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A Nextmas Carol: Four
Posted by: Jon (---.proxy.aol.com)
Date: December 15, 2002 02:05PM
<HTML><B>4. Christmas Future</B>
The next time Marley returned to Scrooge’s chamber, the bed was empty.
“Damn him, he’s run off on us! Take us back half an hour, Diz.”
But before Marley’s new companion could act on this instruction, Scrooge entered the room.
“Where you been?” Marley asked, annoyed.
“I been to take a leak, if you must know. Guy gets to my age, you tend to go a lot.”
“Ain’t that the truth. Well, we’re not here to swap prostate stories.”
“No, let me guess,” Scrooge said, climbing back into bed, “you’re here to show me Christmas Future, am I right?”
“Yeah, you’re right. Diz here is from Downstream. Let’s roll.”
The scene that met their eyes resembled an illustration from Dante’s Inferno; the street on which they gazed was filled with roaring machines, each belching out foul smoke as it inched along in the almost stationary traffic. Gaudy lights picked out the grey concrete facades of the shops, in a desperate attempt to brighten their grim aspect. Treacly music oozed from loudspeakers; the hurrying shoppers took no notice of it, rushing madly from shop to shop, festooned with bags and encumbered with bawling children. Groups of noisy drunks staggered across the pavement, shouting obscenities at passers by. In the dark corners of alleyways, and in the doorways of boarded up shops, thin, hopeless faces could be seen, watching the roaring tide of humanity through cynical and haunted eyes. Nobody laughed; nobody stopped to talk with anyone they met; all were rushing about as if propelled by some madness; only the silent watchers in the dark were still.
“This is how it will be,” Marley said gloomily. “All Christmas is now is an excuse for getting drunk and eating too much. All these damned souls are racing to spend money they haven’t got to give people they don’t like things they don’t need. Christmas is the number one season for suicide, burglary, wife-battering and homeless dogs. There is no more Santa Claus, even; nobody will let their children speak to strange men, let alone sit in their lap. Goddamit, there isn’t even any snow anymore. This is an age of cynicism, greed, selfishness and cruelty. There is no hope, only despair; and even those who make vast profits every December don’t really enjoy their wealth. Why, it isn’t even called Christmas anymore, just in case some little chink of real meaning might pierce the tinsel and the glitter and the advertising slogans. They call it ‘Winterval’, would you believe. And everybody shops in the same chain-stores, and everybody buys the same brands, because there are no local shops and no local produce any more; there are no localities, no communities; nobody speaks to their neighbours, nobody goes out, nobody so much as reads; everybody stays home and watches TV and plays shoot-em-up games on computers. All the world is one big suburb, with only shopping malls in between. Everybody thinks everything they hear is a lie, and that everything is a cheat, and they are not wrong, because it mostly is. This is your future, Scrooge; made in your image. This is how it will be if you don’t change your lifestyle.”
“Well, I agree this is the pits,” Scrooge replied, “but you said the world was going to
end.”
“And so it will, Eb, so it will; how long do you think this madness can last? I’m not allowed to know what happens, but if you ask me they either choke on their own greed or the three-fourths of the world that doesn’t have enough to eat rise up and end it all out of sheer desperation.”
Scrooge shrugged.
“So? By your account the world is better off without such people. I have no stake in this future; let it end, for me.” Marley nodded.
“Fair comment, Eb, fair comment, but the thing is, it can be different. Show him, Diz.”
And with that the scene changed once more. Before them now lay a village, set high in a hillside, wreathed about with snow all deep and crisp and even. All was calm, and peaceful, and even the Christmas lights that decorated the houses were restrained and tasteful.
“This,” Marley told him, “is the other future; the one where Tim’s daughter is born and grows up, and sets in motion a chain of events that eventually leads to the world you see before you. This is a world where people don’t hurry; where making a fast buck is very low down on the list of priorities; a world where people take their time. It is also a world where people read a lot. These facts may be connected. It is not perfect, because human beings never are, but if you want one word to describe it all, that word would be ‘gentle’.” Scrooge made a rude noise, and supplied one word of his own to describe it. Marley sighed.
“Well, maybe it isn’t enough just for me to tell you. Let’s go to church.”
“Church?” Scrooge said, startled. “I’ve never been inside a church in my life! I don’t take no stock in religion, no way.”
“Nobody’s asking you to, Eb. I just want you to hear some stuff, OK? Take us in, Diz.” And the focus of the vision changed, and moved down to close in on the little village church. People were walking briskly toward it through the snow, couples hand in hand, families and friends in little groups, waving and calling out greetings as they went. Inside the church it was warm and bright and cheerful, and people stood around talking, many with drinks in their hands, and others eating from a buffet. Marley took a glass of wine off the buffet table as Scrooge looked about him.
“This isn’t right,” he said. “There are people here who shouldn’t be here.” Marley grinned.
“Why should you care?” he asked. “You don’t take no stock in religion, remember?”
“Maybe not, but I know what’s fitting. You can’t tell me that guy’s a regular churchgoer!” And he pointed at a large gentleman with a flowing beard, wearing a turban.
“Maybe not, but this isn’t any kind of a religious service, Eb. This is a community event; they just have it in the church because that’s the largest available space. And in this world, Eb, nobody cares about the colour of Mr. Singh’s skin or what religion he is. He’s a valued member of the community, that’s all.” Scrooge grunted. Then he started, as his gaze landed on somebody else.
“Holy cow, Jake, there’s two men kissing over there! In public! You can’t tell me that’s right?”
“Why not? I told you, this is a gentle and relaxed kind of world. Nobody cares about that sort of stuff anymore. Nobody has to sneak off to Morocco anymore, either. Look about you, Eb; this is the kind of Christmas everybody dreams about, not like the ones we used to know. And now I really will shock you; one of those two guys is the minister. Listen to him.”
The one Marley pointed out as the minister stood up on a pew and called for attention.
“Welcome all,” he said, “to our annual Christmas get-together. Miles and I hope you’re all enjoying yourselves. Now I know I’m off duty tonight, but I’d just like to say a little about Christmas. I promise I shan’t drag religion into it.” There was a quiet laugh at this remark. “Christmas,” went on the minister, “is when we celebrate the end of another year and also when we celebrate the most important things in our lives. And top of the list of these things are the two reasons why Christmas exists in the first place. So, friends and neighbours, fill your glasses and drink with me; to Love and Peace; long may we enjoy them.” The toast was returned, and then the minister stepped down, and the party resumed.
Back in Scrooge’s bedroom, Marley fixed his former partner with a steely gaze.
“So?” he said.
“So, what?” Scrooge replied. “That was very cosy and heart-warming, Jake, but it don’t change my mind by one iota. The world ends. I’m very sorry for it, but it’s not my fault.” At this Marley’s patience finally gave out. He swore, and tore his hat off, and stamped on it, and called Scrooge a lot of very rude names.
“Goddamn you, Eb,” he cried, in a rage, “ain’t you got no more conscience than a mudworm? Are you going to lie there and blithely condemn the world to a horrible end just because you are too damn selfish and lazy to mend your rotten, mean, petty ways?”
“Yes,” replied Scrooge. Marley’s eyes bugged out, and Scrooge thought he was going to have a fit.
“I do not believe you, Ebenezer Scrooge! You mean to tell me that you will just stand by and allow such misery to happen? The four world wars? The Great Famine? The Return of the Black Death? The Stock Market Disaster? The Celine Dion tragedy? The – “
“Hold up, Jake. What was that last one? How was that a disaster?”
“Celine Dion? She <I>was</I> the disaster.”
“No, no, not her. The stock market thing.”
“Greatest stock crash in history, Eb. Billions wiped out. Thousands commit suicide.”
“Does that happen in my lifetime?”
“Why, yes, I do believe it does.”
“Godammit, Jake, why didn’t you <I>say</I>? Of course I’ll change my ways, if it means I don’t get wiped out in the crash! What do I have to do?”
<B>5. Scrooge Reformed</B>
Imagine what a to-do there was when Ebenezer Scrooge turned up at Bob Cratchit’s house clutching a large dressed goose! Mrs. Cratchit took one look at the enormous bird, and said -
“Take that goddamn thing away, for crysake! We’re vegetarian!”
“Oh,” said Scrooge, disappointed. “I thought you’d like it. Sorry. Look, why I’ve come is to apologise to you and to Bob for my behaviour in the past. Um – Bob can have until New Year’s Day off, and, and, er – he can have a raise, too.”
“Ten percent, and a share in the profits,” Mrs. Cratchit said promptly.
“Eight, and I’ll think about it.”
“Done. Was there anything else?”
“Yes. Yes, there was. Can I see Tim, please?”
“What in hell for?”
“I have some good news for him – and for all of us!”
So Tim was fetched in, stumping on his crutches bravely, a sight to bring a tear to the eye of the hardest heart.
“Well, tiny Tim,” Scrooge said, beaming, “and how are you?”
Tim fixed Scrooge with a baleful eye, and spoke.
“It is my considered opinion that you have a face like a fish,” he said.
“Er – he hates people remarking on his size,” Bob put in. “He’s kind of sensitive about it.”
“Oh. I meant no harm. Look, er, Tim, I have some news that may cheer you up. Apparently there is a treatment available for your condition, and I have booked a place for you with the finest doctors in the land, and they tell me there is an excellent chance of you making a full recovery. Now, what do you think of that?”
“Does that mean I get to go to hospital and boss nurses around?”
“Er, yes, I daresay it does.”
“Cool.”
After Scrooge had left, the Cratchits poured themselves a celebratory drink.
“What’s got into the old coot, do you think?” Mrs. Cratchit asked.
“Maybe he’s finally gone loopy. I should care. Did you get it all in writing?”
“Sure did. Say, if he carries on like this, maybe you’ll get mentioned in his will.”
“Could be. Better be nice to him, then. Well; here’s to Scrooge, and a decent salary!”
“Here’s to it! Now we’ve got money coming in, what say we have a party? We’ll invite all our friends, and the kids can invite all theirs, and we’ll have a good old time.”
“Sounds neat. Let’s do it.”
“I haven’t got any friends,” Tim remarked, gloomily.
“Oh, honey, that’s just ‘cos you don’t get out much. Tell you what, I’ll invite little Wednesday Horseposture. You’ll like her.”
“OK,” said Tim.
“And I’ll invite Uncle Tod,” said Bob, “and we can play charades!”
Tim shook his head.
“He’s too good at it,” he observed. “Tod guess us, every one.”</HTML>
The next time Marley returned to Scrooge’s chamber, the bed was empty.
“Damn him, he’s run off on us! Take us back half an hour, Diz.”
But before Marley’s new companion could act on this instruction, Scrooge entered the room.
“Where you been?” Marley asked, annoyed.
“I been to take a leak, if you must know. Guy gets to my age, you tend to go a lot.”
“Ain’t that the truth. Well, we’re not here to swap prostate stories.”
“No, let me guess,” Scrooge said, climbing back into bed, “you’re here to show me Christmas Future, am I right?”
“Yeah, you’re right. Diz here is from Downstream. Let’s roll.”
The scene that met their eyes resembled an illustration from Dante’s Inferno; the street on which they gazed was filled with roaring machines, each belching out foul smoke as it inched along in the almost stationary traffic. Gaudy lights picked out the grey concrete facades of the shops, in a desperate attempt to brighten their grim aspect. Treacly music oozed from loudspeakers; the hurrying shoppers took no notice of it, rushing madly from shop to shop, festooned with bags and encumbered with bawling children. Groups of noisy drunks staggered across the pavement, shouting obscenities at passers by. In the dark corners of alleyways, and in the doorways of boarded up shops, thin, hopeless faces could be seen, watching the roaring tide of humanity through cynical and haunted eyes. Nobody laughed; nobody stopped to talk with anyone they met; all were rushing about as if propelled by some madness; only the silent watchers in the dark were still.
“This is how it will be,” Marley said gloomily. “All Christmas is now is an excuse for getting drunk and eating too much. All these damned souls are racing to spend money they haven’t got to give people they don’t like things they don’t need. Christmas is the number one season for suicide, burglary, wife-battering and homeless dogs. There is no more Santa Claus, even; nobody will let their children speak to strange men, let alone sit in their lap. Goddamit, there isn’t even any snow anymore. This is an age of cynicism, greed, selfishness and cruelty. There is no hope, only despair; and even those who make vast profits every December don’t really enjoy their wealth. Why, it isn’t even called Christmas anymore, just in case some little chink of real meaning might pierce the tinsel and the glitter and the advertising slogans. They call it ‘Winterval’, would you believe. And everybody shops in the same chain-stores, and everybody buys the same brands, because there are no local shops and no local produce any more; there are no localities, no communities; nobody speaks to their neighbours, nobody goes out, nobody so much as reads; everybody stays home and watches TV and plays shoot-em-up games on computers. All the world is one big suburb, with only shopping malls in between. Everybody thinks everything they hear is a lie, and that everything is a cheat, and they are not wrong, because it mostly is. This is your future, Scrooge; made in your image. This is how it will be if you don’t change your lifestyle.”
“Well, I agree this is the pits,” Scrooge replied, “but you said the world was going to
end.”
“And so it will, Eb, so it will; how long do you think this madness can last? I’m not allowed to know what happens, but if you ask me they either choke on their own greed or the three-fourths of the world that doesn’t have enough to eat rise up and end it all out of sheer desperation.”
Scrooge shrugged.
“So? By your account the world is better off without such people. I have no stake in this future; let it end, for me.” Marley nodded.
“Fair comment, Eb, fair comment, but the thing is, it can be different. Show him, Diz.”
And with that the scene changed once more. Before them now lay a village, set high in a hillside, wreathed about with snow all deep and crisp and even. All was calm, and peaceful, and even the Christmas lights that decorated the houses were restrained and tasteful.
“This,” Marley told him, “is the other future; the one where Tim’s daughter is born and grows up, and sets in motion a chain of events that eventually leads to the world you see before you. This is a world where people don’t hurry; where making a fast buck is very low down on the list of priorities; a world where people take their time. It is also a world where people read a lot. These facts may be connected. It is not perfect, because human beings never are, but if you want one word to describe it all, that word would be ‘gentle’.” Scrooge made a rude noise, and supplied one word of his own to describe it. Marley sighed.
“Well, maybe it isn’t enough just for me to tell you. Let’s go to church.”
“Church?” Scrooge said, startled. “I’ve never been inside a church in my life! I don’t take no stock in religion, no way.”
“Nobody’s asking you to, Eb. I just want you to hear some stuff, OK? Take us in, Diz.” And the focus of the vision changed, and moved down to close in on the little village church. People were walking briskly toward it through the snow, couples hand in hand, families and friends in little groups, waving and calling out greetings as they went. Inside the church it was warm and bright and cheerful, and people stood around talking, many with drinks in their hands, and others eating from a buffet. Marley took a glass of wine off the buffet table as Scrooge looked about him.
“This isn’t right,” he said. “There are people here who shouldn’t be here.” Marley grinned.
“Why should you care?” he asked. “You don’t take no stock in religion, remember?”
“Maybe not, but I know what’s fitting. You can’t tell me that guy’s a regular churchgoer!” And he pointed at a large gentleman with a flowing beard, wearing a turban.
“Maybe not, but this isn’t any kind of a religious service, Eb. This is a community event; they just have it in the church because that’s the largest available space. And in this world, Eb, nobody cares about the colour of Mr. Singh’s skin or what religion he is. He’s a valued member of the community, that’s all.” Scrooge grunted. Then he started, as his gaze landed on somebody else.
“Holy cow, Jake, there’s two men kissing over there! In public! You can’t tell me that’s right?”
“Why not? I told you, this is a gentle and relaxed kind of world. Nobody cares about that sort of stuff anymore. Nobody has to sneak off to Morocco anymore, either. Look about you, Eb; this is the kind of Christmas everybody dreams about, not like the ones we used to know. And now I really will shock you; one of those two guys is the minister. Listen to him.”
The one Marley pointed out as the minister stood up on a pew and called for attention.
“Welcome all,” he said, “to our annual Christmas get-together. Miles and I hope you’re all enjoying yourselves. Now I know I’m off duty tonight, but I’d just like to say a little about Christmas. I promise I shan’t drag religion into it.” There was a quiet laugh at this remark. “Christmas,” went on the minister, “is when we celebrate the end of another year and also when we celebrate the most important things in our lives. And top of the list of these things are the two reasons why Christmas exists in the first place. So, friends and neighbours, fill your glasses and drink with me; to Love and Peace; long may we enjoy them.” The toast was returned, and then the minister stepped down, and the party resumed.
Back in Scrooge’s bedroom, Marley fixed his former partner with a steely gaze.
“So?” he said.
“So, what?” Scrooge replied. “That was very cosy and heart-warming, Jake, but it don’t change my mind by one iota. The world ends. I’m very sorry for it, but it’s not my fault.” At this Marley’s patience finally gave out. He swore, and tore his hat off, and stamped on it, and called Scrooge a lot of very rude names.
“Goddamn you, Eb,” he cried, in a rage, “ain’t you got no more conscience than a mudworm? Are you going to lie there and blithely condemn the world to a horrible end just because you are too damn selfish and lazy to mend your rotten, mean, petty ways?”
“Yes,” replied Scrooge. Marley’s eyes bugged out, and Scrooge thought he was going to have a fit.
“I do not believe you, Ebenezer Scrooge! You mean to tell me that you will just stand by and allow such misery to happen? The four world wars? The Great Famine? The Return of the Black Death? The Stock Market Disaster? The Celine Dion tragedy? The – “
“Hold up, Jake. What was that last one? How was that a disaster?”
“Celine Dion? She <I>was</I> the disaster.”
“No, no, not her. The stock market thing.”
“Greatest stock crash in history, Eb. Billions wiped out. Thousands commit suicide.”
“Does that happen in my lifetime?”
“Why, yes, I do believe it does.”
“Godammit, Jake, why didn’t you <I>say</I>? Of course I’ll change my ways, if it means I don’t get wiped out in the crash! What do I have to do?”
<B>5. Scrooge Reformed</B>
Imagine what a to-do there was when Ebenezer Scrooge turned up at Bob Cratchit’s house clutching a large dressed goose! Mrs. Cratchit took one look at the enormous bird, and said -
“Take that goddamn thing away, for crysake! We’re vegetarian!”
“Oh,” said Scrooge, disappointed. “I thought you’d like it. Sorry. Look, why I’ve come is to apologise to you and to Bob for my behaviour in the past. Um – Bob can have until New Year’s Day off, and, and, er – he can have a raise, too.”
“Ten percent, and a share in the profits,” Mrs. Cratchit said promptly.
“Eight, and I’ll think about it.”
“Done. Was there anything else?”
“Yes. Yes, there was. Can I see Tim, please?”
“What in hell for?”
“I have some good news for him – and for all of us!”
So Tim was fetched in, stumping on his crutches bravely, a sight to bring a tear to the eye of the hardest heart.
“Well, tiny Tim,” Scrooge said, beaming, “and how are you?”
Tim fixed Scrooge with a baleful eye, and spoke.
“It is my considered opinion that you have a face like a fish,” he said.
“Er – he hates people remarking on his size,” Bob put in. “He’s kind of sensitive about it.”
“Oh. I meant no harm. Look, er, Tim, I have some news that may cheer you up. Apparently there is a treatment available for your condition, and I have booked a place for you with the finest doctors in the land, and they tell me there is an excellent chance of you making a full recovery. Now, what do you think of that?”
“Does that mean I get to go to hospital and boss nurses around?”
“Er, yes, I daresay it does.”
“Cool.”
After Scrooge had left, the Cratchits poured themselves a celebratory drink.
“What’s got into the old coot, do you think?” Mrs. Cratchit asked.
“Maybe he’s finally gone loopy. I should care. Did you get it all in writing?”
“Sure did. Say, if he carries on like this, maybe you’ll get mentioned in his will.”
“Could be. Better be nice to him, then. Well; here’s to Scrooge, and a decent salary!”
“Here’s to it! Now we’ve got money coming in, what say we have a party? We’ll invite all our friends, and the kids can invite all theirs, and we’ll have a good old time.”
“Sounds neat. Let’s do it.”
“I haven’t got any friends,” Tim remarked, gloomily.
“Oh, honey, that’s just ‘cos you don’t get out much. Tell you what, I’ll invite little Wednesday Horseposture. You’ll like her.”
“OK,” said Tim.
“And I’ll invite Uncle Tod,” said Bob, “and we can play charades!”
Tim shook his head.
“He’s too good at it,” he observed. “Tod guess us, every one.”</HTML>
Re: A Nextmas Carol: Four
Posted by: Minsky Cat (---.vip.uk.com)
Date: December 15, 2002 05:05PM
<HTML>Wonderful! I laughed my whiskers off...</HTML>
Re: A Nextmas Carol: Four
Posted by: Jon (---.proxy.aol.com)
Date: December 15, 2002 07:39PM
<HTML>High praise indeed ... it is of course proverbial that making a cat laugh isn't easy.</HTML>
Re: A Nextmas Carol: Four
Posted by: Sarah (---.vip.uk.com)
Date: December 15, 2002 09:03PM
<HTML>Absolutely. Especially <i>that</i> cat, who is so hard he creaks when he walks. ;-)</HTML>
Pun-tastic!
Posted by: Adam Brierley (212.137.30.---)
Date: December 16, 2002 01:41PM
<HTML>“Tod guess us, every one.” - ooohhh, how did you dare to do that?</HTML>
Re: Pun-tastic!
Posted by: Jon (---.abel.net.uk)
Date: December 16, 2002 02:02PM
<HTML>who dares, puns</HTML>
Re: Pun-tastic!
Posted by: poestscientistdrinker (---.cache.pol.co.uk)
Date: December 16, 2002 11:49PM
<HTML>And if not by the bucketload, at least by the punnet...</HTML>
Re: Pun-tastic!
Posted by: Sarah (---.vip.uk.com)
Date: December 17, 2002 12:12PM
<HTML>OK, top this one! And many thanks to Brother Paul of Ampleforth for providing it...
"Gandhi, as we all know, used to walk around barefoot all the time, so he had a lot of very hard skin on his feet. He also had an extremely frugal diet, so he wasn't in the best of health, and not only that, he unfortunately suffered from bad breath. So that made him...
...wait for it...
...a super-callused fragile mystic hexed by halitosis."</HTML>
"Gandhi, as we all know, used to walk around barefoot all the time, so he had a lot of very hard skin on his feet. He also had an extremely frugal diet, so he wasn't in the best of health, and not only that, he unfortunately suffered from bad breath. So that made him...
...wait for it...
...a super-callused fragile mystic hexed by halitosis."</HTML>
Re: Pun-tastic!
Posted by: ScarletBea (194.196.168.---)
Date: December 17, 2002 12:46PM
<HTML>oh gaaaawd</HTML>
Re: Pun-tastic!
Posted by: All-American-Cutie (---.dalect01.va.comcast.net)
Date: December 17, 2002 04:32PM
<HTML>[***slapping hand to forehead AND rolling eyes back into orbital sockets!***] (crap, now I have to create a new macro for that!)</HTML>
Re: Pun-tastic!
Posted by: Jon (---.abel.net.uk)
Date: December 17, 2002 04:48PM
<HTML>Actually that awful pun of Sarah's friend's was also used by a Scottish newspaper, who reported the defeat of Celtic (a football team) by Inverness Caledonian Thistle (another football team, nicknamed 'Caley'). The headline was:
'Super Caley were fantastic; Celtic were atrocious!'
(um-diddle-diddle-um-diddle-aye, etc.)</HTML>
'Super Caley were fantastic; Celtic were atrocious!'
(um-diddle-diddle-um-diddle-aye, etc.)</HTML>
Re: Pun-tastic!
Posted by: Sarah (---.vip.uk.com)
Date: December 17, 2002 05:05PM
<HTML>Cool... but not quite as terrible as Brother Paul's, I venture to suggest. If you ever want a really bad pun, ask a monk. ;-)
On the subject of Scottish football, how about this?
A rabid Arbroath fan from Sanquhar
Was quite overtaken by ranquhar
When Hibs beat them 9-0
In the Cup semi-final,
Saying, "That should have been a home banquhar!"</HTML>
On the subject of Scottish football, how about this?
A rabid Arbroath fan from Sanquhar
Was quite overtaken by ranquhar
When Hibs beat them 9-0
In the Cup semi-final,
Saying, "That should have been a home banquhar!"</HTML>
Re: Pun-tastic!
Posted by: poestscientistdrinker (---.cache.pol.co.uk)
Date: December 17, 2002 09:17PM
<HTML>Sorry, I have to correct this. The actual headline. repeated in EVERY paper the next day, ran 'Super Calley Go Ballistic; Celtic Are Atrocious'
And on a Scottish theme, somewhere about is my masterpiece of spoof songs: 'SinceIFoundOutWhatsInHaggisGodItMakesMeNauseous'</HTML>
And on a Scottish theme, somewhere about is my masterpiece of spoof songs: 'SinceIFoundOutWhatsInHaggisGodItMakesMeNauseous'</HTML>
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