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 alost 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.
Alhough 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 royaly 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 probabl 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!