A Christmas Bare All: An Erotic Christmas Parody Fiction

By Charles Bryan

An erotic parody of that timeless classic, A Christmas Carol. With more ejaculate.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Dec 8, 2014
• ISBN: 9781329018549

Book preview

A Christmas Bare All: An Erotic Christmas Parody Fiction

A Christmas Bare All

an Erotic Christmas Parody Fiction

by Charles Bryan

Copyright © 2014 by Charles Bryan

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review or scholarly journal.

First Printing: 2014

HRP: Howling Reindeer Press

10 Thayer St

Rochester, NY 14607

www.norwegianmorningwood.com

Forward

With ridiculous intent I present to you the following: an inane and immature attempt at infusing Charles Dickens’ timeless Holiday text with as many boner jokes as possible while maintaining a steadfast and faithful accuracy to the man’s original prose. Now, I consider this to be built upon many years of inappropriate Christmas Cards that many of you have probably received from a particular gentleman time and time again, which had lost their luster as of late. The core conceit of these excursions had long ceased to be funny or interesting, so my good friend unleashed this monster upon the earth. And not to spoil the surprise, but it’s porn. This is fucking porn. So if you can’t deal with that, close this right now because it’s about to get so much worse. And as you may have noticed, the author has used a pseudonym for this, because you can’t have your name attached to this on the Internet. Seriously, the High School Girls he’s been coaching are really really good Internet users. It’s scary bae.

So on to Dickens. There are some really weird moments in A Christmas Carol that deserve highlighting. Your author has mostly included them all, usually with some character commentary about how weird and unsettling it all is. These moments do not show up in any other adaptation for good reason. I say this as a fair warning that not all the goofiness here is driven by our perverted mutual friend. For instance, a young Scrooge plays with what is apparently a man dressed up as Ali Baba, the gnarled, child-like ghostly manifestations of Ignorance and Want appear from within the Ghost of Christmas Present’s pants, and so on. You’ll know when it happens. Personally, I enjoyed it more than a cool bowl of jelly beans.

Dickens also likes to really ignore the ladies in his tale, giving none of them names or characterization besides Fred’s wife or Mrs. Cratchit. This was 1843, though, and he was no Elizabeth Cady Stanton. So some of these broads have new made up names, and he also switched Jacob Marley’s gender, because in this tale of sexual intrigue, he was much more effective as a woman. Deal with it.

All in all, when you come across the super strange moments, it’s usually all the fault of the maniac on the keyboard. I mean, no one’s vagina normally erupts with ladyfluid on a typical Christmas Eve. Well, no one outside Pennsylvania Avenue. But there has been a lack of acknowledgment of Dickens’ insane writing that truly deserves our recognition.

And every illustration is of course created by your author as well. He has relayed to me the immense joy he had crafting this over the past year and I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I have. From the bottom of my heart, I am at an honest loss as to why anyone enjoys this crap at all or is friends with our mutual associate, but he’s betting that this is so unconscionably terrible that it may never grace our minds again. If you get through this, it will be a Christmas feat like none other. Congrats! First one to leave the room to go to the bathroom loses! But, seriously, this is awful and you should stop reading now. I warned you.

Love,

Ronald W. Reagan

Stave One: Marley’s Ghost

Jenna Marley was certainly dead. That was for sure. As dead and as buried as a girl could be. But in life, she had been one of the finest accountants in all of London. She was certainly the sexiest. Then again, being the sexiest accountant in Old London was like being the most sober man in Tijuana - there’s not all that much competition. She was however, eluded by love of all sorts, particularly in her latter years. Marley never married and never even locked down a tasty BF for a clock’s tick over a fortnight. None of that seemed to matter now. Because at this moment she was and is, most certainly dearly departed from the confines of the Earth.

Her former business partner walked down the iced over London street. It was mid-morning, but already a thick fog had rolled into the city, threatening to spread drear onto what was otherwise resulting in a pleasant evening, by all accounts. The whole city was frosted like a damp mug stuck in a freezer. Now, we all call