Bad Santa Page #4

You go ahead.

Are you coming downstairs?

I'll be down in a minute.|I got to go to work.

F*** me?|F*** you.

You can't just take up|with some kid.

You don't know who's around|or what they do.

You got some nerve,|you little sh*t, you.

What, you're my mom now?|You shat me out of your womb?

You said that yesterday,|you stupid f***.

Sh*t.

F*** you.

You are by far the dumbest,

most pathetic piece|of maggot-eating sh*t

that has ever slid|from a human being's hairy ass.

What if the kid has one of those|f***ing playdates they have now?

Are you shitting me?|The kid don't have any friends.

He don't even have an imaginary|friend unless he ditched him.

He lives with his drooling-ass|old grandmother.

Sits in front of the TV|all the time.

You think she's gonna|rat me out?

She don't know her ass|from last Tuesday.

You f*** her?

Jesus Christ.

Is everything f***ing sex|with you?

With me?|I f*** one person.

I ain't out there|serial fornicating,

trying to float my liver,|drinking myself silly

'cause I can't stand|what a piece of sh*t I am.

What are you,|Sigmund Sawed-off F***ing Freud?

Yeah, that's right.

Go ahead.|Talk about my height.

Make it about something safe

'cause you're|an emotional cripple.

Your soul is dog sh*t.

Every single f***ing thing|about you is ugly.

Come on, Lois.|Let's get out of here.

Look who's here, Jimmy.|It's Santa.

That's f***ing great.

Let's tell him what you want|for Christmas.

F***.

I'm on my f***ing|lunch break, okay?

Are you insane?

Management's gonna hear|about this.

You think that's a threat?

If you think you can make my|life any worse, go right ahead.

Be my f***ing guest.|Take a shot.

of the year

jingle-belling

"Be of good cheer"

of the year

Just looking.

Aah!

Find everything|you're looking for?

Um, yeah.|Thank you.

Nothing I can help|you with, huh?

No. I'm just looking at|the games 'cause I have an Xbox.

Get your hands|out of my pants, man!

You're stealing from the store,|you're stealing from me.

What is this?

I was gonna pay for it.

Wrong answer.

When I look at you,|you know what I think?

I think America has|a sad future ahead of it.

And you're part|of this sorry-ass generation.

What you want to be|when you grow up?

I don't know.

-This MP3?|-Yeah.

Take it off.

But my grandmother gave --

Take it off. I don't care|who gave it to you.

Take it off.

I don't care if it choke you|to death.

Now, I want you to get on|out of here. Get!

-But can I have...|-Get!

Happy Kwanzaa.

And pull your damn pants up!

What's wrong with you kids|these days?

MAN:
Gin?

-Yeah.|-What do you need?

I need you to run a plate|for me.

It's Arizona plates.

Hold on.|Let me get a pen.

Is that it?

For Christ's sake, make a move|and stick with it, would you?

King me.

Son of a b*tch!

You lousy, cheating little sh*t!

You're f***ing with me!|You did that on purpose.

You play like the dead lice|are falling off of you,

and then suddenly, you're like|Seabiscuit all over the place.

You're a smartass,|is what you are, kid.

Want to play again?

Howdy.|Herb Gunner.

I live two streets over|on Burning Trail Road.

I don't think we've met.

I'm Uncle Willie.

I'm organizing the decorations|for the subdivision this year.

-You mind if I come in?|-Yeah.

I mean yeah, I mind.

Okay. Uh...

Will you be participating in our|luminarias program this year?

-What the hell is a lunamaria?|-They're luminarias.

Small sacks filled with|about a pound of sand each.

We insert a candle|in the middle, light it,

and the bag glows.

Then we line|all the sidewalks here

all around the neighborhood.

You see, we don't celebrate|Christmas around here, so...

We're, uh, we're Muslims.

Look, it's my first year|running this.

I'd like it if there weren't|any gaps in it.

What if I come by|Christmas Eve and do it for you?

No, you know what?|You don't have to do that.

Yeah, me and the kid here,|we'll do something.

Great.|I got the supplies.

-I'll throw them in the garage.|-Perfect.

Awesome.

Going in the garage,|just so you know.

You can make|a delicious six-pound chicken.

Enough hot dogs and sausages|to feed a small army.

Not one, but two delicious|rotisserie chickens.

F*** me, Santa. F*** me, Santa.|F*** me, Santa.

F*** me, Santa.|F*** me, Santa. F*** me, Santa.

Scrumptious|6-pound standing rib roast.

And everybody's favorite,|baby back ribs.

This is such a nice house.

Needs a woman's touch, though.

I just rent|the f***ing place anyway.

Yeah.|I just rent stuff, too.

Yeah?

How long are you gonna be here?

What? On the couch?

No.

In town.

I don't know.|Just through the holidays.

You know, then I'll move on.

So, do you like kids?

F***, no!

Do you think|I'm some kind of pervert?

I just mean because|you're Santa Claus.

Oh.

I like kids.|I really like kids.

-You do?|-I love kids.

Well, good.

Yeah, they're something else,|those kids.

And to tell you the truth...

The fact of the matter is,|I'm not Santa.

Like ya 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 f***?

Kid, what the f***|is wrong with you?

Jesus Christ!

Let me see it!|Let me see it!

What the hell happened to you?!

I cut my hand by mistake!|Ow!

-Of course it was by mistake.|-Ow!

Here, hold still.|Hold still.

I was just trying to help you!

I forgot to say,|"It's gonna 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?

Aw, sh*t.

You're late.

Kids.|Let me tell you.

They run you ragged.

Morning, team.

Hey, hey, hey.

It's not quite 8:00 yet.

Well, how close are we?

Now it's 8:
00.

Merry Christmas.

Up 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 'em, now.

Go on and get in there.|I can take it.

Yeah.

Gin, I got the info|on that Arizona plate.

All right.|Now you're talking.

Oh, hold on one minute.

Baby, baby. Baby, baby.|Don't use that one.

That's not the stuff.

Use something|with some claws to it.

Yeah, that hard candy.|That's it right there.

Let me get some of that.|Yeah, that's it.

Okay.

Yeah, I'm back.

The guy's Roger Merman.

-Guess where he is.|-Give it to me.

Ow! Damn it!|What's wrong with you, woman?

Who are you?

Your name Roger Merman?

Yes. But...

You doing three to six|for embezzlement?

Uh, 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.

Well, hey, 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.

Yeah, but this|is not a sandwich.

A sandwich has|two pieces of bread

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