Book your ticket to happiness with Sun Express Airlines. It's McMahon Christmas Carol. Brought to you by your

Laps Entertainment Group. Starring,

Vince McMahon as Ebenezer Scrooge.

Pat Patterson as Bob Cratcht, Jim Barnett as Jacob Marley, and narrated by Squire Dave Taylor.

It's a Vince McMahon Christmas Carol. Old Marley was as dead as a doork now. This must be distinctly understood or nothing wonderful can come of the story of going to relate.

The registry of burial signed by Vincent Kennedy Scrooge and Scrooge's name was good on the Greenwich Exchange for anything he chose to put his hand to

He was a tight-fisted hand at the grindstone

Vincent Kennedy Scrooge, a squeezing, wrenching, grasping,

scraping, clutching, covertous old center, hard and sharpest flint,

from which no steel had ever struck out generous fire, secret and self-contained, and solitary as an oyster.

The cold within him froze his old features, nipped his pointed nose, shriveled his cheek, stiffened his

gait, made his eyes red, his thin lips blue, and spoke out shrewdly in his grating voice. A frosty rhyme was on his head and on his eyebrows and his

wiry chin. He carried his own low temperature always about with him. He iced his

office in the dog days and didn't far at one degree at Christmas.

On this particular day, Vincent Kennedy Scrooge sat busy in Titan Towers, counting the gate.

A Merry Christmas brother, it was the voice of Scrooge's brother.

Rod Scrooge.

Oh shit. Humbug.

Christmas a Humbug, brother?

You don't mean that, I'm sure.

Did I stutter?

Fuck Merry Christmas.

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