Urp. Okay, back again.
This is the day that never ends.
So who’s next to sit on Santa’s lap?
Well, now, ponies are very hard to take care of and they need a lot of love and attention. Not only that …
Say, is that your father over there? It is?
That’s the bastard that got me canned from my last job.
Oh, yes, Fionn, you can have a pony. Two ponies. Even three if you want. Just remember that no matter how your parents pretend, Santa said you are getting them.
Candy? Why, yes, candy for everybody. Ho, ho, ho.
Well, now sit on Santa’s lap and let’s have a nice little chat about …
Oooof!
Jesus, how much do you weigh? Gawdamighty, if you’re still bitching about something you didn’t get 20 years ago, isn’t it time to move on?
Merry Christmas. Ho, ho, ho.
Why, there is only one Santa, little Chavardz. No wonder you think of of us, er, me, sound like each other. 'Cause we’re the only one there is.
Yeah, kid, Santa’s a fake and you ain’t getting jack shit.
What’s that? Why does it hurt when you be … bad? Because when you be bad, you, uh, you ain’t nothing. I be good all year round. At the North Pole, I be chillin’. Word.
Santa, can I have a dragon for Christmas? And why does your breath smell funny like Daddy’s?
Santa, why are you beginning to sweat so profusely? It’s landing on me!
There you are. Hold still.
<plops down 185 lbs of Horseflesh on to Santas-fying Angsty Lush-ious’s unsuspecting lap>
Remember me? Remember Tangiers? Remember the camera? 'Course you don’t, you were plowed.
Okay, here’s the deal. I don’t tell Mrs. Claus about your late night threesomes with the Easter Bunny and the Great Pumpkin, I send you a case of bourbon every month wrapped in plain brown paper marked “Medical Supplies - Do Not Delay”, and in return you fork over three elves that will make all the toys I want all year long and Rudolph becomes my personal steed. And I don’t want no ugly elves – there’s nothing worse than watching an ugly naked elf sweatin’ his ass of working in a wood shop.
Deal?
Dear Santa,
Mommy told me to ask you for world peace. Daddy told me to ask you for a world-class piece. What kind of peas will I get for Christmas?
Dear Santa:
I did a dance on Mommy’s plants, climbed a tree and tore my pants, filled the sugar bowl with ants, and somebody snitched on me. Am I gettin’ nothin’ for Christmas?
God, I sang that 14 years ago in third grade and still remember it. Santa, can I have some decent memory management?
Dragon, my ass. I – I mean, I’m draggin’ my …
Jeez, I’m just digging myself deeper in a hole here.
Why, little Kat, I can’t give you a dragon because dragons are imiginary, like the Easter Bunny or Santa Cla …
Man, I am not exactly at the top of my game, today. No more bourbon the night before. Never again.
Or, like Santa Clause says, (ahem) dragons are not a good Christmas gift. Wouldn’t you like something a little easier for Santa to carry? Something that you can get at Target?
And your daddy sounds like a fine man. All great men have breath just like this.
Why, it’s snow, little child. Snow from the North Pole, melting and falling from my silver hair.
You trying wearing this outfit and not sweating. Where’d they get the fur trim – roadkill possum?
Uh, Ho, ho, ho, everyone. Looks like the kids are getting bigger every year. Ho, ho, ho.
Awright, the bourbon sounds tempting, but one case a month? Being Santa is thirstier work than that. Besides, I can’t send the elves off to work in slave-labor conditions. I keep them at home for that.
I want an official Red Ryder Carbine Action 200 shot range model air rifle with a compass in the stock and this thing that tells time!
Whattya say?
Why, this is Christmas, child! You can have any kind of piece you want.
yeah, and when I go to your house, I get any kind of piece I want.
Can I have a swig?
And so it shall be, child. Santa will be giving you your very own personal digital assistant.
Kid looks like he’s waaaay too into digital assistance, if ya know what I mean.
Go for it, kid. That’s one of my favorites.
Can you have a … sprig? Of misteltoe? Why, of course, dear child. Here, let Santa gives yer a great big ol’ kiss.
Santa Andy, why do you do drugs? Why do you sleep in the ally?