Old Box Office Pulp was better than its word. It returned to the well of Dickens yet again that December, to spend another holiday discussing where the adaptations of A Christmas Carol fell on the gravy-grave scale. They ranked the various Scrooges, Fezzywigs, Marleys, and infinitely more; and to Cody, who did NOT die of alcohol poisoning last commentary, there was much introspection on the logistics of employing a street urchin, the bizarre phenomenon of Scrooge Action Scenes, why Albert Finney decided to go Full Witch, whether London bookie Eddie Scrooge ever beat that murder rap, and whether the miser truly ever had become as good a friend, as good a master, and as good a man, as the movies always said. And so, as BOP Guy once observed, "Box Office Pulp hasn't felt holiday cheer since he licked a car battery and was legally dead for thirty seconds!"