A Christopher Hitchens Carol, 2007

(a sodden brit expat lies in sweat soaked sheets covered in snot and vomit. Suddenly he stirs as he hears a soft voice)
Voice: Christopher. Christopher awaken. I have come for you.
Christopher Hitchens (shielding his eyes) Who is it? Editors. Creditors. Auditors. Damn your eyes, step out of the light so I might see you!
Voice: It is I. the Ghost of Christmas Past. (A wizened Albanian woman wearing a nun’s habit steps out of the light).
Christopher Hitchens: Holy shit, it’s Mother Theresa!
Mother Theresa: No need for blasphemy my son. I am here to help you.
Christopher: I thought you were dead and gone.
Mother Theresa: No, I now live eternally with my Father in Heaven.
Christopher Hitchens: I don’t believe in that. You can’t be real. Are you Demi Moore without any makeup? Am I being punked?
Mother Theresa: No my son. You may be a punk but this is real. I am here to take you back to the Christmases that have gone before.
Christopher Hitchens: This can’t be real. I have to stop mixing tequila and aqua velva.
Mother Theresa: Take my hand and come with me.
Christopher Hitchens: You must be Catholic, you want to molest me.
Mother Theresa: Hush my son. You might act like a child, but now it is time to put childish things away and learn the truth of the word.
(A Christopher Hitchens Carol, 2007)