Ebenezer Scourge and Night Visitors - Los Angeles Times
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Ebenezer Scourge and Night Visitors

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The annual holiday column . . .

To refresh your memory, this is where you read the political thriller “Sandinista Clause.” Yup, and those popular reconstructionist carols “Deck the Halls with Amy Fisher,” “God Rest Ye Merry Cameramen,” “Rudolph the Red,” “Frosty the Transgender Anchorwoman” and the delightfully bawdy “Chests Roasting on an Open Fire.”

Not to toot any horns or anything, but the yule effort in this column has been prodigious. That includes, five years ago, fishing from an old trunk in a musty attic an O.J. trial-tailored version of “A Visit From St. Nicholas,” the famed Christmas poem by Clement Clarke Moore:

Now lawyers, now voyeurs and all Diane Sawyers.

Now Dershowitzes and similar ditzes.

Now TV hoods invading Brentwood.

Now parasites and troglodytes.

Now Geraldos, Rickis and other talk sickies.

Now Sally Jessy and lives so messy.

Now eye-to-eye bunglers and all Connie Chunglers.

Now CNN, again and again.

Now Larry King and Brothers Ringling.

Now you damn choppers and TV whoppers.

In keeping with this high literary tradition, we announce today yet another discovery, this one among the papers of Charles Dickens, who unbeknownst even to those who knew him best, had written shortly before his death a prophetic work remarkably similar to his great classic, “A Christmas Carol.”

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The setting is a darkened mansion where Ebenezer Scourge, CEO of all TV, is awakened by clanking sounds. Cowering behind his covers, a terrified Scourge is confronted by a ghost.

Scourge: Who are you?

Ghost: The Ghost of TV Past.

Scourge: What do you want of me at this hour, ghost?

Ghost: I’m here to show you the error of your ways.

Scourge: Where are you taking me?

Ghost: To the television set. Behold, series from the past!

Scourge: Why, it’s Red Skelton. There’s Danny Thomas, Red Buttons, Loretta Young. Perry Como, too. And they’re . . .

Ghost: Exactly, Scourge. They’re wholesome!

Scourge: It’s been so long, I’d forgotten. And who are those men on the screen now?

Ghost: Observe closely, Scourge.

Scourge: Why, it’s Hopalong Cassidy. The Lone Ranger. Pancho and Cisco. And Daniel Boone. All of them heroes and role models from the past.

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Ghost: Behold again, Scourge!

Scourge: It’s the present. And Hoppie and the others are in a bar with other fellows. What is that song they’re dancing to, spirit?

Ghost: “Y.M.C.A.!”

Scourge: Oh, nohhhhhh!

Ghost: Behold once more, Scourge!

Scourge: Why, it’s old sitcoms. There are Lucy and Desi. There’s Archie Bunker. And Mary Tyler Moore. And “MASH” and “Taxi” and . . .

Ghost: Now what do you see?

Scourge: Today’s comedies. No, no, I can’t bear it.

TV voice: Take off those panties. . . .

*

A second ghost: Look upon me, now, Scourge, for I am the Ghost of TV Present.

Scourge: Who lives in that tiny tract house you’re showing me?

Ghost: Do you not recognize the Bob Cratchits?

Scourge: My clerk, Bob, and his wife and children?

Ghost: They’re a Nielsen family.

Scourge: What is Tiny Tim watching on TV?

Ghost: Do you not recognize . . . a police pursuit?

TV anchor: We haven’t been told what he’s accused of, but the suspect may be desperate and have a hostage in his trunk. Or heavily armed terrorists. Or explosives. Or poisonous snakes. Or dangerous chemicals that would defoliate and infect the entire city.

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Scourge: And now the family is in front of the TV watching that infernal Christmas movie with Jimmy Stewart, one so corny, melodramatic and vastly overrated that I can barely stand it.

Ghost: Behold, “It’s a Wonderful Life!”

Scourge: And now they’re watching something else.

TV voice: Listen carefully now. For $1 million, what is your name?

Scourge: Please, no more, spirit.

*

A third ghost: Come with me, Scourge.

Scourge: Who are you?

Ghost: The Ghost of TV Future.

Scourge: That child you’re showing me. Isn’t that . . . ?

Ghost: Yes, Tiny Tim’s son, Tiny Tim Jr.

Scourge: But what he’s watching, the noise, the screeching--it’s, it’s . . .

Ghost: Behold, the Demolition Channel!

Scourge: Oh, nohhhhhh. And there is Tim, and his tiny wife and their other tiny children in front of another set, watching . . .

Ghost: Behold, the 24-hour Rumor Channel!

TV voice: All innuendo, all the time!

Scourge: What is that eerie quiet? Why is no one outside at midday, when the streets should be teeming?

Ghost: Fear keeps everyone inside. Behold, the mean world syndrome, Scourge. After years and years of hearing only about crime on your TV, Scourge, Americans are now too fearful to leave their homes and interact with others.

Scourge: I didn’t know. But what now, spirit? Why are we in this animation studio?

Ghost: To watch the news.

Scourge: Animated newscasts? Cartoons instead of real people?

Ghost: Is it really that much different?

Animated newscast: I’m Mike Boguslawski, and I’m in YER-corner!

Scourge: Will this nightmare never end? Where are we now, spirit?

Ghost: In the executive offices of a major network.

Scourge: Who is that 16-year-old boy behind the desk?

Ghost: The president of programming.

Scourge: Now we seem to be at some late-night show. What is that pulsating blob under glass?

Ghost: The brain of Jay Leno.

TV voice: I see where Bill and Monica double-dated . . .

Scourge: Something is different, though.

Ghost: Technology has made exciting advances, Scourge. Behold, high-definition TV!

Scourge: Does it improve things?

Ghost: In a manner of speaking. You can see bad programs better.

Scourge: Why are we now in this graveyard, spirit?

Ghost: Don’t you know, Ebenezer Scourge? Behold, the tombstone!

Scourge: I’m afraid to look.

Ghost: You must, for it reads, “Here lies TV, an epic concept destroyed by greed and stupidity.”

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Scourge: I beseech you, spirit. Show me no more. I promise to reform and welcome every creative idea I’m pitched.

Ghost: Then picture this--three Christmas ghosts share a New York apartment and hang out together. . . .

*

Howard Rosenberg’s column appears Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays. He can be contacted via e-mail at [email protected].

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