- Christmas Day, 2004 -

KNACKS: What do you mean Mare's dead?! She can't die! It's Christmas!

SANTA: Your friend sacrificed her life to save me. These actions will not go unrewarded.

KNACKS: But Santa, what can you do now? She's dead! You can't drop a few wooden blocks by her corpse and call it a Christmas, y'know?

SANTA: Yes, you're right. My standard activity of gift-giving won't suffice this time. I have other ideas.

KNACKS: I can't believe she's really gone...

KUSE: Either can I. Things just won't be the same without Mare.

KNACKS: Maybe we can use that voodoo statue to resurrect her again?

KUSE: Nah. Once is interesting, twice is overkill.

SANTA: Guys, enough with the long faces. Trust me, the sprit of your friend Mare Winningham is safe. All will be revealed in due time.


KUSE: "Her spirit is safe?" What are you talking about, Santa?

SANTA: Look, I'm Santa Claus, and I have many fantastical powers. It's not all sleigh riding and chimney squirming. I can do amazing things, and with your friend Mare Winningham, I've done an amazing thing.

KNACKS: Care to share? She was our like, best friend, you know.

SANTA: I know. But first, it's time for presents!

KUSE: Presents? As in, presents for us?


KUSE: Okay, the Mare thing can wait then.

SANTA: Knacks, for you, it's a lifetime contract to star in your very own Broadway play. No matter how few show up or how much the show sucks, your thespianny thirst shall never go unquenched.

KNACKS: This is a pretty rockin' gift Santa, but why does it look like a treasure map?

SANTA: Just because.

KUSE: Let me guess -- you got me nothing, right? I'm just the Jew stormtrooper without a prayer. Or present. Nothing for me, aye?

SANTA: Oh, Kuse. Do you really think I'd forget to bring you something for Christmas? Take off your helmet.

KUSE: No way. I'm hideous.

SANTA: Take off your helmet or I won't give you any gifts.

KUSE: Holy shit! I have a face! I'm not a freak anymore!

SANTA: Yeah. Sorry I couldn't get you a prettier face. They're not easy to find.

KUSE: No dude, it's totally cool. It's a face. That's what counts.


KNACKS: Yeah Santa, we can't let Claire just sit around plotting her escape. After all, she tried to kill you! Can't ya drag her out back and bludgeon her with your super Santa powers?

SANTA: I wish I could, but it's a little more complicated than that.

CLAIRE: Go on Santa, tell 'em! Tell 'em the truth! After last year's "incident," new laws were imposed. You're not allowed to kill anyone anymore! It's been deemed unSantaish!

SANTA: Ah, so you've heard? I can't deny it. It's true. The elders themselves have laid down the law -- I can no longer take a life, be it yours, a fly's, a horse's or my own.

CLAIRE: Oh yes, I've heard everything. I've even heard about how the elders were very thorough in how the new rules were written. Not only are you forbidden to kill, but you are forbidden to directly/indirectly cause a death. Among other things, this means that you can't feed me to the Rancor as you did the Mare who just wasted her pathetic life trying to save you.

SANTA: Okay, so we've established that I can't kill you.

CLAIRE: Right. You have no recourse. I am free to wreak havoc for all of eternity, and there ain't a damn thing you can do about it.


KNACKS: Santa, you've trapped Claire in a casket of ice! A loophole! A joyous technicality!

SANTA: Yeah, the beauty part is, she's completely alive and unharmed. I've not broken a single law. Yet, it's hard not to look at what's going on here and not consider it torture. I fucking love Christmas.

KNACKS: Well, you've taken care of Claire and handed out all of the gifts...now will you tell us what happened to Mare?

SANTA: Sure. It goes a little something like this: I am Santa Claus, and I have what's known up in da Pole as "miracle powers." I'm not just about toys and flying and that kinda stuff -- I can do some seriously twisted shit. Now, as I sat in that gift box fully cognizant of the terrors going on all around me, I realized that -- at some undetermined point in time -- everything in the world went wrong. I thought to myself, maybe we need a new prophet. Still, it's hard to shake the mandates of the old and familiar prophets. After a lot of debate, I decided to rekindle Mare's spirit in the form of a newborn who would grow up to shape society for the better.

KUSE: What are you getting at?

SANTA: I shot Mare's soul through the sands of time and resurrected her as Jesus Christ.


WISEMAN #1: I'm wise.

WISEMAN #2: I'm wiser.

WISEMAN #3: I'm wisest.

MARY: We've done well. This one will do great things, I can feel it.

MARY: Think about it -- he could be a boxer, a magician, even a king! Unlimited potential! Even the lambs see it!

JOSEPH: Aren't those sheep?

MARY: They might be.


MARY: Hey, what do you think you're doing?! You're spoiling the occasion!

WAITERBOT: Allow me to introduce myself. I'm Waiterbot. I've come for the gold and silver.

MARY: We don't have gold or silver. Get out.

WAITERBOT: Gimme gold or silver or suffer real bad.

JOSEPH: We have no precious stones!

WAITERBOT: You leave me no choice. Little Kitty, do your worst!

MARY: Little Kitty?

MARY: AHHHH! Joseph, quick! Save Jesus! We have to save Jesus!

Come, they told me...

A newborn king to see...

Our finest gifts we bring...

To lay before the King...