“No, seriously. You run like a bear, sort of hunched and lumbering along. Pope Clement VI ran like a bear, too, you know. I would chase him for hours around the place, just to watch him run. Man were those good times!”
Forgive me, my invisible friends, for putting off something as timely as my heart warming Christmas story, but I have been visited by the Ghost of Christmas Bubonic Plague, or so he claims. Personally, I don’t think he’s quite that ominous, but nevertheless seems to be able to conjure up quite a bit of pressure and snot inside my head and follows me around the house constantly. I consulted Mr. Cooper’s ghost (who continues to remain trapped in the pickle jar), and he says he’s never met this particular shade, but has heard of him. “That one’s got the attention span of a mayfly. He’ll be out of here in a day or two. Maybe three,” Mr. Cooper said.
“I thought mayflies lived one day, not two or three?”
“Give me a break. There’s no money on the other side, you know. It’s all true, you can’t take it with you. But we make up for it with analogy. Analogy crosses over.”
“He’s right,” the Ghost of Christmas Bubonic Plague said. “Right as Pope Clement VI’s rotting birth control policy.”
”That’s your analogy?”
“I’m more of a take action kind of ghost. Behold!” His hands and shoulders shook around a bit and my head throbbed even harder. My nose started to drip, forcing me to run for the bathroom for a tissue.
“Ha. You run like a bear,” roared the Ghost of Christmas Bubonic Plague. He seemed to enjoy his job.
“Another analogy?”
“No, seriously. You run like a bear, sort of hunched and lumbering along. Pope Clement VI ran like a bear, too, you know. I would chase him for hours around the place, just to watch him run. Man were those good times!”
“When do you think you’ll be leaving? I have a Christmas story I’d like to get to.”
“Day or two. I have no interest in hearing your Christmas story, thanks to him.”
“Who’s that?”
“Christ! Who else you think I’d be talking about? Wandering around all day long, going on and on about being crucified. And let me tell you, that guy is one analogy talking fool. One after another until you can’t hardly make sense of what the guy’s saying. Absolutely drives me nuts.”
“Crucifixion! He should spend some time trapped in this jar,” Mr. Cooper’s ghost said. “Trapped! Like air freshener scent! I’m afraid I’m growing weak in here.”
“I just want to tell a story about my friend, Fred.”
The Ghost of Christmas Bubonic Plague just shook his head back and forth, making my head pound.
“Don’t we all, kid. Don’t we all.”