Eb Scrooge was a stock trader bold, Commodities bought, hedged and sold. So much was his passion For raking the cash in, That man never noticed the cold.
Our Ebbie employed a PA, "Now please sir, I really can't stay." Said young Bobbie Cratchet, "Pneumonia, I'll catch it, If I'm in this icebox all day."
"I can't put more fuel on the fire. Coal futures are going to go higher. Now ring up my broker, And tell that old joker, I want 15k Goodyear Tyre."
Now Bobs wouldn't be quite so chilly, Were she wearing more clothes, but the silly Bitch wore a dress, Silk, low cut to impress... She fancied old Scrooge, did this filly.
She'd worked there for almost a year, And though she had wiggled her rear, And thrust out her bust, Old 'Neezer he just Kept working... Perhaps he's a queer.
But Christmas time's coming up now, The Nikkei, the FTSE, the Dow, (FTSE pronounced footsie) Are all winding down, And old Scrooge looks around, Spies Bobbie, thinks "What's this here? Wow!"
The last futures contract expires, The data flow slows on the wires,
And he smells her perfume, In his dark stuffy room, Awakening latent desires.
She flashes her eyes, Ebeneezer Goes forward, and makes as to seize her, But she plays hard to get, And he ain't caught her yet, That gal is a proper prick teaser.
He chases her round that caboose, Trying to get buttons loose, They chase up the stair, And they start to strip bare, And Scrooge gives our Bobbie a goose.
Well, Dickens, of course leaves it there... But I hear you shout, "Ogg take care! What'bout the ghosts, Of the tale that's the most Exciting." Well my dears, let's be fair...
That Charles Dickens' wife had a kink, And preached of the evils of drink Wine, whisky or beer, She'd not have it near, And tipped the whole lot down the sink.
So rather than weep and bewail, He scribbled this tiresome tale, Where ghosts interceded, Showing spirits were needed To put Scrooge upon the right trail. Back to the plot...
Bobs stepped back and looked down at him, "Hey Ebbie, where's your Tiny tim? He's more like Big Ben, I've had many men, But none with so splendid a limb."
They make love 'til dawn is a-breaking, And certainly neither is faking Those orgasmic squeals, That they utter in peals... But wait, no precautions he's taking.
He says: "I used no rubber suit, you're Probably pregnant. though cute you're Going to swell, And all being well, Produce a Bill Gates of the future."
or Produce Eddie George in the future. or Bare Alan Greenspan in the future.
Last updated: Thu, 02 Nov 2000.