From: oo7@ut-emx.uucp (Derek Wills)
Newsgroups: alt.fan.holmes
Subject: A Christmas Story
Keywords: Holmes, disrespect
Date: 10 Jan 93 06:25:20 GMT
Organization: The University of Texas at Austin, Austin, Texas

I will probably be banned from this net for life, but I thought some of
the more disrespectful of you might enjoy the following S.H. parody.
I am not the author, I'm ashamed to say that I have no idea who the
author is, nor where this was first posted (rec.humor? - it was perhaps 
a couple of years ago).   If you find the first paragraph tasteless, you
should read no further.   I hope someone can remember the author, and 
give him or her appropriate credit for it.
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                       The Christmas Caper

     "Bejabbers," said Dr. Watson with his characteristic lack of
enthusiasm one December morning at his lodgings at 221B Baker Street,
lodgings which he shared with his friend, arch-sleuth Julio Holmes.
Watson had been gazing out the window to the street below on a freshly
fallen, silent shroud of snow.  Homes, seated in a very large, deeply
cushioned easy-chair, covered in chintz and bits of dried mucous, read
the situation with his customary acuity and muttered, "I am a rock; I am
an island."
     "What was that?" said Watson, turning toward the detective.
     "Elementary," answered Homes, puffing on his pipe of opium.
     Watson, overcoming his bewilderment in a trice, went on, "I say,
Holmes, isn't that the Archduke of Offenfahrt, second cousin to Prince
Konisgjaardenbjorg of Iceland, coming down the street, disguised as a
woman?"
     "How should I know?" responded Holmes with a listless wave of his
effeminate hand.  The drug was apparently having its effect on the
otherwise dynamic and vivacious detective.
     Watson peered through the window a while longer.  "I guess not," he
said at length, then turned and waddled off to the bathroom.
     Some time later, Holmes was in a senseless stupor while Watson
continued to wonder what on earth to do with himself.  Holmes had a
tendency to drool when asleep or unconscious, and Watson, disgusted by
this habit of his friend, softly went to his own room where he cried
himself to sleep.
     The next day arrived, as expected, promising less excitement.  After
a hearty breakfast of coffee and pills, the two men began to fiddle with
each other when the doorbell gave a boisterous ring, followed by a loud
knocking at the outer door.
     "Who can that be?" cried the astonished doctor, buttoning up in a
flurry.
     "Damn!" said Holmes, running to hide his stash.
     Downstairs, the intruder was admitted by Carlton, the doorman.
Holmes and Watson, composing themselves, soon heard a deal of indignant
shouting, then the heavy tramp of feet coming up the stairs, followed by
a commanding knock upon their door.
     "Come in!" cried Holmes, utterly ignorant of who the visitor might
be.
     The door flew open and a frail, old woman entered the room.  She was
a good deal winded after her efforts at knocking, shouting and tramping,
and without so much as a "How d' do," she straightway collapsed in a
chair before the befuddled cronies.
     "Holmes!" cried Watson, from a lack of intelligence; then, "What do
you make of it, Holmes?"
     Holmes, who silently wished that Watson wouldn't always expect him
to know everything, said simply, "I wish you wouldn't always expect me to
know everything!"
     Unabashed, Watson began chafing the lady's hands while Holmes sat
languidly in his easy-chair examining the figure before them.  She was
dressed all in fur from her head to her foot, and her clothes were all
tarnished with ashes and soot.  The stump of a pipe she held tight in her
teeth, and Holmes was put in mind of Mammy Yokum.  From her tattered
ermine waistcoat pocket dangled a gold watch with the inscription: "From
the boys of the K.K.K.  Good work.  Little Rock, Ark., 19__."  She wore
no shoes, but her socks were of very fine alligator leather.  Her cloak
was of buffalo hide, and on an inside hem Holmes detected the words,
"Souvenir of Mt. Rushmore."  She had no hair, but wore a silver wig which
Homes deduced had been hand-crafted from old tinsel.
     "Hmmm," mumbled Holmes, "Not much to go on."
     When the old woman finally caught her breath, she rolled moist eyes
up toward Watson, and, placing one trembling hand to her throat and the
other upon Watson's sleeve, she said, "Get me some brandy and be quick
about it!"  Watson began rummaging among the many, many liquor bottles
scattered about the floor, while Holmes addressed the decrepit old bag.
     "So, Morry O'Farrity, what can I do for you?"
     The master-criminal, unable to conceal his astonishment, sprang to
his feet.  Then, with a rueful chuckle, he threw off the old woman
disguise and stood revealed before the master-detective.  Holmes, for his
part, was barely able to conceal his own astonishment, for he'd had no
idea that the tacky bit of baggage was indeed the real O'Farrity, but had
only called her that for a joke.
     "My dear Holmes!" cried Watson, "How on earth..."
     "Tut, tut, my dear fellow," said Holmes in a tone freighted with
irony, "A lucky guess.  Waston, do bring Mr. O'Farrity a dressing gown, 
there's a good fellow.  We can't have him standing about revealed this
way, can we?"
     Watson began rummaging among the many, many items of laundry
scattered about the floor, while Holmes addressed the arch-criminal.
     "Now, Mr. O'Farrity, I repeat, what can I do for you?"
     "You're a clever man, Mr. Holmes," said O'Farrity with an evil
twinkle in his nostril.  "Perhaps too clever for your own good!"
     "Come, come, O'Farrity, this verbal fencing is pointless," said
Holmes, pointing.  Then, coming to the point, he said, "Come to the
point!"
     "Very well!  As you know, Christmas is almost here."
     Holmes nodded, bluffing it out.
     "The net of justice which you have so cunningly woven will engulf me
on Christmas Eve despite my most determined efforts to escape it."
     Again Holmes nodded, deciding to humor the deluded man.
     Suddenly O'Farrity fell to his knees and began sobbing.  "Holmes!
Holmes!  If you have an ounce of decency in you, please let me go till
after Christmas.  I promise I'll be good.  Honest.  Only let me open my
presents with my family on Christmas morning.  Please.  Oh, pleeeeease!"
Here the wretch began blubbering hysterically while kissing the
detective's feet.
     Holmes, moved by pity and the knowledge that he had nothing on the
man anyway, said with simple eloquence, "Okay."
     Immediately, O'Farrity ceased his grovelling, leapt to his feet, and
began prancing about the room singing "The Twelve Days of Christmas" in
its entirety.
     After about an hour of this, the cracked criminal grabbed his
buffalo hide and departed, leaving the two roomies (who had dropped off
to sleep somewhere around the eight maids a-milking) to their slumbers.
     Some time later, aroused by the smell of garbage in the closet, the
two men set about preparing a hearty repast of cold chittlin's, mustard
greens, and reds.
     "I say, Holmes," said Watson with his mouth full, "that was jolly
decent of you, letting Morry O'Farrity have his Christmas and all."
     "Good God, Watson, sometimes your simplicity is overpowering.  Can't
you see the game is afoot?"
     "But Holmes..."
     "Tish tosh.  That story of his about a family Christmas was an
obvious fabrication."
     "Holmes!" cried the poor redundant fellow, spattering chittlin's.
     "Yes!" cried Holmes, a feverish gleam in his eye.  "Morry O'Farrity
is planning a heinous crime the dimensions of which can only be guessed
at," continued Holmes, guessing.  "And you can be sure it will take place
on Christmas morning, unless you and I, Watson, are clever enough to stop
it!"
     "All is lost!" wailed Watson, who now went to the refrigerator to
get a beer.
     "Maybe you're right," said Holmes, who decided to drop the whole
thing since it was too hard to figure out.
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Derek Wills 
Department of Astronomy, University of Texas, 
Austin TX 78712.  (512-471-1392)
oo7@astro.as.utexas.edu 
oo7@emx.utexas.edu
Newsgroups: alt.fan.holmes