Pass the peas

Marley's mad. His mug is no mask and means we're minutes from a messy meltdown, malicious or not. Marley minds his manners but makes for a murky meal mate when Mother mopes and moans like this morning. My moxie is muted, but Marley's is magnified in memorable moments like this.

Christ, a Christmas Carol is just the kind of crap that kills his contentment. Of course my cousin is continually considering his character credentials, but for Connie to cave to this Cockney krill is causing the coming chaos. Could have concentrated on Christmas with the Kranks in case of catastrophe, but no. Couldn't comply.

Because our boy believes his brand is blemished by being burdened with the bane the bad boy of Broadway brings. "Bless us" benefits all but the bygone bloated Marley, bastard buddy of Ebenezer, banished to the blazes of blue moons. Beset with blame, brandishing bitterness, bereft of bliss. Bummer.

So Marley's mad. I'm just trying to get some food before he throws everything everywhere.