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It's a Natsmas Miracle! (PART TWO)

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I should explain the delay, but it defies a tidy explanation. Like the ballpark lease mess, the delay arises from a stultifying mixture of a dash of indecision, a dearth of creativity, and a general lack of initiative. As such, I regret to inform you that I have apparently breached the Banal Submission Agreement (BSA), which provided that I would wrap up this lame two-parter on Christmas Day.

Perhaps I should post the rest now, but some antagonistic folks are threatening arbitration. Maybe that will happen, and maybe it won't. However, until I see a resolution in sight---nuh-uh. Remember: indecision, (anti-)creativity, (un-)initiative.

Tell you what I'll do, though: I'll reveal the broad strokes of what I planned---an outline, if you will.

If you'll remember, Bud had just walked off with little Natty's money---a full man's worth of currency, so to speak. Bud became apoplectic when Natty did not demonstrate proper appreciation for Bud's gift in return: a nickel. He accused Natty of demanding concessions, and stormed off.

Thereafter, Bud enjoyed a fine supper and spent the rest of the evening cursing the deplorable swine who trodded far below his Manhattan repository. And then, off to bed.

Bud's sleep was interrupted by a progression of three ghosts (all of whom, strangely, are still among the living):

  • The lovable Hondo, representing the past, whom Bud defenestrated as suddenly and unexpectedly as Longshanks performed the manuever on Phillip, the Prince's, eh, military advisor.
  • The indefatiguably felonious Marion Barry, representing the present, who attempted to convince Bud that he was a national disgrace---but instead was shamed by the lesson that those who are without sin should cast the first rock, er, stone.
  • And the comcastic Mark Hamill, representing the future,* who finally humbled Bud by portraying the state in which the latter's avarice will eventually render mankind, including human sacrifice, dogs and cats living together, mass hysteria, and . . . a flying monkey gouging the eyes out of Bud's confidant/advisor/bad cop/used car patron, Bob Dupuy.
Realizing the errors of his ways, Bud rushed from his home, spreading goodwill and autographed baseball memorabilia to everyone he encountered and making amends with Natty---whom he took to the zoo and named owner of the Washington Nationals.

Fin.

The story has promise, I suppose, but I'm sure St. Barry could conjure something better.

* "There's the future, and then there's THE FUTURE." If watching Nats games on Comcast is in either of those futures, I'll be content.