A Christmas Carol--the Vegan Edition

Preamble: There is little doubt that Charles Dickens wrote A Christmas Carol (1843) for meat-eaters (carnivores); notice, for example, how the blokes looking for alms at the beginning of the tale tell Scrooge they want to buy the poor "meat & drink." Note also how Scrooge says that there is more of "gravy than grave" in regards to the ghost of Jacob Marley (otherwise named in this story). And, as final proof that this is so, observe how sending the "prize turkey" to the Cratchits is, supposedly, the biggest blessing Scrooge can bestow.

You might even say that the tale is written primarily to people who aren't particularly concerned about what they eat and drink--in other words, people with bad dietary habits. If you doubt that, you need only consider the foods mentioned in the original tale:  "cold roast, mince-pies, cake, poultry, sucking-pigs, sausages, plum-puddings, beer, wine, etc."  The modern version of these foods include nitrate/nitrites preservative-laden processed "meat and drink"--the same meats that WHO has at last acknowledged as "carcinogenic"--in other words, they invoke (and rightly so) too much negativity to the nutritionally knowledgeable.   

What some people have failed to realize, though, is that better food choices (i.e., oysters, chestnuts, apples, oranges, pears, etc.) were also alluded to.  Cognizant that the latter were only included probably to appease those in society who advocated nutritious diets, it's perhaps prudent to re-write this story in a way that, for a much-needed change, puts the vegetarians & vegans (herbivores) at the center of attention. 

With that in mind, here is our more nutritious version of this beloved (and deservedly so), timeless story . . .

Once upon a time . . .

Surprisingly, it was rather foggy in London, England.  It must distinctly be understood that it was foggy, otherwise nothing good can come from this story. 

The second thing that must be understood (for anything "wonderful" to come from this story) is that Jacob Marshmallow was dead.  We might say that he was as dead as a doornail but perhaps a more modern approach would be to say that he was as dead as 8-track tapes, beepers, floppy discs, honest politicians, and, very soon, librarians (as a career choice). 

Did Evereating Scrooge know that Marshmallow was dead?  Well, since Marshmallow had never known what "living" was (being too occupied merely "existing" and hoarding things he wasn't going to take with him when he died), this was difficult to say.  Let's just say Scrooge had been told about his partner's official death & burial and leave it at that. 

Scrooge, now the sole owner of Scrooge & Marshmallow Loansharks, LLC, was still working on the Christmas Eve when our tale begins.  Why was he working so late on a day when many businesses closed early?  Let's just say that he was a bit of a skinflint; to put it more bluntly, Scrooge was obsessed with only one thing:  making and hoarding money. 

Like his low-life partner, you see, he just did not know what it meant to "live." In case anyone as clueless as he should be reading this, "living" is properly appreciating the world around you, doing for others whenever possible, living up to your commitments, laughing as often as possible (though never at the expense of others), making every day count (as if it were your last one on this earth), and always striving to make the world a better place for everyone. 

Neither Scrooge nor Marshmallow, though, knew anything about these things.  They were both cold-hearted, selfish, rude, self-absorbed, greedy, manipulative, uncaring, conceited, and foul-smelling creatures; as if these things were not enough, they both also suffered from stupendously offensive athletes foot, halitosis, poor health and obesity. 

As for the last two, they were no doubt the result of consuming too much processed and fast food; to be more specific, they were the victims of too much monosodium glutamate (MSG), high fructose corn syrup (HFCS), preservatives, genetically modified organisms (GMOs), brominated vegetable oil (BVO), partially hydrogenated oils, artificial sweeteners, obesogens, aluminum, carcinogens, mercury, lead, etc. 

Scrooge cared little about his poor dietary habits, though--unconcerned, as it were, that such was responsible, for the most part, for his partner's premature death.  That and the fact that neither was willing to spend much on coal (or a decent electric heater, for that matter), preferring instead to wallow in coldness, both metaphorically and literally, thereby unnecessarily opening themselves up for weather-related sickness.

"Stop that, sir, or you will feel the back end of my walking stick," Shouted Scrooge at his only employee, Bob Scratchett.  Bob had made the mistake of dangling his wayward hands over the candle on his desk, if only to steal a bit of warmth.  Acknowledging his selfishness, Bob immediately responded: "Sorry, Mr. Scrooge--it won't happen again.  As you have correctly pointed out, I can always thaw my hands out when I get back to the trailer park.  Very good of you to not dismiss me for my thoughtlessness. Thankee, mylord!"

It was at this point that Fred, the extremely handsome, affable and exceedingly-well-liked nephew to Mr. Scrooge popped in for a short visit.  "What's this, Bob Scratchett, what nonsense are you apologizing for this time?  Is the penny-pinching curmudgeon denying you the very basic right to stay minimally warm?" 

"Fred, you poor excuse of a nephew--what brings your carcass to my establishment?  Be off with you before I wake the magistrate up with a formal complaint against you!"

"Come now, Uncle Evereating, there's no need to be showing your fangs thus.  Have I ever asked you for a farthing?  I come seeking nothing but the earnest desire to wish you a very merry Christmas and to invite you to dine with us."

"And what have ye to be merry about, you penniless scoundrel?  Had you not married that trollop and obeyed my commandments, I might have seen after your interests.  But you had to have your way, didn't you.  Well, I wrote you off and, so, off with you--and, as to your 'merry Christmas'--to that I say 'Bad Hamburger!'" 

"Hamburger? What's that, Uncle?"

"Something I invented the other night--had a slice of rotted meat left from my nightly rations.  I put it between two pieces of stale bread.  I called the greasy, foul-smelling thing a 'hamburger.' So, in keeping with my views about Christmas, 'Bad Hamburger' to you, Sir!"

Seeing no point in continuing his attempts to reach so oblivious-to-camaraderie a chap, Fred decided to split.  On his way out, he engaged Bob Scratchett.  "So how fares your family, Bobby?  How are your brats? That frumpy wife of yours?  And how's the little crippled boy--Tiny Brains, is it?"

"They're all doing splendidly, Sir--thank you sportily for asking.  As for Tiny Brains, well, all that fast and public-school food has fried his brains.  All those neurotoxins and Excitotoxins, like MSG and Aspartame, have done my chit in; what brain cells these ubiquitous toxins left unscathed were then scorched by all them nasty vaccines the government has made mandatory.  We're thinking of scampering off to the United States--there's no such nonsense going on there, or so we hear.  England is becoming too totalitarian, if you asked me . . . "

"That's nonsense, Mr. Scratchett--all Englishmen are free," Mr. Scrooge piped in, "now get back to work or else!"

"Free to be slaves to the super-rich blood-suckers, " Bob Scratchett whispered as softly as he could.  "Thank you, Fred--a very merry Christmas to you and yours, sir." 

When Fred left, two portly panhandlers (at least in the eyes of someone as parsimonious as Scrooge) walked in; unfortunately for them, they had no idea they were stepping into a snake pit. 

"May we address you as Mr. Marshmallow or Mr. Scrooge," they asked after being shown in.

"By either or neither--state your business quickly--I am a busy man!"

"Sir, a few of us are endeavouring to buy the poor some tofu steaks and smoothies.  At this time there is great want; but, fortunately, there is also great generosity by good people like you.  What may we put you down for?"

"Nothing, sir.  Those in need can get themselves arrested, thereby scoring free meals and lodging.  Others can wait out the storm in hospitals, at insane asylums, in  military service, at Union workhouses or they can just run away with the circus."

"But, Mr. Scrooge, many people would rather die than avail themselves of any of those prospects."

"Well, then, they had better do it and thereby decrease the surplus population; good day, sirs--now get out!"

After they had left, Bob approached Mr. Scrooge about his wages; he also reminded him that he would want the day off tomorrow, in keeping with holiday traditions.

"A ludicrous reason to rob a man--you'd report me if I failed to pay you for a day's work but, on Christmas, you can reach into my pockets and steal a day's wages for no work.  It isn't fair, sir!"

"It's splendid proof of your great generosity, Mr. Scrooge."

"Bad Hamburger! Bob Scratchett.  I'm not generous--it's just I don't know how to stop the thievery without having to confront the authorities.  In this instance, they side with the thieves."

"Well, as wholesome as this conversation is, I think that I shall shove off, if you don't mind, Mr. Scrooge.  Merry Christmas."

Scrooge didn't return the greeting.  It was time for everyone to go home.

On his way home, Scrooge had several interesting encounters.  There was a storm brewing and, as such, wind, snow and flying debris added to the burdens of the fogginess.  In spite of this, though, people were out and about preparing for their Christmas festivities. 

Scrooge abhorred people.  They were mostly useless creatures flitting about aimlessly.  He might have wished them all to hell were it not for the fact that a great deal of them still owed him money.  They made as if they didn't see him (or ran for it) when he approached, but it was of no avail.

"You there," Scrooge shouted at a roasted chestnuts street vendor pretending not to see him, "you owe me three pounds three shillings.  Why didn't you come make your payment this evening?"

"On Christmas Eve, Governor?  I was constrained to think that your place of business was closed and, so, out of regard for your convenience in no doubt choosing to take the day off, I chose to forego such an act of discourtesy."

"How thoughtful of you, sir, to not want to disturb me in my hour of supposed celebratory indolence! But, inasmuch as you still owe me a payment, may I have it forthwith?"

The roasted chestnut vendor, whose name was Tom Jenkins, could not help looking forlorn.  "In exchange for granting me another month, how about if I provide you with roasted chestnuts for life?  You can pick them up on the way home every day.  How about it?"

"I accept your offer--but only for an additional 48 hours of credit--take it or leave it.  Sign here, you miserable sycophant!"

As Scrooge slithered further on, he met with more pathetic losers.  They all begged for more time or for some special arrangements.  Scrooge was equally unsympathetic to all.  In fact, he was planning to have a few of them arrested tomorrow (for non-payment of debt); others he planned to confiscate property from, if possible leaving them impecunious, homeless and without hope.

A homeless mother with 18 illegitimate brats to feed begged Scrooge for some help.  Scrooge stuck out his tongue at her and wagged it mockingly.  "Am I my brothel's keeper?" he scolded the saucy wench. 

Even a blind beggar couldn't stir anything humane out of Scrooge.  "Please, sir, I haven't eaten anything in three days.  Won't you feed a wandering, eyeless wayfarer?"

"Away with you, sir.  Having exhausted all possibilities of ever being of any use to anyone, wouldn't it be better if you just checked out of this amusement park of a world once and for all.  For my part, I see no reason for your existence--now leave me in peace!" 

Scrooge being so cold and unfeeling already, the weather, unsurprisingly, had little effect on him.  He made it home, therefore, with little trouble.

When Scrooge stood in front of his door, however, something weird occurred.  The knocker on his door, if you can believe it, took on the hoary form of his former business partner's face.  Aye, indeed, floating there in front of him was Marshmallow's ugly mug.  Then again, maybe it was just a passing fancy, a hallucination brought on by too much carbonated drink consumption. 

Dismissing it as a symptom of fatigue, Scrooge went to his room to prepare for bed.  While he made preparations, though, bells that had been silent since he had moved into this old house began to ring uncontrollably.  In addition to that, some thing was coming up the stairs, by all accounts dragging a heavy metal chain with it.

"Who or what are you?" whispered Scrooge when the creature finally invited itself into the room.

"In life I was your partner, Jacob Marshmallow."

"And what brings you here at this ungodly hour?  If you're looking for a loan, you'll have to come to the office next Monday.  Not that you'll get any special privileges from me, Jacob."

"Evereating, you're a nasty little fool," answered the ghost.  "I come to save you from the fate I could not myself escape." 

"What is that smell, Jacob, and what is that gigantic chain you pull?"

"The smell is my rotting flesh--even as spirits we can't escape what we are.  As for the chain, I wrought it link by heavy and painful link.  It's the evidence of a life spent in selfishness, lack of caring and complete disregard for what's most important.  Yours was this big and heavy 7 years ago when I kicked the bucket; it will be a ponderous burden when you die--unless you drastically change your ways. "

"A chain?--but you were such a good businessman, Jacob--not as good as me, but, still . . . what's more important than making money?"

"Mankind's welfare should have been our business, Evereating--as for money, it's best used for doing good, not for storing away.  We could have helped many people but, instead, we chose to make ourselves comfortable while others suffered all around us.  The reward for such selfish, uncaring lifestyle is eternal painfulness and discomfort.  I now suffer for my wrong choices in life."

"Okay, so you blew it, old friend--but what does that have to do with me?"

"I come so that you might, if at all possible, escape my pathetic fate; I bring the means by which to possibly effect the changes in you necessary for your redemption."

"Thank you , Jacob--you were always a good friend--a poor dresser, somewhat smelly, and worth taking advantage of, but a good friend in spite of all that. And how do you propose to save me from these events?"

"I'm going to send you 3 ghosts.  They will all visit you this evening, the first one getting here about 1 am.  They will help you, if you let them, see the errors of of your ways.  Ignore them, and you will seal your miserable fate."

"Couldn't you, instead, give me a self-help book or just let me watch a video on the subject?  This whole thing about 'ghosts' just doesn't appeal to me."

Jacob Marshmallow had a violent, noisy fit. He rattled his chains loudly until Evereating pleaded with him to stop.  Amazingly, Scrooge was only concerned about the ghost possibly keeping the neighbours up.

"Evereating Scrooge, you will be visited by three vegetarian ghosts--three ghostly carrots, to be exact.  The first one, the Ghost of Spoiled Carrots, will recount your past; the second, the Ghost of Fresh Carrots, will tell you where things stand as we speak; and the third, the Ghost of Carrots Yet To Be Planted, will give you a glimpse of the future, hopefully giving you a chance to change it, if you choose to and if the spirits are willing."

"Jacob, I wish I could say that I am glad to see you or that I am tickled pink at the prospect of your saving me from a harmful fate, but, to be sure, I am still wondering if this is all simply a food-poisoning episode.  Pray that I will wake up in time to get some medicine.  Inflicting some ghostly figures upon me is hardly conducive to my good health but, since you appear to be resolved in this matter, I will condescend to allow their visitations, though I fear I don't see how they could possibly make me a better, more successful human being--ask anyone at the Exchange, mind you . . . "

"Scrooge, you clueless buffoon, I leave you now.  These ghosts have their work cut out for them but, alas, it's worth a shot, eh?"  And with this the ghost was gone, leaving Scrooge to ponder on all this, which he did for a whole 2 minutes.  After that, he plunged into bed and into a fitful sleep. 

The Coming of "The Ghost of Spoiled Carrots"

When Scrooge awoke later that evening the clock was striking 1 am.  Naturally, that business with Marshmallow's ghost had been merely an unfortunate hallucination.  Scrooge was sure of it.  Accordingly, he was quite ready to fall into a deep slumber again.

And he would have had a voice from the adjoining room not beckoned to him rather loudly:  "Come here, Mr. Scrooge--don't keep me waiting!"

The chap sitting on a massive arboreal throne, although impressive-looking (for a hunter's convention), was hardly qualified for a Coca-Cola ad.  He wasn't, for example, wearing a red outfit; instead, he was wearing a large, furry robe, garlands and flowers, and a makeshift crown made from boughs, stems and leaves. 

"Who are you supposed to be, sir?" demanded Scrooge, as if he didn't know.  "Father Christmas?"

"I'm the Spirit of Spoiled Carrots--an ethereal representation of the Christmases in your past.  I endeavour to show you things you've forgotten in the hope of awaking you from your present indifference, stupour and disdain for the things that matter most."

"Such as . . . ?" challenged Scrooge.

"When your nephew, for example, came to bid you a merry Christmas you could have welcomed him with open arms and graciously accepted his invitation to dine with him and his wife.  But, instead, you acted like a bitter, ignorant curmudgeon.  You could have gone shopping with your underpaid slave Bob Scratchett in order to get things for his family you know he couldn't possibly afford but, instead, you went to feed your face with nutritionally-deficient fast food--selfish, clueless little imp that you are!"

"Now, now, spirit, I'll have you know I am a man of a generous spirit . . . "

"You a generous spirit?  No doubt you can't even spell the word.    Enough chit-chatting.  I'm  taking you back to your childhood--come hither."  And they were off, somehow finding themselves in a place where Scrooge used to play with other children--back then when life was an adventure, as opposed to being the chore it had lately become for him. 

Evereating watched his young counterpart frolicking and maneuvering all over the place.  Now ice skating, now playing "pin the tail on the donkey" (represented by the Lord Mayor of London himself) and now engaging in a messy but exceedingly-exciting snow fight.  That's right, Scrooge was, albeit a long time ago, capable of having fun.

Speaking of "fun," there was his sickly, Twinkie-eating sister Fun or, as some called her, "Funny."  She was always a fragile child on account of her bad diet, as well as her inclination to live a sedentary life.

"We're going to let you come home, Evereating--no more lunatic asylums for you.  We now know your ADD and ADHD were just Big Pharma-created conditions meant to skyrocket the sale of useless drugs like Prozac, Ritalin, etc.  No more mercury-laden, autism-causing vaccines and tooth fillings; no more BVO/HFCS/phosphoric acid-laden soft drinks; and no more nitrate-oozing processed meats.  All these things were making you wacky and that's why we couldn't tolerate you.  But now we know that it's wrong to treat children like experimental guinea pigs.  Come home, Evereating--we're ready to treat you like a human being again."

Scrooge loved his sister greatly.  As if reading his mind, the Spirit asked:  "Then why didn't you look after her son after promising on her deathbed that you would?" 

"I meant to but Fred, that exceedingly-handsome (as all persons named 'Fred' are wont to be) nephew of mine, married against my wishes.  For disobeying me, I disowned him"

"But you didn't keep your word to Funny--must you justify all your bad, ignoble decisions, Scrooge?"

Scrooge knew the spirit was right.  Accordingly, he bowed his head and made as if to cry.  "Oh, Funny, Funny--I'm so sorry for having failed you--and Fred.  Can you ever forgive me?"

Since things were getting too pathetic, the Spirit next took Scrooge to a Christmas party of long ago.  Scrooge was back at his old workplace. 

"Why  it's Mr. Feelgood and my co-worker Dirge Wilkins.  I adored Dirge--in a lugubrious kind of way--and I adored that old place where I learned my trade.  But, alas, they can neither see nor hear me, can they?"

It was a marvelous party.  People drank, danced and sang and the toils of work were, at least for the moment, forgotten.  It suddenly dawned on Mr. Scrooge what a dreadful place of work he provided for his sole employee--compared, that is , with what Mr. Feelgood  had provided for him.  The thought sickened him to the core.

"We have one more stop," said the Spirit of Spoiled Carrots.

Immediately, they were at a place Scrooge would never have agreed to go, had he been asked.  It was the place wherein he had let go the only woman he had loved.

Bellpepper was her name. She was a vegan--not that Scrooge had held that against her.  Anyway, that's not the reason he had let her go.  She forced him to make a choice between her and money and he, fool that he was, chose money. 

"Spirit, take me from here--I can bear this no more.  Bellpepper was the love of my life and I foolishly let her go."

"You loved that pretty vegan, then?"

"In time I might have become a vegan myself--but meat and money are difficult to give up--had I the opportunity to make that decision again, I'm sure I could have given up one of those two m's . . . . "

"Scrooge, you're hopeless . . . " And with that the Spirit was gone.

Coming of the Spirit of Fresh Carrots

Again Scrooge awoke.  Again a spirit took him places.  They were now visiting the Scratchetts. 

There was a meagre meal on the table.  Skimpily-dressed and underfed members of  the family all eyed the three pigeons that took the place of a turkey.  This was little meat indeed for 2 adults and 9 children.  Fortunately, there were things to supplement the meat--i.e., mud pies, fried potato peelings, rat soup, and blood pudding.  Yummy!

"A toast for the father of this feast--my slavemaster the honourable Evereating Scrooge!"

Everyone made gagging noises.  "We'll not drink a toast to such a low-life, parsimonious brigand, my dear!" cried his wife.

"Mind the children, beloved--it's Christmas."

"The father of this feast is you, my dear Bob--but, for your sake, we'll drink to his health."

Tiny Brains, their young boy looked especially sickly, notwithstanding the jovial festivities. 

"What will happen to the crippled boy," asked Evereating. 

"What does it matter, Scrooge?  If he's going to die, then maybe it's best that he do so--thereby decreasing the surplus population."

From here, the Spirit of Fresh Carrots took Evereating to his nephew's Christmas gathering.  People were laughing, enjoying the evening and having a grand time. A dark cloud, however, was momentarily cast on the festivities when the name "Scrooge" was mentioned.

"I know that he's a despicable, heartless scumbag, " Fred was saying to his guests.

Scrooge took this opportunity to defend his neglect of his nephew.  "See, the boy only has disdain for me!"

"Not so fast, Scrooge--wait to see what he says next."

"But, in spite of that, I rather like my uncle.  Deep inside that bank vault where there used to be a heart is something good dying to come out.  Given the chance, my uncle could be the kindest man on earth--it's just he's forgotten how good it can feel to be good and kind.  I keep waiting for something to shake him out of his present cocoon and, no doubt, something will in the future.  Besides, if I can love someone as despicable as he is, then I have proven that I am a gracious man.  In a roundabout way, my uncle is responsible, therefore, for my being gracious."

"See there, ghost," commented Scrooge, "my nephew admits I have done him some good.  That's got to be worth something, eh?"

The spirit frowned.  And then he was also gone.

The Coming of the Spirit of Carrots Not Yet Planted

This spirit was different than the rest--that much was clear.  For one thing, his face was covered; also, he didn't speak but, rather, only pointed and made gestures. 

They found themselves at funeral gathering.  The people there were talking--rather irreverently, one might add--about a recently deceased person. 

"It's a shame we're not all dancing and making merry.  With his death went much debt--the two will surely make good companions on their way to hell."

Two other people laughed.  Everyone here looked familiar.  Whoever this clown was that had just died was incredibly unpopular and highly-disliked.  What a pity, thought Scrooge.

"That brigand left his huge fortune to no one, as if he thought he would live forever; didn't he have family?"

"Only demons, I profess," answered a blind beggar; Scrooge vaguely remember having seen him but he knew not where.

"Good riddance, I say," shouted an angry man.  Wasn't this the roasted chestnut street vendor who still owed him a good sum? 

"Spirit, who are these ill-bred ruffians maligning this poor dead soul?  And who is this no-doubt-innocent receiver of such ridiculous accusations?"

The spirit then took Scrooge to a lonely burial plot at a local cemetery for paupers.  His bony finger pointed to a grave marker in particular.  Upon approaching the marker Scrooge viewed  his own name imprinted.  The only thing was the grave was till empty.  Many questions flooded his mind. 

Why was his name on this marker?  Was he, after all, the man those scorners were berating incessantly?  Did this mean he was about to die before being given a chance to mend his ways?  If so, why did these spirits go through all this trouble?  Was he going to be given a chance to fix things?  More importantly, why had they gotten a grave site for him at a pauper's cemetery? 

Scroogge turned to ask the questions but, instead, found himself being shoved toward the empty grave.  As hard as he pushed backwards, he could not resist his being pushed forward.  Suddenly, he was falling into a seemingly bottomless hole.  He kept falling and falling, all the while flailing his arms and legs like a madman who'd lost all hope.  Pleaded he with the spirits to let him come back so that he could change things but they seemed to be gone forever. 

All that was left was a rotten-egg smelly nothingness, followed by an unbearable heat that seemed too much like the inside of a furnace.  He was hopelessly falling into deathdom and there was nothing and no one that could help him now . . . if only he'd been given a second chance . . .

His deathdom nightmare seemed to last forever but, alas, no sooner had he given up all hope than he found himself, miraculously, back in his bedroom. 

Scrooge couldn't believe his eyes or his senses.  He wasn't dead and, more importantly, he was apparently indeed going to be given a second chance to live a proper life. 

After jumping up and down like a giddy seven-year-old for several minutes, Scrooge ran to the window.  He asked a passing boy what day it was.  After learning that it was still Christmas day, he went about running a number of errands.  Firstly, he sent the Scratchett family a care package that included the 60-pound turkey (no doubt made so using monosodium glutamate & growth hormones at a local factory farm) hanging at the local butcher's. 

Then he roamed the streets looking for people who owed him money.  To every single one of them, he officially declared the note "paid!"  These people cried when they heard the news, as if a great big boulder had been lifted off their shoulders.  Some of them went so far as to kiss Scrooge's feet but, to his credit, Scrooge was satisfied with a mere "thank you."

After this, Scrooge visited his nephew and even offered to pay for the whole feast, if they agreed to serve only nutritious food.

Scrooge, in keeping with his new more-generous, kinder persona, donated much of his wealth to worthy charitable causes.  He, for instance, started giving large sums of money to groups fighting against GMOs, factory farms, depopulation agendas, the ubiquitous obsessive use of (mostly unnecessary) pesticides, the fluoridation of municipal water (so the mining industry didn't have to pay for disposal of their toxic waste fluoride-containing by-products), the use of the public as guinea pigs for vaccines that had little to do with disease prevention, and the deliberate dumming down of young people in order to get them ready for the re-establishment in Europe and the US of the feudal system of the Dark Ages--when there were only two main classes:  the nobles (the rich) and the serfs (the always-sick, chemically-kept-stupid poor).   

When Bob Scratchett showed up for work late after Christmas, Scrooge had some fun with him. 

"Why are you late, sir?"

"It won't happen again, Mr. Scrooge; please don't force me, yet again, to eat disease-promoting factory farm meat, drink unfiltered fluoridated water, or consume autoimmune/cancer-inducing pesticide-oozing Big Food produce as punishment for my transgressions. I beg for mercy!"

"Bob, I won't tolerate this anymore.  Accordingly, I am going to raise your salary by three pence a week!"

"Like that's going to help me any, you miserable skinflint," whispered Bob, almost audibly.

"Enough with the jesting, Bob--let me now get serious.  I'm truly sorry for my past infractions.   I will help you and your family.  We will take Tiny Brains off all those drugs and school/fast food that caused his brain to shrink.  I will also see to it that your family only eats nutritious, organically-grown food, regardless of the cost.  We will also find them a nice naturopathic-medicine professional so that we can wean you guys off the made-sick-by-Big-Food-so-that-Big-Pharma-can-keep-you-taking-expensive-overprescribed-useless-drugs sadistic-yet-highly-profitable cycle.  As vegans, we will all learn to grow our own pesticide-free foods, as well as to avoid at all cost meat unnecessarily injected with pesticides, growth hormones and antibiotics.  In essence, we will all start eating right again."

And, because of all these changes, everyone lived happily ever after.

Copyright, 2015.  Fred Fletcher.  All rights reserved.