DECEMBER 8, 2005: KNACKS: Nice ass. KUSE: Shut up and help me -- today's gift is friggin' heavy. KNACKS: I don't want to help you. Not unless you share. KUSE: Dude, I'm serious, this thing weighs like two hundred pounds. I can't carry it back to the lair by myself. KNACKS: Is that what you call it? A lair? I always considered it more of a "lobby." KUSE: I'm not totally sure if it's a lair, but it's definitely not a lobby. LATER... KUSE: We woulda got back here a lot quicker if you'd helped me lug this shit. KNACKS: How are you supposed to put that together? I see no rhyme or reason to it! KUSE: Yeah, this one's tricky. Maybe Fireman or Miss Snowman can help. KNACKS: Out of all the people here, why those two? KUSE: They're first on my list to kill. KUSE: Okay, it's official. I have no idea how to put this together. I got a new fire gun, but all of this other stuff is Greek to me. KNACKS: The other junk looks like a bunch of sink parts. But why sink parts? KUSE: I asked for a sink for Christmas. KNACKS: .... KUSE: I'm going to throw it at Fireman, kill him, and then throw it at Miss Snowman and kill her. KNACKS: I'm afraid to look. KUSE: Bah. Admit it, the fact that you're getting such shitty presents is pretty amusing. KNACKS: Dude. Every year after Christmas, I write everything I got down in this neat marble notebook I've been keeping like, forever. 1995, 1996, 1997 -- there's a page for every year, and I even have foil star stickers to punctuate the stuff I really liked. I've always thought that the lists improved progressively each year. I'm not so good at sports and I don't know how to sew, but when it comes to getting better Christmas gifts in the current year as opposed to the previous year, I've never not succeeded. If things don't change, there will be a monster at the end of my marble notebook. KUSE: Hmm. Hey, whatever happened to your Vader helmet? KNACKS: You were supposed to find out during the Halloween Countdown. KUSE: Oh shut up that doesn't even make sense. MEANWHILE... WAITERBOT: Mare, this is it. Are you ready for this? Because this is it. MARE: It's not that I'm not ready for it. I'm just bored with the idea of all Mare Winninghams wanting to kill Santa Claus. It's getting pretty "blah blah blah" to me. WAITERBOT: So what are you saying, here? That you don't want to kill Santa? MARE: Don't talk crazy. Get down the chimney with care. MARE: Are you covered with soot in there? WAITERBOT: Not that I can see. MARE: Good. I was going to ditch you if it meant getting covered in soot. MEANWHILE x2... KUSE: KUSE: I can't believe you got a chicken. I just can't believe it. KNACKS: I don't know what to say. KUSE: We could make a few fowl/foul jokes. KNACKS: Wait, that's a rooster. KUSE: A couple of Punky Rooster jokes then? KUSE: Do people eat roosters? Maybe we can eat this rooster. KNACKS: I'm not eating it. I'm not doing anything with it. I don't want to look at or think about that rooster. KUSE: I don't think I've ever seen a black rooster before. Maybe we can cook and eat this black rooster? KNACKS: We're not eating it, okay? MEANWHILE x3... SANTA: Did you hear that? I just heard a loud bang. MRS. CLAUS: Mittens just jumped down from the table, that's all. SANTA: But I heard the loud bang coming from another room. MRS. CLAUS: I didn't say she jumped down from this table! MARE: Thanks for breaking my fall, Einstein. WAITERBOT: Will you two get off me? I have delicate head parts. INKY: Santa's house smells like cookies. TO BE CONTINUED!