty-six trained monkeys. It seems 
that I invented the technique myself."
    "Hunh. Okay. Well, I do have a bit of advice for you, kid. Two bits, 
actually. If you're in a mood to listen."
    "I'm all ears, Nick. Help me out, please."
    "One... your life sounds pretty damned sweet. You're helping the world 
-and- you're happy as a clam. You're a bloody schmuck if you turn your 
back on this Christmas Miracle."
    "I'll... take that under consideration. What's the second bit?"
    "Hand over your wallet, Mr Moneybags" said Nick, setting down his glass 
as he produced a double-barreled shotgun. "And I think I'll take that 
watch, too..."

***

    Lucas stumbled through the blustery winter's night, trying to make it 
to his home despite his lack of wallet. Or rather, he tried to get home 
despite the crowds of well-wishers who had somehow heard he'd lost all his 
money, and were trying to press into his hands wads of cash, pocket 
watches and even small children who could be exchanged for cash at the 
nearest blackmarketdashery. Finally breaking through the happy crowds of 
people whom he'd helped in the past, Lucas came to an icy bridge, which 
overlooked the Detroit river.
    "I'm not a praying man," began Lucas, staring down at the slushy, 
polluted river. "But I had a life. It was a good life... okay, no. It was 
a terrible, terrible, crappy life. But I was someone. Someone... who 
mattered. Someone who helped people in a way that touched dozens, no, 
*hundreds* of lives..."
    He reached into his coat, drawing out something he'd managed to snatch 
from behind the bar while Nick had been busy salivating with glee over 
Lucas' money. It wasn't quite the right size, and it smelled of ashes and 
failure, but the aluminum ashtray that he held in his hands provided him 
with a strange sort of comfort. Using his keys, he poked two eyeholes into 
the ashtray, then held it up before his face to stare at the silvery moon 
through the newly implemented ventilation.
    "Elvis... the life into which I was born has been mysteriously taken 
from me, and in its place I've been left one of money, carnal pleasures, 
family life and philanthropy. A life for which I was never meant! Elvis, 
if you're listening... The Pie-Plate Face Kid--Er--Man has been banished 
from time itself! Please, help your servant find his destiny again!"

***

    Somewhere... beyond the boundaries of Alternative... transcending the 
limits of Rock... eschewing the anti-material fabric of Disco... in the 
mythic lands of Rockabilly, The King looked up from his fifteenth 
screening of 'Bubba Ho-Tep'. A frown crossed his face as he considered the 
plea that he'd just heard.
    "That Bruce Campbell... what a big hunk o' love! I should drop him a 
note sometime and tell him that... but, ah can't think about that right 
now. Not when there's a crisis brewin' in someone's life, and on a Blue 
Christmas no less! Someone needs a boy like me!"
    The King rose from his rocking chair and paced through his mythic house 
that had everything as he pondered best how to help the one whose plea he 
had just heard. "But who to send, unh hunh. A fool such as I needs to 
ponder this carefully, or it'll be a hundred years from now b'fore this 
beach boy with the blues gets his problem solved. Mercy. Who's mah best 
angel... who can ah put on this job... who..."

***

    Lucas sighed, staring at the mask. He glanced around, then whispered. 
"Fox? If you're listening? Look, we could cut a deal..."

***

    "Oh *Lordy*, he did *not* just do that!" exclaimed Elvis, punctuating 
his incredulity with an irritated pelvic thrust. "That's it, Earth Boy, 
you're gettin' Clarence instead!"

***

    "Vishnu?" asked Lucas. "Hey, want to give a guy a hand up? Osiris? Yo? 
Hastur? Hastur? *HASTU*--OOF!!!"
    Lucas fell into a tangle of arms and legs as he found himself crushed 
under the weight of a very large and very drunken angel who bore an 
uncanny resemblance to Benny Hill. Lucas, despite his current -- not to 
mention crushing -- predicament, was able to put together two and two 
together with his usual lightning speed.
    "-Yes-!" he cried. "Cthulhu sent Benny Hill to guide me! Thank you, 
Great Old One! For this, I promise that I will help you reclaim all that 
you have lost! Ia!"
    "No, you great bloody idiot, Cthulhu did -not- send me to you! And I'm 
not Benny Hill!"
    "You sure look like Benny Hill..."
    "And you look like a great big bloody git, but did you hear me call you 
that when I came dropping in?"
    "But you -smell- like Benny Hill!"
    "Well yeah, me and the occupants of every bar -everywhere-." Clarence 
rose, dusting off snow and debris from himself. "Permit me to introduce 
myself to you. I am--"
    There was a sudden flash as lambent blue light -- strangely reminiscent 
of 80s television special effects -- surrounded Benny H--Clarence. A 
twinkling sound rose and fell, chasing away the azure aura to leave the 
angel... transformed. Where once there had been a slovenly, drunken man in 
the guise of a Britcomic, Lucas now stood before a tall, elderly, thin, 
wrinkled gent holding an antique pocket watch.
    "...who're you?" he asked.
    "My name is Samuel Beckett," said the man in a slight Irish brogue, 
bowing to Lucas. "I leap from Christmas to Christmas to put right that 
which once was wrong and I hope that each Christmas... will be the first 
Christmas without a paradox."
    "...bwah?"
    "Sorry. I see that this is your first encounter with the Ghosts of 
Christmas Paradoxes. Strange... I could've sworn we'd met before. But ah 
well, such is the stuff of time travel, is it not? I have the pleasure to 
be the Ghost of Christmas Paradoxes Past. And you, my good fellow, seem to 
be wrapped up in a dilly of a pickle of a paradox."
    Lucas took a moment to digest that information.
    "Oh boy."

***

    "Well that's gratitude for ya," muttered Elvis as he turned his 
omnipresent attention away from Lucas, returning to focus on his movie 
marathon. "See if I evah send help your way again. Unh hunh *hunh*."

***

    "So... my whole life changed because of a temporal paradox?" Lucas 
ventured, fingering his ashtray-come-facemask for comfort and stability.
    "Not just any temporal paradox," replied Beckett. "A -Christmas- 
paradox. They're the worst possible kind."
    "Why, exactly?"
    "Well. When the Powers-That-Be gave Christmas spirits the ability to 
travel throughout the fundament and firmament, teaching harsh lessons to 
people who didn't properly observe arbitrarily defined and highly 
religion-specific holidays, they made what you might call a tiny design 
flaw. They gave their ghosts the power to move forward, backwards and 
sideways through time."
    "Why, exactly?"
    "Shut up. Anyhow, the first ghosts -- known as The Three Spectres of 
Solstice Vengeance -- used this power with neither wisdom nor restraint. 
They travelled through time, carrying their hapless victims hither and 
yon, trying to either frighten them into mending their ways or to drive 
them irrevocably mad. They would often leave their prey in some forgotten 
Solstice during the time of the dinosaurs, demanding that they show that 
they had repaired their ways through an iron challenge of prehistoric 
survival. But, in so doing, these foul Spectres began to damage the 
fragile web of causality that holds together the stream of time itself... 
while at the same time forming wormholes of influence which led from one 
Christmas to another, linking them together in ways that we are now only 
*just* beginning to understand!"
    "Ooookay..."
    "Finally, the Powers-That-Are had had enough. They cast down the 
Spectres of Solstice Vengeance, imprisoning them within three black opals 
that were purchased in the cursed aisles of a Kohles Jewelry store. These 
three opals were then scattered across space and time so that none of the 
three would -ever- fall into the wrong hands and wind up causing untold 
havoc, and most -certainly- will never be referred to again in future 
Christmas stories. With the passing of Solstice into Christmas, the Powers 
tried again, this time creating three gentler spirits that would still be 
capable of conveying their victim through time--"
    "Why?"
    "Shut up. --but only as wraiths, able to see and hear things of the 
past but unable to affect or touch the timestream itself. And these three 
ghosts did their jobs well, but the damage had already been done. 
Paradoxes riddled the Christmas season, spreading out to threaten the 
stability of the holiday matrix as a whole. Tonight, you will be visited 
by three spirits, young Lucas. Three spirits who will try to sort out the 
damage that's been done to your personal timeline and to show you the 
checksum error of your way."
    "How... how do we start?"
    "Take my hand, and I shall whisk you to the Imaging Chamber of 
Christmas Past. Joseph... centre me on Christmas T-minus eight!"

***

    Lucas found himself tumbling down the closed timelike curve of 
Christmas Eve, falling through a Tipler cylinder made up of tinsel, 
infinitely long candy canes and nutmeg-spiced exotic matter-nog. With a 
thud, he found himself landing on a the snowy banks of a Christmas Past, 
wincing at the rocks of Christmas Past that had been hidden in a snowdrift 
of Christmas Past.
    "...I thought we were wraiths, Samuel, able to see and hear things of 
the past, but unable to affect or touch the timestream itself," protested 
Lucas, rising unsteadily to his feet.
    "I'm sure those rocks are just atemporal," replied Beckett 
dismissively, checking his pocket-watch. "I believe you may recognize this 
Christmas? It is, after all, one with which you were intimately 
acquainted."
    "It is? I don't recogni--oh holy -crap-, a dog just peed on my boot!"
    "Atemporal dog, almost certainly. Gaze forth, young Lucas. Gaze forth 
and see for yourself what happened on this Christmas."
    "ASSHOLE!"
    "-What-?" demanded Beckett, spinning around. "What did you call me?"
    "Not you! Someone just mugged me! Second time today!"
    "I'm. Sure. He's. An. Atemporal. Mugger. Now get your atemporal 
attention -off- the mundanities of the visions of Christmas Past and focus 
your atemporal eyes on what I brought you here to see, pronto, before I 
introduce you to the atemporal fire hose I keep nearby when someone needs 
an atemporal attitude adjustment."
    "..looking, sir!"
    Lucas found himself staring at a postal drop, one covered in snow and 
ice. For a moment he was unable to place this locale, despite the strange 
feeling of familiarity that began to nag at him. After a moment or two, 
however, a certainty settled over the man...
    "Spirit... I know this place! I've been here before! This is the 
entrance to the Author's Den... the Tribe of Behn's secret hideout!"
    "Shut up. Keep your eyes open and watch the damned flickering images of 
the hazy past before I ram the chains I forged for myself up your--"
    "It's me!" cried Lucas, as he spied a young lad wearing a pie-plate 
upon his face. The boy carried a bag which Lucas knew was filled with his 
extra-special Christmas feast: toast and popcorn. "This was my first 
Christmas eve with the Tribe... it was... my happiest Christmas ever..."
    Lucas watched as his younger self walked up to the mail drop and rapped 
upon it. He waited for several moments, then rapped upon it again. The lad 
began to pace around the mail drop, periodically pausing to rap and then 
to pace again. Then, after an hour or two of this, the younger Lucas 
plunked himself down on the ground and began to eat his feast, at times 
gazing forlornly at the box for signs of life.
    "I see," murmured Beckett as he watched the scene with the elder Lucas. 
"This Christmas must have been altered from its original path. Somehow, 
you've been barred entry where once you would have been allowed in--"
    "No, that's how it went."
    "--the past, say -what-? You just sat out there, stuffing your face 
with popcorn and toast? And this is your happiest Christmas memory? 
-This-?"
    "Yes," replied Lucas, sighing in fond remembrance. "My first Christmas 
with my heroes."
    "But your heroes didn't even see you! You spent this Christmas all 
alone..."
    "They were there. In spirit. Right below me. I knew that we were close 
enough, just nearly, to touch... and that was enough for me."
    "Also, you know that the entrance you were looking for was across town, 
right?"
    "...say what?"
    "Joseph is telling me that the entrance to the Author's Den was klicks 
away. You spent the whole night hammering on a perfectly ordinary 
mailbox."
    "Across town? Ordinary... mailbox? Holy... son of a BITC--"
    "No time, no time, there are other Christmases of the Past to visit! 
Take my hand as we speed away on wings of night!"

***

    Some time (subjective) and many Christmases past later...

    "Spirit, take away these images, I can bear them no longer..." muttered 
Lucas, burying his face in his hands.
    "I don't believe it," said Beckett. "I do -not- frigging believe it."
    "Spirit? These images? Make with the taking away?"
    "You spent -every- -single- -Christmas- -eve- at that mailbox?"
    "Spirit... you're killing me here..."
    "I'm sorry, but... my God, man. Didn't it occur to you even once that 
you might be at the wrong place? That maybe, just maybe, you were spending 
your Christmas kept company by nothing more than third-class mail?"
    "Look, why don't you stand here and trash talk me while I nip back to 
2007, okay? If you'd just show me how your thingamabob works..."
    "What was your power again? What, exactly?"
    "...I'm a vast genius and I always know more than adults..."
    "Are you absolutely SURE, Lucas? Because I've just seen nine 
Christmases that say otherwise..."
    "Spirit, do I get billed for this abuse at the end of the night?"
    "No, no, all part of the package. But... I mean you didn't notice one 
irregularity in what we've seen? At all?"
    "Not even one. That was exactly how I've spent every Christmas Eve 
since I became a superguy, inspired by my heroes to take up the mantle of 
the Pie Plate and charge forth to either seize my destiny or--"
    "Sit by a mailbox, shivering and eating popcorn sandwiches?" snickered 
Beckett.
    "...there were no irregularities that I saw. Okay? Happy?"
    "I can't even begin to say how happy I am. I haven't had this much fun 
on a Christmas paradox excursion since I showed the Ill Dudes... well no, 
you're too young to hear that. I think I'm too young to hear that, and I 
was there. And I'm eternal. And non-corporal. And hard to gross out. But 
there you go."
    "So what do we do next?"
    "We return to the present. And we await..."

***

    "I am the ghost of Christmas Paradoxes present!" announced the portly 
spectre who leaped into Clarence's body to replace the Ghost of paradoxes 
past, just moments after Lucas returned to his native time.
    "I understand, grim wraith. Take me where you will."
    "Take you? Take you where? Didn't you hear what I said? I'm the ghost 
of paradoxes -present-. I can't -take- you anywhere! Oh God, I'm so 
depressed. When they were handing out powers, we shot Stone-Scissors-Paper 
for them, and guess who got the boobie prize? For all eternity? Yo! So 
while the other two are galavanting around the timestream, -I- get to hang 
around the bloody -present-. I mean, wow, what a job. I get to show you 
what's happening where you ALREADY ARE. Won't -that- just impress the lady 
spectres at the afterlife clubs, hm? 'Hey sweet thing, guess what I do? I 
take mortals on a trip to RIGHT WHERE AND WHEN THEY'RE CURRENTLY 
STANDING.' Paper. PAPER! I knew I should've picked paper! What possessed 
me to pick scissors? ARGH! Look... look... have you been with Christmas 
Paradoxes Past yet? If not, can you get him to go back to when we shot for 
powers and tell me to pick paper? Please? I'd owe you big time..."
    "Uhm, sorry, but he's already shown me my... past... such as it was. 
Besides, I thought I was a wraith in the past, able to see and hear things 
there but unable to affect or touch the timestream..."
    "Well yeah, that's what he tells people..."
    "Er, what?"
    "Never mind," sighed the ghost of Christmas Temporal Paradoxes present. 
"Just never mind. We've got about an hour before old Future Boy shows up, 
so got any cards?"
    "Shouldn't you be... doing... something? Ghostlike? Like checking for 
irregularities in the timestream?"
    "Oh sure. Here, let me check for paradoxes. Hm, nope, no paradoxes 
under this bridge! Oh, what about in this snowbank? Hunh, would you look 
at that! No paradoxes in here either! Think we should check that giant 
pile of dog crap there for some paradoxes? Or possibly signs of 
heartworm?"
    "...no, really, that's okay."
    "Look, got some money? I smell a hot dog cart nearby, and I'm 
starved..."

***

    Some time (objective) later...

    "I am the Ghost of Christmas Paradoxes Past!" cried Beckett, as he 
leaped into Clarence's body. "I have returned to tell you--oh my God, why 
am I covered in vomit?"
    "It's your brother," replied Lucas, with a sigh. "He just -had- to get 
a hot dog and fries. A bit of underdone potato french fry gave him the 
urpies. And then a spot of gravy nearly sent him to his grave. I've been 
keeping his airway open for almost an hour now."
    "Oh gross. But look on the bright side."
    "There's a bright side?"
    "At least this Christmas you're not by yourself!"
    "And yet somehow I wish I was. Speaking of which, why're -you- here? 
Shouldn't I be visited by the Spirit of Christmas Paradoxes Future?"
    "Yeah, sorry, he's running late and asked me to keep you company till 
he could get in."
    "How... can a temporal spirit be running late?"
    "Don't ask."
    "I mean it's a functional impossibility. Since you can move 
effortlessly through time, clearly you can put yourself -exactly- where 
you need to be, no matter how long subjectively you take getting there..."
    "I think it's time to play the Shutting Up game, kid..."
    "I mean, normal people, -they- can run late. Because for them, time is 
an unalterable constant. But for you, a specific time is a -destination-, 
so how could you possibly--"
    "Hey kid. If you think you know so much, why don't you try it?"
    "What? Being a time spirit?"
    "Nope," replied Beckett, producing a Bowie knife from his pocket. 
"Becoming a ghost. Don't make me cut-a-bitch..."
    "I really, -really- hope that your third brother is nicer than you..."
    "Nicer? Are you kidding? I'm a real people-person. Compatibility 
Beckett, they call me."
    "I'm positive. Well, while you're here, let me ask you something. 
Something I've always wondered about."
    "Shoot."
    "It's about pre-destiny. It's a question that's baffled both me and 
mankind as a whole since we first began to view time as a mutable entity 
rather than as a cold, implacable certainty."
    "My best subject. What's your question, kid?"
    "Well, what I... what really the philosophers of the ages... want to 
know, is--"
    There was a flash of blue light that played over Clarences body, 
whisking away Beckett and replacing him with a stooped, robed and hooded 
figure.
    "Son of a..."

***

    A very few seconds later... like none at all...

    "Are... are you the Spirit of Christmas Paradoxes Yet To Be?"
    The robed figure nodded, but otherwise kept his council.
    "Then.. you intend to show me what... what paradoxes lie in the 
Christmases of my future?"
    The hooded figure considered that, then made an 'eh' gesture with his 
hand.
    "Spirit? What part of this am I missing? Hook a brother up, please..."
    The sound of a thousand silver tea-spoons being thrown down the stairs 
emanated from within the dark hood. The sound fell to become a backdrop 
over which the wraith's words could be heard...
    "Self: Defined as Spirit of Christmas Paradoxes Post-Singularity. You: 
Defined as Lucas Crusher, centre of paradox. Purpose: Seeking out scope of 
paradox. Procedure: travel through time to Trans-Human Christmases where 
warmth, cheer and unknowable super-science make the holiday bright."
    "..."
    "You (imperative voice): Take hold of self's robe. Status: Conveyance 
to future imminent."
    Wordlessly, Lucas took the spirit's robe in hand. A moment later, the 
two were gone.


***

    Much time (subjective) later...

    "Oh holy *night*," gasped Lucas, as he returned to the Christmas of the 
Present. "I can't believe it... spirit? Was that the vision of what must 
be? Or what might be?"
    The spirit was silent, his face unseen behind his robe.
    "Must these things come to pass? Will the Feast of Xysszyby really be 
interrupted when the Quathlians sow viral memes through the Trans-Harmonic 
Allself?"
    Again the spirit said nothing, gazing steadily at Lucas.
    "Is the Shard of One Truth really the One Truth spirit? Or did the 
Dissenters of Mind really have it right?"
    Once more, the spirit's reply was full of nothing.
    "If I invest heavily in Divx when it makes its big comeback, can I 
still make a fortune? Or will chaos theory cloud that future that I've 
just seen for it?"
    Finally the spirit spoke, as the sound of a thousand drunken metallic 
butterflies emerged from beneath the robe. "You: Don't be a douche-bag. 
Future: Not your personal money-making scheme. You: Dickweed."
    "You guys really do have an attitude problem, don't you?"
    "Don't mind him, kid," said Beckett, leaping into Clarence's body once 
more. "You can't understand how his mind works, so don't take offense at 
his reactions to a primitive being's stupid questions."
    "Well... I understand your mind and how it works, and I'm starting to 
take real offense to -your- reactions!"
    "Yeah, but in my defense?"
    "Yes?"
    "I don't give a damn."
    "I'm not quite sure how that's a defense..."
    "Doesn't matter. I've got good news for you! While you were dicking 
around in the future, I found the source of the paradox!"
    "I... didn't think I exactly had a -choice- other than to 'dick around' 
in the future..."
    "Oh sure, of course you did. What, did you think we'd abduct you and 
carry you off against your will?"
    "Well... kind of, yes..."
    "Geez, kid, all you had to do was say 'stop'!"
    "And you'd have let me stop traveling with you?"
    "Well no, I'd probably have laughed at you. But maybe the other two 
would've!"
    "...you said you'd found the source of the paradox? The one that's 
changed history and made me into... this pitiful wreck of a man?"
    "I did. I found it in the one place I never thought to check."
    "Where's that?"
    "Guess."
    "In your underwear drawer."
    "Nope! In the one place we didn't look! While my brother was vomiting 
this guy's guts out, he wasn't checking -this- Christmas for paradoxes!"
    "...this Christmas?"
    "Yup! And the person who changed the present..."
    "Is...?"
    "-You-!"

***

    "Behold! Christmas eve as it was and should have been!" declared 
Beckett, guiding them through the peppermint-scented Riemannian manifolds 
of Christmas paradox. He pointed Lucas towards a familiar figure who was 
currently slumped next to a mailbox, slowly banging his head against the 
metal of the drop. "Do you recognize that lad?"
    "Well duh. Of course I do. He's wearing a pie plate on his face."
    "Yeah, and you don't know how much it freaks me out that a grown man 
would keep doing that."
    "It's my motif..."
    "It's a PIE PLATE--no. No, I'm not going to get into this with you 
right now. Behold! The sequence of events that led to this Seasonal 
paradox!"
    The two -- one ghost and one insubstantial mortal -- drifted nearer to 
hear the Pie-Plate Face Man's words as he smashed his plated head against 
the maildrop, making a dull metallic thud with each impact.
    "Again," he moaned, reaching into his feast bag for another piece of 
toast. "You'd think they'd let me in -this- year. But no... maybe... maybe 
they just don't care about me."
    "Don't say that!" yelled Lucas at his Christmas Doppleganger. "Of 
course they care about you! How could they not? They consider you a fellow 
ally of justice!"
    "Button it, kid! If he hears us, we might wind up changing the present 
even more than it already has been!"
    "But I thought we were insubsta--"
    "For the last flipping time, SHUT UP and watch the show!"

***

    "Elvis," moaned Pie-Plate Face Man, staring up at the stars above. 
"Have I wasted my life? Have I wasted my potential? If I can't even cage a 
measly Christmas invitation to my greatest friends' party, could it be 
that I'm... a joke? Oh Elvis, please, if you're up there send me a sign!"

***

    Far above, the King heard Pie-Plate Face Man's plea. With the tender 
lovin' munificence for which he was known, Elvis began to order his wisest 
and most skilled angel to minister to the distraught man in his hour of 
need.
    Then...
    "Fox? Are you listening? We could totally cut a deal..."
    And so from the skies fell Clarence.

***

    "Look! It's Benny Hill!" cried Lucas.
    "No, that's Clarence. He's an angel. Remember? He fell on you?"
    "That was in the alternate present."
    "And it happened in this present, too. You don't remember being 
squashed by a falling angel? That doesn't ring a wing-granting bell?"
    "Noooo... should it?"
    "Tonight really shook you up, didn't it kid?"

***

    "Hastur? Hastur? Has--OOOF!"
    "Hey there... sorry to just drop in unannounced," slurred Clarence, as 
he hefted his way off of Pie-Plate Face Man. "Elvish hash heard yer 
plea... and he'sh shent me t'help! Ssssho... what'cher problem, shrimp?"
    "Uhm... who are you?"
    "Ishn't it obvioush? I'm an angel! An angel of Elvish, that'sh who! And 
on thish Chrishtmash eve, I'm here to show you the true meaning of... 
of... what the Hell(tm) -am- I here to show you, anyhow?"
    "That wasn't... in the briefing?"
    "Briefing? Oh! Hunh. One day I should shtay around for that, shouldn't 
I?"
    "...of course. Ah, well, I'm... wondering something. I'm wondering 
about... I'm wondering... what am I good for? What have I done with my 
life as a superguy?"
    "Oh, well, that'sh eashy. Jack shquat, that'sh what."
    "Excuse me?"
    "What, that washn't clear enough for you? Nothin'. Nada. Zero. Zip. In 
your whole life, your bashic contribution to the world addsh up to a great 
big ol' gooshe-egg."
    "I find that really hard to believe... that and the fact that you're an 
angel..."
    "Oh, sho I should -prove- it to ya, hunh? Well, time fer ol' Clarence 
to give ya a twofer! I'll prove you're a total losher -and- that I'm an 
angel all at onsh! I'm going to grant you your wish!"
    "That... Gwen Steffani shows up and professes her undying love for me 
on Christmas Day?"
    "No. The other Chrishtmash wish you made. I'm gonna show you what it 
would'a been like if you had never been born!"
    "I... never wished for that--"
    "And sho it's done! Pie-Plate Face Man, now the world is as if you had 
never seen life!"
    "I'm telling you, I never wished for that! For the love of Elvis, does 
rotgut make you deaf?"
    "Hunh?"
    "I don't want to not have been born! I want to live!"
    "Hunh! Well that wash fasht! Now I'm gonna get my wingsh fer shure!"
    "No... -no-. You didn't solve my problems, you just need to make it so 
you're not making my problems worse!"
    "Fine... fine." sighed Clarence, hiccuping as he restored the fabric of 
creation to normal. "Sho what -can- I schow you? To help turn your life 
around and make you happy'n'shuch?"
    "Maybe... wait. I know. Benny?"
    "Clarence!"
    "Sorry. Clarence... could you show me what the world would've been like 
if I'd never donned the pie plate in the first place?"
    "...hrrrrm. Are you shure? Maybe I could show you a card trick 
inshtead..."
    "How would that help?"
    "I pull a mean bunny outta a hat..."
    "Is something wrong, Clarence?"
    "Well, no, not really.. it'sh jusht that... makin' someone not be born, 
we do that alla the time. Sho it'sh become schtandard. It'sh short of a 
pre-programmed celestial macro. For more schpecific casesh, like this one, 
I've gotta sober up and do some programming."
    "Fine... c'mon. There's an all-night cafe down the street. Let's get 
some coffee into you..."

***

     Several cups later...

    "That turned the trick!" exclaimed Clarence, as he slammed down his 
third cup of dark, rich coffee. "I can think again and now I'm only seeing 
one of you! So with a wave of my hands... voila! It's as if you'd never 
been born!"
    "For the LOVE OF ELVIS, Clarence, that's not my wish! I wanted to know 
what would happen if I'd never put on the pie-plate to fight the good 
fight at the side of my allies!"
    "Are you sure? This 'not being born' thing is a whole lot easier on 
me..."
    Pie-Plate Face Man checked his pockets, then grimaced. "Well answer me 
this, oh angel of convenience. If I never lived, then how am I going to 
have money to pay for your coffee?"
    "Oh." Clarence paused. "That's a really good point." With a wave of his 
hands, he reset the fabric of space-time back to its original 
configuration. "So you wanted to see what life would be like if you never 
wore the mask... right." The angel produced a pad of paper and a pencil, 
beginning to scribble down lines of code. Pie-Plate Face Man leaned over 
to examine what the celestial fellow was writing.
    "Are you working in Fortran?"
    "Fortran? Pah! Hardly. I'm writing in the code that The Two Powers used 
when they defined the multiverse itself! The cornerstone of creation! The 
Language of the Sublime!"
    "Which is?"
    "LISP!"

***

    Some time (geeky) later...

    "I think I've got something that'll compile. I've sent it to the QA 
department and I should have it back any second no--aha! Here it is. We're 
ready."
    "So... they've got the bugs out of it?"
    "Well, they've got all the show-stoppers out. There might be one or two 
still there, but don't worry. I'm sure they won't do much to you if we hit 
one."
    "But just for the sake of argument... what -could- happen if, say, a 
non show-stopper bug accidentally creeped into the code?"
    "Again, nothing to worry about, not at all. The worst thing that could 
happen... the absolute worst, and this is the most -heinous- case 
scenario... is that a few minutes of your life might be hard to remember."
    "Well... that's... not too bad, I guess..."
    "On the other hand, it's also a teensy bit possible that you and 
everything you love might suddenly vanish from the space-time continuum, 
never to be seen again nor even be remembered by history..."
    "And.. you chose to mention that one second why, again?"
    "Ahem... right! It's running... history has been changed so that you've 
never donned the mask! What part of the world shall I show you first?"
    "Show me... show me the Tribe of Behn. Show me what they're doing right 
this minute in this terrible world where I was never their staunch ally!"
    "Right, kid! Waitress! Cheque please! And my coffee goes on the kid's 
bill!"

***

    One ethereal visit later...

    "Cheer up, kid," said Clarence, slapping Pie-Plate Face Man on the 
back. "It could be worse!"
    "How? How could it be worse?"
    "One of the founding tenants of Murphyism is that it could always be 
worse! So be grateful that it isn't!"
    "It's bad enough."
    "C'mon, they were having a good time! They were laughing and telling 
jokes and enjoying themselves..."
    "They were -happy-."
    "That's the spirit!"
    "They were happy despite me never having fought at their side! Nothing 
changed!"
    "Actually kid, I've been doing some checking up on you... are you sure 
you ever actually fought 'at their side'? As far as I can tell, you've 
just mostly been a big annoyance to them..."
    "I can't believe it... you were right... my life really did add up to a 
zero..."
    "I said that?"
    "Yeah, you did. When you came in... remember?"
    "No... no not really. But I was pretty drunk at the time. What else did 
I say?"
    "I don't... remember specifics, but you pretty much called me a loser."
    "Hunh. Yup, that sounds like me all right."
    Pie-Plate Face Man heaved a deep sigh. "Angel... show me me. Show me 
who I am now. Show me...the twisted, useless wreck of a person I become."
    "Why? There's a mirror right over there..."
    "I MEAN THE ME I TURN INTO IF I DON'T BECOME A SUPERGUY!"
    "-Oh-! Why didn't you say so in the first place, kid? Hang onto your 
pie plate... we're going to see your home!"

***

    "And that," said Beckett, as Clarence and Pie-Plate Face Man flew off 
in search of Lucas. "Is how the Noel Yggdrasil became corrupted. Upon 
seeing whom you had become without having donned the mask... er... 
pie-plate... you decided that you didn't want to ever ever ever ever go 
back to how you were. And that's a direct quote."
    "...uhm. But... why do I remember the old life and not my new and 
highly successful one?"
    "Oh, well, QA missed some of the bugs. Sad, really."
    "Was... was my old life that pathetic? Really? Have I been fooling 
myself all these years? Was I really that useless as a superguy? Did I 
really have that little of an effect on the people around me?"
    "Mmmmhmmm. I'm afraid the answer to all of that can be summed up with 
the words 'Hell(tm) yes'."
    "Then maybe... this was for the best. Thank you, spirit. I think you've 
shown me that I was in the right timeline all along."
    "Interesting thesis, kid. You're going to have tons of time to ponder 
it."
    "Hunh? Why?"
    "Well think it through. Now that we've located the source of the 
Christmas Paradox, it's time to eliminate the problem and put everything 
back the way it was supposed to be!"
    "No! No, you can't send me back there! You can't! I want to not have 
ever been a superguy! I want to not have ever been a superguy!"
    "Sorry kid, but this one isn't up for debate. Things have to go back to 
the way that they were... it's the unbreakable Law of Christmas. So stand 
still and take it like a man. Don't worry, this won't hurt me a bit..."
    "Wait... wait. Before I go back to being that loser I used to be, would 
you grant me one last wish? Just something to remember in my darkest hour 
so that I can go on despite the odds I've stacked up against myself?"
    "Hey, it's Christmas... so why not? What could it hurt. What's your 
wish?"
    "Could I see... I'd be so honoured to see... could I see the moment 
when you took on the mantle of the Spirit of Christmas Paradoxes Past?"
    "I think I underestimated you, kid. I see you have an appreciation for 
the more important events in history. Your wish is granted, Lucas. Take my 
hand and we'll go back to when it all started. Funny story about how I 
became in charge of Paradoxes Past, actually. There was this game of Rock, 
Scissors..."

***

    One Trip To The Past Where It All Started -- As wraiths, Able To See 
And Hear Things Of The Past But Unable To Affect Or Touch The Timestream 
Itself -- Later...


    "Paper," exclaimed the Former Spirit of Christmas Paradoxes Present, 
now Spirit of Christmas Paradoxes Past, as he examined his new robes of 
office. "I knew it was paper all along, but scissors were just... calling 
to me. You've done me a solid, kiddo. Without you, I'd have been stuck 
with the Present, and as Joseph is my witness, I don't know how I'd have 
stood that! I mean, I might've slacked off at my job or something! How can 
I ever repay you for what you've done?"
    "Well, there's one teensy little thing that you could do," said Lucas, 
rubbing his hands together. "Seems that I'm at the centre of a Christmas 
paradox. Could you maybe find it in your heart to... overlook it, just 
this once?"

***

    One overlooked Christmas paradox later...

    Lucas smiled as he walked into his palatial home, where he toiled 
endlessly to find new ways to make his fellow man's lot in life a little 
better each and every day. He laughed as he was surrounded by his 
children, who tugged at him and tickled, each one trying to win his 
attention. He reached down and snatched up his youngest -- tiny Timothy -- 
spinning him around in the air and laughing.
    "Lucas?" asked an angelic voice from upstairs. The formerly pie-plated 
man stared up at the vision of loveliness who descended the steps, her 
baby blue eyes for him and him alone. "Is that you?"
    "It's me, Gwen," he replied, stepping to embrace the love of his 
life... Gwen Crusher nee Stephano. Well, it was only two letters off... he 
could live with that. "I'm home."
    "I'm so glad, Lucas. I was worried. You were acting so strangely this 
morning..."
    "That's all over and done with. Really. Everything's going back to 
normal now. Ah, hon... what day is it?"
    Gwen's brow crinkled in surprise. "Silly... you know what day it is. 
It's Christmas Day, of course!"
    "Christmas Day... so the passage of time during temporal voyages really 
is arbitrary! The spirits were able to do it all to me in one night! And 
Beckett is totally full of shi--"
    "Hunh?"
    "Nothing. Absolutely nothing, dear." On a whim, Lucas reached over to 
the family Christmas tree to pluck from it a sprig of mistletoe. As he 
disengaged the parasitic plant, he accidentally brushed a bright, silver 
ornament which let out a gentle chime.
    "Daddy!" cried Timothy. "Teacher says that every time a bell rings, an 
angel gets his wings! And next week, she's going to teach Intelligent 
Design!"
    "You know, I have some pull with the spirits of temporal events... 
maybe I could do something about what the Harper government's doing to 
education... nah," said Lucas, shaking his head. "I guess I -shouldn't- 
mess with causality twice on the same Christmas. But you know what, little 
one?"
    "What? What?" cried his youngest, excitedly.
    "Next week, we're enrolling you in a private school! One that actually 
teaches real science!"
    "Yay! I love you, daddy!"
    "And I love you too, Timothy. Merry Christmas! Elvis bless us, one and 
all!"

***

    "I am Clarence!" cried the angel, his body now mercifully free of 
possessive ghosts. He rose unsteadily, wishing he had a nip of whisky with 
which to brace himself. "I've come to grant your wish! It will be as if 
you had never been bor--hey! He's buggered off! -Now- how am I supposed to 
get my Blue Suede Wings?"

***

This issue is mine, mine, mine and you can't have it. Nyah and copyright 
belongs to Frobozz/Chris Angelini, 2007. Mess with my legal rights and 
I'll send over Gggthstx to discuss 'fair use' with you. Email to 
frobozz at eyrie.org. Homepage at http://www.eyrie.org/~frobozz. Hey, how 
long before this becomes a holiday staple?


---
-Chris
frobozz at eyrie.org
http://www.eyrie.org/~frobozz

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