enough hot dogs and sausages to feed a small army...
not one, but two delicious rotisserie chickens...
a six-and-a-half-pound honey ham...
Fuck me, Santa.
...or freshly-caught trout, scrumptious six-and-a-half pound rib roast...
and everybody's favorite, baby back ribs.
This is such a nice house.
It needs a woman's touch, though.
I just rent the fucking place, anyway.
- Yeah, I just rent stuff, too. - Yeah?
Here's your drink.
How long are you gonna be here?
On the couch?
No, in town.
Just through the holidays.
You know, and then move on.
So, do you like kids?
Fuck, no!
What do you think, I'm some kind of pervert?
I just mean because you're Santa Claus.
I like kids. I really like kids.
- You do? - I love kids.
They are good.
Yeah, they're something else, kids.
Gotta tell you the truth.
The fact of the matter is I'm not Santa.
I like you anyway.
- So, you'll call me, right? - Yeah, I'll call you.
I'm gonna buy you some flowers, some of those really good expensive ones.
Shut up.
Bye.
Roger, you're home. Let me fix you some sandwiches.
What the fuck? Kid, what the fuck is wrong with you?
Jesus Christ! Let me see it!
- What the hell happened to you? - I cut my hand by mistake!
Of course it was by mistake.
Hold still.
I'm just trying to help you!
I forgot to say it's going to sting a little bit.
Shouldn't I wrap it in a T-shirt or something?
God damn it.
Hey, kid?
Kid, you okay up there?
You need a Band-Aid or something?
Oh, shit.
You're late.
Man, kids. Let me tell you.
They run you ragged.
Good morning, team.
It's not quite 8:00 yet.
How close are we?
Now it's 8:00. Merry Christmas.
Fuck your ass.
God damn it!
You tear your ball again?
I don't think so.
That's it.
God damn it!
Sweetheart, don't romance them. Go on and get in there, I can take it.
- Yeah? - I got the info on that Arizona plate.
All right, now you're talking. Hold on one minute.
Baby, don't use that. That's not the stuff.
Use something with some gloss to it.
Yeah, that Hard Candy, that's it there.
Let me get some of that. Yeah, that's it.
- Yeah, I'm back. - The guy's Roger Merman.
- Guess where he is. - Give it to me.
Damn it, what's wrong with you, woman?
- Who are you? - Your name Roger Merman?
- Yes, but... - You doing three to six for embezzlement?
Well, many accounting questions are not cut and dried.
Do you live at 41 Sage Terrace?
Is it Grandma? Is my son all right?
They're fine. Do you have any houseguests?
Houseguests?
Thank you for your time. God bless.
Who are you?
Houseguests?
Little trick I learned up at the North Pole.
If you fry baloney, it tastes like a hot dog.
I thought you didn't like sandwiches.
This is not a sandwich. A sandwich has two pieces of bread with junk on it.
It's like a tostada.
This is not a tostada.
Here you go, Granny.
A little salsa here.
Now it's a tostada.
- Have you seen my Advent calendar? - What the fuck is it with the calendar?
Why are you so obsessed with that thing? The story sucks anyway.
- I think I saw it in the hallway. - Really?
I think so.
It looks like someone messed with my Advent calendar.
What are you talking about? Let me see.
Nobody messed with it. It looks fine.
There's a Candy Corn in this one.
Well, they can't all be winners, can they?
Well, it's fucked.
- Fucked, frankly. - He's...
Clean.
- As a fucking whistle. - Nothing?
- No. Nothing. I mean, shit. - Yeah.
- He curses. - Yeah?
But never around children.
No criminal record. No parking tickets, for Christ's sake.
- Nothing? - No bad habits, even.
Sex, yeah. But man is a sexual being.
- Yeah. - Fucking Darwinian.
- Can't do shit about that, Jack. - No.
Hell, I wouldn't want to.
No, of course not. I'm not advocating celibacy.
Hope not. It'd be the end of the fucking human race.
- Yeah. - He fucks large women.
What can I say?
Look, it's the retard again.
- Wedgie. - Yeah!
- Well, what the hell do you want? - Pokemon!
Done.
You probably shouldn't be digging in your ass.
Santa?
Oh, jeez.
- Is that your underwear? - Part of it.
Where the hell is the rest of it?
No, don't tell me. I don't wanna know. What do you want?
I was thinking I wanted a purple stuffed elephant, not pink.
- But now I changed my mind. - Yeah, what?
I don't want an elephant at all.
I want a gorilla named Davey for beating up the skateboard kids...
who pull on my underwear.
And he can take his orders from the talking walnut...
so it wouldn't be my bad thing.
Jesus, kid, when I was your age, I didn't need no fucking gorilla...
and I wasn't as big as one of your legs.
Four kids beat me up once and I went crying to my dad. Know what he did?
- He made it all better? - No. He kicked my ass. You know why?
Because you went to the bathroom on Mommy's dishes?
What the fuck? No.
He tried to teach you not to cry and be a man?
No. It's because he was a mean, drunk son of a bitch.
And when he wasn't busy busting my ass, he was putting cigarettes out on my neck.
The world ain't fair. You gotta take what you need when you can get it.
You gotta learn to stand up for yourself.
You have to quit being a pussy and kick these kids in the balls or something.
Or don't. Shit, I don't care. Just leave me the hell out of it.
- Now get on out of here. - Okay. Thanks, Santa.
Well, go get the next lucky boy or girl, okay?
All right, next.
Open the ropes there, Marcus.
- I know you? - Not yet.
Seven cities in seven years. Pretty impressive.
The store changes, your name changes. You always get away clean.
Yeah. Pretty darn impressive.
But let's face the facts. You're a couple of half-bucket smalltimers...
and you, because of your physical attributes, you found a niche.
I respect that. But you've also been caught.
By me.
So this is how it's gonna be.
I don't wanna take over. I don't even want to change your scam.
Whatever you guys do, it works. All I want is a taste.
When the deal is done, we part ways.
I buy a little ranch in Havasu...
and you all take your little medicine show back on the road.
- How much? - Half.
- No fucking way! You're out of your mind. - Easy, Willie. Back off.
I got this.
Okay, 30%. There's three of us. 30%, that's fair.
Half.
- I meant 33%. - I meant half.
- And a third. - Half.
35%.
Half.
40%.
Half.
42%.
45%.
Half.
48%?
Half.
- 49%. - Half.
- Well, what's one point? - We split the dough down the middle.
Any merchandise you take, I get to look at and share a bit.
No! Money's one thing, but you ain't getting a...
This ain't no Chinese menu, jack-off.
I tell you how it's gonna be.
This is prix fix.
- Prix fix? - He's a fucking moron.
Really? Is that how you got the upper hand?
- Fuck you! - Negotiating?
You don't like it? Next year, fuck off. I can get another box jockey.
- And I can get another midget, too. - Yeah, where?
You see us hanging off of fucking trees like fucking crab apples?
Even if we did, you'd never front your own racket. You know why, Willie?
Because you got no discipline, you got zero fucking initiative.
You'd fall apart without me. You're just too pathetic for words.
You're a fucking loser and you fucking know it!
Santa will be here real soon, kids, real soon.
There he is.
Oh, no.
Sweet Jews for Jesus!
I pissed myself.
What the fuck do you think you're doing? You son of a bitch!
Hey, come on!
Get him out of here. I'll smooth things over with Chipeska.
Tell him food poisoning or something.
- What do you mean, get him out of here? - Take him to the car.
In case you hadn't noticed, I'm a motherfucking dwarf.
So unless you got a forklift handy, maybe you should lend a hand.
That figures. You want all kinds of set-asides.
Special treatment because you're handicapped. You're all the same.
Special treatment? I'm 3 foot fucking tall, you asshole!
It's a matter of physics. Draw me a sketch of how to get him to the car.
Bitch.
Sketch it up, you fucking moron. Fucking Leonardo da Vinci.
What'd you call me?
I called you a fucking guinea homo from the 15th fucking century, you dickhead.
I could stick you in my ass, small fry.
Yeah? You sure it ain't too sore from last night?
You got some lip on you, midget.
Well, these lips were on your wife's pussy last night.
Why don't you dust that thing off once in a while? Asshole!
- I pissed my pants. - Oh, shut up!
Santa.
What?
What are you doing?
Nothing.
You going to work today?
Not really.
You just gonna sit there?
Yeah. Just let me alone, okay?
- Wait a minute. Kid? - Yeah?
I want you to take this letter.
When the paramedics come to bag Santa up...
there's gonna be some cops there.
I want you to make sure that those cops get that envelope.
What is it?
It just tells all the bad things that...
What the fuck happened to your eye?
Fucking little prick!
You like to give little kids black eyes?
How about you? You want some?
Anybody else? Come on. Yeah, there you go!
You know, I think I've turned a corner.
Yeah? You fucking petites now?
No, I'm not talking about that.
I beat the shit out of some kids today.
But it's for a purpose.
It made me feel good about myself.
It was like I did something constructive with my life or something, I don't know.
Like I accomplished something.
You need many years of therapy.
Many, many, many fucking years of therapy.
You don't drink, which is smart on your part...
but being sober can put you at a disadvantage when it comes to violence.
Me, I can't box worth a shit, see?
But I'm good in a fight because I can't feel anything.
You, you're gonna feel everything.
Now put your dukes up, let me see what you got.
This is bullshit!
Give me one good reason why I should even consider doing this now.
Go on, 2,000 kids spit in my fucking face for your ass, that's why.
I'm asking you for this one thing. Come on, look at the kid.
- He is pathetic. - I don't know. He's just a little...
He's a fucking retard.
Yeah, let's show him a couple of things so he can defend himself then.
Unless you're scared.
All right, then, here's what's gonna happen. Marcus is a bully, right?
He'll pull your underwear up out of your pants. Now what do you do?
- I don't know. - What do you mean, you don't know?
If somebody wants to pull your underwear out of your pants, you have to get mad.
Yeah, kid. Come on, get mad.
Scream at him.
Jesus fucking Christ.
Listen to him, he's a fucking faggot.
Loud, scream, be loud, be mean! Piss him off! Come on!
You don't hit people in the balls, you asshole!
What's wrong with you? He's just a kid!
Fuck you, Willie!
I told you I didn't wanna do this! Making me...
Shit.
Kid, maybe you shouldn't spend so much time around me.
You sneaky little prick.
Fuck you! You little bastard!
Get off me!
God damn it, I forgot about that. Feels like a nursing home around here.
We can go in another room.
She does look kind of still, doesn't she?
Hey, Granny?
Hey there, Granny?
- Oh, my God. - What the fuck?
I don't feel shit.
- God damn it! Shit! Jesus Christ! - You're home.
- Please, for Christ's sake! - Let me make you some sandwiches.
- Hello, little boy. - Hello. Santa?
I know that Christmas Eve is in a couple days...
and you have to fly around the world and give presents to everyone...
and you won't be around anymore.
- Yeah? - So I thought I'd give you your present now.
- What the fuck is it? - It's a wooden pickle.
Why did you paint it brown?
It's not paint. It's blood from when I cut my hand making it for you.
Well, shit, kid, I don't know...
Thanks.
You're welcome.
Good night, Santa.
Good night, Mrs. Santa's sister.
Good night, sweetie.
Oh, my God.
That was so sweet. He's a really sweet kid, isn't he?
Yeah, I guess so.
Come on, baby.
Come here.
What?
That's something, all right.
I'm just a little tired.
Santa!
God damn it! Whoa! Shit!
Wanna see my report card?
- You scared the holy shit out of me. - Think I did good?
How would I know? I haven't seen the fucking thing yet.
Who the fuck is Thurman? Is that you?
- Is your name Thurman? - Yeah.
- Thurman Merman? - Yeah.
Jesus.
So you think I did good?
What do you care what I think, anyway?
I guess you did better than I did. I never got any B's.
I thought maybe at least since I did good in school...
maybe you'd bring me a present?
Because last year and the year before that, you didn't bring me any presents.
Even though I'm a dipshit loser.
Jesus fucking Christ, kid! Why do you talk about yourself that way?
Let me give you some news. I'm not Santa Claus, all right?
Take a look at me. Do I look like Santa Claus?
As a matter of fact, I'm living, fucking proof that there's not a Santa Claus.
I know there's no Santa.
I just thought maybe you'd wanna give me a present because we're friends.
There he is, that lousy, leather-faced, frog-eyed motherfucker.
Jesus, Mother Mary, and Joseph. What is the problem now?
I'm sorry, but the van stalled. Will you give us a jump, please?
I'll be dipped in dog shit. Do I look like an auto mechanic to you?
I appreciate it.
All right, small fry, help yourself.
- I can't reach it. - Jesus Christ, give me that!
Thanks.
All right, hit it.
Oh, my, what a terrible accident.
- Is he dead? - No.
But it looks like you broke most of his ribs.
I'd say maybe 50% of them, or do you think 30%?
I needed more of a running start. I couldn't build up enough speed.
Merry Christmas Eve.
I got you a little something.
You shouldn't have. Let's put that shit in the kitchen.
Goddamn, you look good.
Here you go.
You're behind there, sweetie.
We don't need any more of this shit.
"Christmas keeps us connected to each other in peace.
"The angel is going to kill everyone in the world."
Aspirin?
Shit! Jesus!
Santa?
- What? - I was gonna make some sandwiches.
I could make you one before you leave.
Listen, kid, I don't know. I got shit to do and everything.
Okay, make me some sandwiches.
I gotta go to the mall and talk to somebody. I'll be back.
- For dinner? - Yeah, that's what I said.
How many sandwiches do you want?
- A bunch. - How much lettuce do you want?
I don't know, the usual amount.
Whatever the hell people do. Whatever you think.
Have a very merry Christmas. Good night.
Merry Christmas.
- Good night. - Okay. Happy holiday.
Attention, shoppers. The store will be closing in five minutes.
We wish you all a merry Christmas, happy Hanukkah, and a joyous Kwanza.
All right, hold it steady.
Yeah, shit, let's do it.
Christ.
Merry Christmas.
Good night.
- Merry Christmas, Willie. - Up your ass.
Shit.
What?
- That's a Kitnerboy Redoubt. - So?
- Remember Andy Pitts? - Andy Pittsarella? Yeah.
No, Andy Rapitski. Andy Pittsarella was Andy "Blue Balls."
Since he got married, we call him Andy Pittsarella.
- What's your fucking point? - They say he can get into anything.
Anything. They say he's been in Margaret Thatcher's pussy.
And that's a good thing? So what the fuck are you getting at?
When I was in the joint with him, he said that the Redoubt can't be cracked.
Are you shitting me?
Are you telling me that after I propped you up...
held you together, smiled for all those kids...
danced for all those fucking housewives...
in a fucking lime green, fucking velvet elf costume...
that you cannot get in this fucking safe?
Is that what you're telling me?
No, I'm just saying it's going to take a minute.
Fuck.
Shit.
34C.
Fuck!
Piece of cake.
I gotta get one more thing. I'll be right back.
Shit. Which one did he say?
I'll bet the store dick don't want this.
Store dick don't want shit.
What do you mean?
Store dick's dead.
Store dick don't want shit.
He's dead?
I didn't even know he was sick.
Willie, this has been a long time coming.
Every year, you're worse. Every year, less reliable.
More booze, more bullshit, more butt-fucking.
Sure, the three B's.
You gotta be able to rely, Willie.
You people are monsters.
There's no joy in this for me.
I'm not talking about you taking me out. That part I get.
But look at all that shit.
Do you really need all that shit?
For Christ's sakes, it's Christmas.
It is Christmas, Willie, but this is what we do.
We get the shit.
Christmas time, we get the shit.
Because we are men and Lois.
It is Christmas, Willie, and we are men and Lois.
What you waiting for, honey? Come on, plug him.
I've been waiting for too long.
Goodbye, Willie.
Drop the gun!
And you, Santa, drop the elephant.
- Where did you come from? - Get down.
Shit, the fucking kid.
All three of you are in so much shit, it's almost unbelievable.
Marcus, hop on!
Fuck me.
This is Christmas, and the kid's getting his fucking present.
Stop, police! Put your hands up. I said freeze!
Freeze!
Dear kid...
I hope that you got my present and that there wasn't too much blood on it.
Although there was blood on the present you gave me...
which didn't keep me from enjoying it.
So maybe the blood doesn't matter so much, I guess.
Anyway, just in case they took it as evidence...
I'm also sending you a T-shirt. I hope it's the right size.
I'm healing up good, and they tell me that I will soon be 100%...
even with eight bullets dug out of me, because they didn't hit any vital organs.
Just my liver, which is fucked anyway.
Thank you for giving that letter to the cops.
I forgot I asked you to do it, but it's a good thing you did...
or Santa's little helper would have plugged his ass.
Now the cops know I wrote it, which will keep my ass out of jail.
That, plus everyone agreeing...
that the Phoenix Police Department shooting an unarmed Santa...
was even more fucked up than Rodney King.
The cops are treating me like fucking royalty now...
which is new in my experience.
They're gonna make me a sensitivity counselor...
so that tragedies like this...
will never again embarrass the whole fucking department.
Meanwhile, I told the cops you had no one to take the fuck care of you.
So they set it up with Mrs. Santa's sister watching you...
until your dad gets back in one year and three months.
They made her a guardian pro temp, or some such shit.
Anyway, she seems to like you and your house and Jacuzzi.
I sent her some money, so if you play your cards right...
you can probably get her to buy you something.
As for my little helper, I'm sorry to have to tell you...
that him and his prune-faced mail-order wife will be exploring mountains with your dad.
I hope your dad doesn't go sucking shit from them like I did.
They're supposed to let me out of this hospital room soon...
so get some sandwiches ready.
Until then, don't take no shit from nobody, least of all yourself.
Your pal, Santa.
Hey, loser.
I hear your buddy's not here to protect you anymore.
I see you got me a new bike.
Thanks a lot.
I'm talking to you, fat-ass!