Santa's Slay Page #3

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Merry Christmas.

"The townspeople | would have a Mass of Christ,

or a Christ Mass,

where they would pray | to their Lord..."

God, Grandpa.

Lord save us...

"Hearing their call,

God sent down one of his | angel generals from the heavens.

The angel took the form | of an old man.

He encountered the young, ill-tempered | Santa not far from his home.

Santa was ice fishing | with the ornery little people,

the elves, on a frozen lake.

Help, please Santa, help. | Help, I don't wanna...

Knowing the son of Satan | was a gambling sort,

the angel challenged him | to a contest.

The contest was a simple one:

Who could slide a rock | across the lake

and land it closest | to the ice fishing hole

without the rock falling in.

If Santa won the contest, he would | deliver the confident old man

to his father for an eternity | of pain and suffering.

If the old man | won the contest,

Santa would not only | have to cease

the Day of Slayings | for the next 1,000 years,

but would also have to turn | the Dag of Mord, Day of Slayings,

into a Dag of Glee, | Day of Joy.

Santa thought this was as close | to a sure wager as could be.

There was no way a mere mortal | was gonna be able

to defeat him at anything.

Santa was so sure of himself | that he went first.

Woo hoo! | Yay, Santa. Go!

His rock landed as close | as it could possibly be

to the hole | without going in it.

Next was the old mars turn.

- The old mars rock... | - No, no, no!

Skidded slowly along.

Oh no!

And it came to rest | touching Santa's rock

with just enough momentum to push | Santa's stone over into the hole.

The old man had won."

Sh*t. That was exactly | 1,000 years ago.

The bet's over.

Hooyaa!

Ho, ho, ho.

He's nuts.

Hallelujah

Hallelujah, hallelujah

Hallelujah, | hallelujah

Hallelujah

Hallelujah, hallelujah

Hallelujah.

Angels, I think Santa | has left you some surprises.

I can't wait to see | the sh*t we got.

Can we open our motherfucking | presents now?

- Of course. | - Go ahead, kids.

Let's see what Santa got you.

F***.

And finally, | a moment of silence

for the victims of that tragic fire | that took place last night

at the community eye sore, | Gold Diggers.

The house of heathens.

While these people | are undeniably moral sinners,

they are nonetheless members | of this community...

and therefore deserve | our condolences.

So pray with me, | if you will, for the salvation

of Crystal Candy...

Sierra Rains...

Dixie Wrecked,

Tess Tickler...

We're closed.

Sorry, Santa. | We're closed.

It's Christmas. You should know that | better than anybody.

What's the matter with you?

You wanna eat? | Thai Chung across the street.

A very nice brunch buffet.

Schmuck.

You've come | to the wrong deli, fatso.

Here's some stocking stuffers,

you just wrecked the store.

Piece of sh*t!

Oy.

Hi, Nicholas.

Hey.

What's up?

Do you have any gum?

We're all out. The driver that was | supposed to make the delivery

got his butt fried on a stripper pole | over at Gold Diggers.

Heard it on the police scanner.

Yikes, that's below average.

This is all we got left.

Hmm, I've never heard | of Smokir Gum.

What the hell, | sounds hot.

Cool. It's $2.39.

Out of a five?

You know, | for such a small town,

I've never seen you before.

Just moved here, homeboy.

Too much damn violence | in the 'hood.

Car two, when you have a chance, | can you go to 313 Main?

There's been a report | of some vandalism.

- Oh, you betcha. | - That's Heaven Scent.

Hey.

Merry Christmas.

Nicholas.

There is a Santa Claus.

I thought you people | didn't even believe in him.

You...

No, no.

No.

All right, hold it right there.

- All right, what are your names? | - Rabinowitz.

Rabinowitz? Rabin...

- All right, what about you? | - Shlomo Lipschitz.

Shlomo? | Like the replay or what?

What in the hell | do we have here?

Oh.

Looks like someone punched out | Mr. Greers festival of lights.

Hey, Shlomo there says | he saw someone in a Santa suit

- outside the store. | - A Santa suit?

- Is that what he said? Are you sure? | - Okay.

Something just isn't kosher here.

We're taking you down | to the station for a little questioning.

Potts, grab that Amish group | outside, too.

Come on, kid.

All right, watch your head there, | Yitzkak.

- Hello, is Mary there? | - Yeah, hold on.

- Hello? | - Mac.

- Hey, did you hear about Heaven Scent? | - I know, I was there.

- What? Where are you now? | - I'm at the police station.

I've gotta talk to you. | Can you come pick me up?

- Yeah, I'll be right there. | - Okay, thanks.

Yuleson. Nicholas Yuleson?

Captain Caulk will see you now.

Don you now your gay apparel.

We got an eye-witness account | that a man dressed as Santa Claus

was seen leaving the store about | the same time you said you arrived.

Captain, this might be something | that predates all of us.

Santa Claus is not a myth | or a legend.

He's real, only he's not | bearing gifts and presents anymore.

Son, are you saying Santa

is offing everyone | who's naughty and nice?

That's exactly what I'm saying, | Captain. Look...

- Here. | - Gee, Nicholas, that's a swell clock,

but why should I give a damn | what time is is in "Green-witch?"

I figure that we have until about 7 p.m. | That'd be midnight at the Pole.

The North Pole's time zone is the same | as the Greenwich Mean Time.

7:
00 is when all the madness | should end.

Christmas would be | officially over for Santa.

Maybe.

Well, thanks | for the lesson there, sport,

but I already know | how to tell time.

Now, I don't wanna hear | any more about Santa.

Captain, my grandfather thinks...

Oh, the grandfather! | That's all I needed to hear.

- Please, just listen! | - You're as big a nut as he is.

Thank you for completely | wasting my f***ing time!

I know it sounds crazy, | but you have to believe me.

Leave now, | and I won't have you committed

- to the farm at Northville. | - Just wait, all right?

Fine! | You've been warned.

Looks like the killings form...

form the shape | of a Christmas tree.

Maybe his next killing

will be right here.

You know, | like the star on the tree.

Yeah, the Christmas tree killer.

I don't know. | No, no, looks like more

like an irregular polygon, | you know.

It's a geometrical | enclosed shape.

You see, it's a closed figure

made up of adjoining | line segments.

Mac, there's some | crazy sh*t going on,

and Mr. Greers death | is just the beginning.

- What do you mean? | - We have to get to my house

and find my grandpa.

Come in!

This better be good.

- Ho ho ho! | - Oh no!

Don we now our gay apparel

Na-na-na na-na-na | na-na-na

Troll the ancient | Yuletide carol

Na na na-na-na-na

Because of everything that's happening | and the Book of Claus, I no longer think

that my grandpa's crazy. He might be | the only sane person in this town.

According to this, | everything should be over

in a little more than... | four hours.

What is it with you and Caulk?

How ridiculous! He sucks.

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