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Stan and Ford were at port for only a few hours, but it didn’t stop them from fully exploring the gorgeous Finnish port town of Jakobstad while they waited for the repairs on the Stan O’ War II to finish up.
Ford had insisted on completing the repairs himself (after all the Kraken had really only taken out a few floorboards and a railing), but Stan had pushed back - they’d been on the open sea for three weeks straight. “We need new rations, Ford. The bread we got in France is so hard it’s turned into hardtack. It’s hell on my dentures. This’ll give us a chance to stock up.”
They’d collected some groceries, and then some junk food and Christmas cookies (“Come on, they’re in season, Ford! Where’s your Christmas spirit?” “We’re Jewish, Stan. And cookies aren’t in season, they’re not tomatoes, they don’t have a harvest.”) and were now perusing the thrift shops in the main square.
Stan had noticed the bin of VHS tapes first, probably for the tape box that lay on top of the pile; the one featuring Jane Fonda, bare-legged and holding a blaster in the skimpiest space suit in existence. His memory wasn’t as good as it once was (for more reasons than one), but after a second of letting the gears in his brain turn, he remembered the old film by the image, even with the German translation of Barbarella: Königin der Galaxis printed on the front.
“Hey Ford, you remember Barbarella?”
At first, Ford didn’t look up from the handcrafted snowflake keychains he was sifting through, trying to find one painted brightly enough to make a belated holiday gift for Mabel. “You mean the raunch-fest you convinced me to skip school to watch with you? How could I forget? ‘Come on, Sixer, there’s aliens,’ you said. Next thing I know, I’m watching a movie that was certainly not appropriate for teens, in a public theater, mortified! Why do you- wait, it’s here?”
“I didn’t lie about the aliens, did I? The flick was chock full of ‘em … Jane Fonda was, too.”
“Ugh. Stanley, don’t be crude. Also, they were just humans in metallic clothing. Barely aliens.” Ford rolled his eyes as he approached the bin and picked up the tape, giving it a disapproving look-over, (though he still held it with just a little too careful a grip, betraying the nostalgia he felt for their teenage years in Jersey). “Honestly, what are they thinking at this shop, having this on the top of the bin like this?! You should bury it a bit deeper in the clearance bin, Stan. A child could see it and mistake it for a fun adventure film.”
“Oh, it’s a fun film, alright.”
“Maybe for you, Stanley. They didn’t even use real space suits. You know, if Jane Fonda was in deep space with this outfit on, she’d be frostbitten in half a second, and dead in half a second more.”
“But she’d look damn good doing it. Honestly, still would today.”
Ford paused from reading through the German description on the back of the box to look at Stan with a raised eyebrow. “She’s still alive?”
Stan smirked. “Oh, Fonda’s still alive, Ford.” He fished out the smartphone that Dipper had taught him and Ford to use before their trip and typed in her name, showing Ford. “See? She’s still got it.”
Ford gave the photo a nod, impressed. “Well I’ll be. She has to be, what, 80? 85? ... She looks great for her age.”
Stan took the Barbarella tape from Ford’s hands and turned it back around, smiling at the old comic-style cover. “Yeah, she’s probably held together with staples and silicon, but she’s kicking, all right.”
Another tape near the top of the bin catches Ford’s attention. “They made a Muppet Christmas Carol?”
Stan smiled as Ford picked up the tape. “Yeah, actually, it’s the best one.”
“The best Muppet movie?” Ford asked.
“No, the best Chirstmas Carol.” When Ford looks disbelieving, Stan continues, “Seriously! And it’s a holiday classic. We have a VCR on the boat, we should buy it.”
“It’s a movie with puppets. And it’s in Swedish, Stan.”
“You read the book, didn’t you? And I know it by heart - Mabel watched this 18 times last summer.”
“Why?”
“I dunno, kid’s weird. Who cares - it’s a good one, and I know you’ll enjoy it.”
Ford sighed. “I suppose it’ll be a nice, festive way to celebrate the end of the year. … And a good way to brush off what little Swedish I remember. If Miss Piggy at any point asks Scrooge where the bathroom is, I’ll be able to translate, I suppose.”
They made their way to the counter and Ford paid for the tape (throwing down a couple extra euros for the child-sized gloves and the Barbarella tape he saw Stan pocket on their way out.)
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Ford could barely hear the end-credits song over Stan’s snoring, but he didn’t make any move to wake his brother. Stan had conked out about halfway through Scrooge’s trip to Christmas Present.
Ford found he didn’t really need to translate much of the Swedish. Stan had, surprisingly, been right. A Muppet Christmas Carol really was the most accurate film rendition of the Dickens novel he’d seen, songs aside.
He pulled the blanket over his lap, and pulled another one over Stan as well. Their backs would probably ache in the morning for not making their way to their bunks, but Ford couldn’t really be bothered. He hunkered down on the couch and watched the soft snowfall outside the Stan O War II’s port window.
He reached for an in-season Christmas cookie. It was the best holiday season he’d had for over 40 years.