EPISODE EIGHT: The Two Santa Claus Theory: PART TWO
SANTA CLAUS: Ho, Ho, Ho. Sup, Yall...
CHATBOT: Santa!
MIKE: The “Code Blue Banana” Alarm means we’re being boarded by Santa Claus.
NEGATIVE NANCY: It means that specifically? Why the fuck would that specifically mean that?
MIKE: Yes. It does. And you’d know that if you took the time to upload The Space Windu owners manual to your brain like the rest of us.
NEGATIVE NANCY: This one’s not on me. You have a cat brain. There’s like so much storage space in there. For me.... space is fairly limited... you know what I mean? And that manual is like... thick as fuck.
SANTA CLAUS: Speaking of thick as fuck you fools should check out my Glutes. Thick with two Cs, am I right?
CHATBOT: I thought you’re supposed to shake like a bowl full of Jelly?
SANTA CLAUS: Oh, you wanna see me shake it? I’ll shake it. Check it out. Pow. Pow. Pop. Pow. Pop. Nice, Right?
MIKE: Those are some rosy cheeks.
SANTA CLAUS: I’ve been working out with Carrot Top’s trainer. Got tired of being tagged on Twitter every time some fat old white guy grows a beard.
NEGATIVE NANCY: You’re no Santa Claus.
SANTA CLAUS: I damn sure am. I’m the same ol’ Santa Claus you’ve known and loved for years, but now I just come in a tighter, sexier package. Pow. Pow. I should probably pop this shirt off or I’m liable to destroy it with all this flexin’ and popping. Ho... Ho... One more... Ho. Told you. Same Santa. Tighter package.
CHATBOT: I don’t know, Nancy. I’m getting high readings of Cookie Crumbs and Yuletide Cheer. (beat) And I don’t think you need me to tell you that’s a pretty big package.
SANTA CLAUS: No one ever said BIG package, but thank you, Chatbot.
CHATBOT: No. Thank you. I mean dang, Santa.
NEGATIVE NANCY: If you’re Santa Claus then what did I ask for for Christmas when I was ten years old?
SANTA CLAUS: How the fuck am I supposed to be remember that? Listen, if you don’t believe me just look out the window. How many dead reindeer do you see?
CHATBOT: Eight and a half. (Beat) No, there it is. Nine. And there goes Phillip. Hi, Phillip.
SANTA CLAUS: That’s right. Dasher. Dancer. Prancer. Vixen. Comet. Cupid. Dunder. Blixen. And ya boi Rudolph. All Dead. You dickheads crossed four lanes of intergalactic traffic and totally wiped me out. I’m boned, man. I’m totally boned. How the hell am I supposed to deliver the rest of my Patreon rewards?
CHATBOT: Don’t you mean Presents?
SANTA CLAUS: No. I don’t. (beat) Only people Santa’s delivering to this Christmas are the ones who are subscribed to the Nice Tier of my Patreon. For as little as ten dollars per month you can get access to my Vlogs, Mrs. Claus’ Recipe Book, HD Mistletoe pics and an enamel “I Saved Christmas” pin.
MIKE: I assume there’s also a naughty tier?
SANTA CLAUS: I like your style little talking cat man. On the naughty tier you get all the same rewards as the Nice Tier... plus I’ll come down your chimney on Christmas Eve. But, I’ll be honest, if you want the good stuff you’re gonna have to tip for it. Don’t worry. It’s worth it. Santa’s gonna be bringing the snow this year.
CHATBOT: Actually, Santa, I’m already subscribed to your Naughty Tier. I’m a huge fan of your Christmas Cookie ASMR videos. (say like a catchphrase) Dunk it, baby.
SANTA CLAUS: Dunk it, baby! What’s your username?
CHATBOT: Sk8erBot6969, with...
SANTA CLAUS & CHATBOT: ...with a bunch of X’s at the end.
CHATBOT: That’s me!
SANTA CLAUS: I definitely remember that username. You know I think I’ve actually got one of our new shirts in my bag right now. Yep. There we go. Boom. Check it out... We’ve got my sexy Santa face on the front. A little Calvin & Hobbes action on the other side. All the elves love that shit.
CHATBOT: Just throw it on me, Santa!
[SHIRT hitting SCREEN]
MIKE: I’m looking at your Patreon page right now and it says that if I make a one time donation of $1000 I can get access to a special “Christmas Eve present opening party with the man himself.” Is that true?
SANTA CLAUS: Technically those present opening parties are sold out, but... I don’t know. I’m digging your vibe Cat Man... if you’ve got the cash I’ll party.
MIKE: Subscribed!
[LEVER PULL]
REVIEW OF A DATING APP: I’ve been locked out of your app again. Full Disclosure: Yes, I’m a Dragon. But you already knew that didn’t you? The very first thing your app asks when you register is, “Are you a Dragon?” And I have to respond with yes or no. If I say yes then I immediately get booted. I should at least be given the opportunity to clarify that, while yes I am a Dragon, no I do not eat Ass. That’s not why I’m on the Tap Dat Ass app. This isn’t some elaborate ruse to get my next meal. I just prefer the companionship of a Donkey over a Dragons. I won’t say that I’ll never date another Dragon again, but from my experience every Dragon is basically a carbon copy of the last. They’re all... “Want to comeback to my place and check out my pile of gold I’ll never be able to fucking spend?” or “...sorry about all the Dwarven Corpses..” I swear to god, if I have to have one more one-sided conversation about how they, “....know Jack Paper and we can totally use his beach house anytime..” I’m going to burn Honah Lee to the ground myself. Maybe the Shrek movie franchise gave me unrealistic expectations on the viability of Dragon on Donkey or Donkey on Dragon love... Maybe this just isn’t meant to be, but please Tap Dat Ass app, unlock my account and allow me to see for myself if my one true Donkey soulmate is waiting for me. If you unlock my account I will consider adjusting my rating. But for now, One Star.
SANTA CLAUS: Oh, yeah. Everybody whip out your presents! Let’s get this party started.
NEGATIVE NANCY: Where is that music coming from?
CHATBOT: That’s me! Okay so, Nancy your present is this thin square one. Lilly, yours is the really tiny box. And Phillips is the one just like it, but since he froze to death in space I guess you can have that one, Santa.
SANTA CLAUS: What? Chatbot... that’s like... seriously cool of you bro.
MIKE: No present for the Cat Captain?
CHATBOT: What!? You get the tree! Have at it, Buddy!
MIKE: Hell yeah. You’re gonna die, tree.
CHATBOT: Oh, and by the way Mike, I heard a rumor that there’s a red dot creeping around the control room...
MIKE: There’s a what? Doing what? Where? (beat) I’m on it.
[WRAPPING PAPER BEING TORN OFF BOXES]
INTERN LILLY: A Tiny Cowboy Hat!
SANTA CLAUS: Oh, look at that. I’ve got a matching one. It’s like we’re little Cowboy twins. Let’s take a selfie for the gram.
NEGATIVE NANCY: Oh my god! Chatbot, you didn’t. How did you...?
CHATBOT: Do you like it?
NEGATIVE NANCY: I love it. I didn’t even realize Scooter Jeezie had a new album. (realization) So this is where that random Breaking Protocol reference came from?
CHATBOT: Yeppers. I could barely get it out without breaking. When you mentioned Protocol I was like, ‘oh no, Chatbot here’s your chance... don’t mess it up...’
NEGATIVE NANCY: (excited) Scooter Jeezie is like....the greatest... He basically started the underground punk scene where I grew up. For me, Scooter Jeezie basically is punk rock. One time at a concert he pointed at me, on stage in front of everyone, and said, “hey, can someone help get that weird tiny girl out of the pit before she gets hurt...” (beat) Chatbot, I was that weird tiny girl. In a world full of commercial sellouts, shills and posers... Scooter Jeezie really gets what it means to be punk and you can feel it in his music. There’s just something about it... the charging drums, the gritty distortion, the—
CHATBOT: Can we listen to it?
NEGATIVE NANCY: Yeah, let’s do that right now. Fuck this Christmas shit.
[CHRISTMAS MUSIC STOPS]
CHATBOT: What song should we start with?
NEGATIVE NANCY: Start it from the beginning, Chatbot. People who skip around on albums are the same people who read magazines back to front or listen to podcasts at 2x speed. I have to wonder if they also sprint through museums, drive through State Parks and never chew their food. For fucks sake people, take some time to enjoy the art as it was intended.
SANTA CLAUS: Man, I miss magazines. Christmas was easy as shit back in the day. I was chuckin’ fucking rolled up Sports Illustrateds like Joe Montana. Didn’t even have to leave my sleigh.
CHATBOT: Okay... here we go. Pressing play.... now.
[MUSIC : “What’s your favorite movie?” - repeated]
NEGATIVE NANCY: The fuck was that? Are you playing a prank on me?
CHATBOT: No. Do you want me to skip ahead? Maybe it gets better...
[MUSIC : “What’s your favorite movie?” x 3 and then “…if it’s not Goofy you’re wrong.”]
NEGATIVE NANCY: Well, that’s a lot worse now isn’t it?
INTERN LILLY: That sucked.
NEGATIVE NANCY: Oh, what the fuck do you know about being Punk you disposable clone?
INTERN LILLY: (gasp) Fine.
[LILLY storms off.]
NEGATIVE NANCY: Skip to the next track. I'm thinking maybe that was a parody song. You know... it's intentionally bad... like a goof.
CHATBOT: There’s still six minutes left on this track. Are you sure you want me to skip ahead?
NEGATIVE NANCY: Six minutes? How many fucking times does that hook play?
CHATBOT: Okay, this next track is called, “Dinosaur on a Skateboard”
NEGATIVE NANCY: “Dinosaur on a Skateboard,” that sounds like a real banger... If I know Scooter Jeezie, this will be where the album really kicks off.
[MUSIC : “Here comes Roger rolling down the street. The coolest Dinosaur that you could ever meet.”]
NEGATIVE NANCY: Maybe it’s experimental.
[MIKE returns from chasing the red dot.]
MIKE: When people call their art experimental, what they really mean is that they think it’s terrible and they’re worried no one else will like it. (beat) I totally caught that Red Dot by the way. In case anyone was wondering...
SANTA CLAUS: Tell me something... where is this album currently charted?
CHATBOT: Scooter Jeezie’s new release, “I Think It's Your Turn to Take Out the Trash” debuted on the Intergalactic Billboard Charts Three weeks ago at Number Sixty. The album has been steadily climbing since and currently sits at number 8 on the IBC Top 40.
SANTA CLAUS: Oh, nevermind. Shit. This must be pretty good then. (Beat) Okay. I think I hear the good now.
NEGATIVE NANCY: The charts don’t matter and they don’t make any sense at all. This podcast, The One Stars, for example, has never charted. Not once. Not ever.
SANTA CLAUS: And you’re surprised by that?
NEGATIVE NANCY: Fair enough.
SANTA CLAUS: I’m just saying... if your art is popular then it’s good. If it isn’t popular, it’s bad. And if your art is good, then you don’t need to be doing it at all unless people are paying you to do it. And speaking of sucks... How about this party? Am I right?
CHATBOT: Well, I do have something else that might take this party to the next level.
SANTA CLAUS: Oh yeah. And what’s that?
CHATBOT: Let me ask you something, Santa Claus... you ever smoked a [CENSORED]?
SANTA CLAUS: I’ve heard of it, but never been able to try it myself... So yeah let’s fucking do it, Chatbot. See... I knew you folks were cool...
[ALARM: Oh Dang. Oh Dang.]
SANTA CLAUS: What’s going on?
MIKE: Oh Dang. That can only mean one thing...
NEGATIVE NANCY: Right. Exactly. We gotta be big worried. An Oh Dang alarm is no laughing matter, people.
MIKE: And what does it mean... Nancy?
[ALARM: Oh Dang. Oh Dang.]
NEGATIVE NANCY: (she has no idea) It means... pffhh... it means we’re fucked. (Beat) Probably. (Beat) It means Christmas is cancelled for sure.
MIKE: It means... that someone failed The Peer Pressure Test!
[ALARM: Oh Dang. Oh Dang.]
MIKE: And unfortunately there’s only one way to turn it off.
NEGATIVE NANCY: Yep.
MIKE: (to Nancy, annoyed) What is it, then?
NEGATIVE NANCY: What?
MIKE: If you know so much, what is it then? What’s the only way to get an Oh Dang alarm to shut off? (Beat) Hmmm?
NEGATIVE NANCY: (a total guess) We have to kill Santa Claus....?
MIKE: No, it means we have to kill Santa... (beat) Wait... how did you know?
NEGATIVE NANCY: Lucky guess. Lifelong dream. Take your pick. (Beat) But it definitely wasn’t due to any sort of preparation.
[ALARM: Oh Dang. Oh Dang.]
MIKE: The rules of The Space Windu Owners Manual are clear. If anyone ever fails the Peer Pressure test, everyone else must band together and kill them.
[ALARM: Oh Dang. Oh Dang.]
REVIEW OF DRAGON AGE: ORIGINS: As a Dragon, I didn't appreciate the lack of dragons in Dragon Age Origins. Two dragons isn't enough Dragons for a game with Dragon in its title... One Star.
NEGATIVE NANCY: What is it with all the Dragon stuff? This is supposed to be the Holiday special, right?
[ALARM: Oh Dang. Oh Dang.]
MIKE: So who's gonna do it? (Beat) Not it.
NEGATIVE NANCY: Not it.
SANTA CLAUS: Chatbot, are you sure the UberPod said they were about to be here?
CHATBOT: It says it's just a hop, skip and a jump away... (beat) I’m sorry my system doesn’t give readings in useful measurements... I’m pretty sure that’s not too far....
SANTA CLAUS: Better not be. Daddy hungry. I’m definitely gonna be hitting up a Whataburger after this... Some of y’all know what I’m talking about...
[SCI-FI DOOR OPEN - BIG ENTRANCE]
INTERN LILLY: I’ll do it.
NEGATIVE NANCY: Lilly, what did you do to your hair?
INTERN LILLY: (ignoring Nancy, to Santa) Hey, you Yuletide fuck!
SANTA CLAUS: I’m Santa Claus you can’t talk to me like...
INTERN LILLY: Chatbot! Open the airlock
SANTA CLAUS: Hey, what the- watch it! What’s the big deal? We’re all getting paid here.
INTERN LILLY: We’re not all getting paid here. Im an intern.
SANTA CLAUS: (struggling) I get it. Ugh. Erg. Maintaining an ughrg... online presence can be like a second job. If you’d like I can point you to a lot of helpful tools for less fortunate—ugh!
CHATBOT: Dunk it, baby!
LILLY manages to get Santa on the ground. Breaks his hand. And squeezes him out the Airlock and into Space.
SANTA CLAUS: (fading away) I still stand by everything I said—
[DOOR CLOSE]
INTERN LILLY: (Laughs) There! Santa’s Dead! I’m going to my room!
NEGATIVE NANCY: Pushing Santa Claus out of airlock and into Space... now that’s Punk as Fuck.
CHATBOT: I like your new hair, Lilly! Purple spikes are a good look on you.
[DOOR SLAM]
NEGATIVE NANCY: I like her... at least ten times more now. Purple hair Lilly can stay. Though I should probably get another Phillip thawed out before too long.
CHATBOT: Do you want to listen to Scooter Jeezie’s new album again?
NEGATIVE NANCY: No. Go ahead and put it in the burn pile with all the Iggy Pop and Weezer albums.
CHATBOT: Okay, but we’re gonna need to burn them soon because that stack is getting pretty tall.
NEGATIVE NANCY: (accepting) You know, Chatbot, ultimately I have to be honest with myself. The new Scooter Jeezie album sucks and that’s okay.
CHATBOT: Maybe you’re just not as Punk as you used to be.
NEGATIVE NANCY: Maybe you’re right. Maybe I’m not Punk... or never really was... Maybe I’m the poser and not Scooter Jeezie. If so, that’s okay too. I don’t have to be punk anymore. You don’t have to be the same version of yourself for your entire life.
CHATBOT: And you don’t have to wait for a New Year to come around to give yourself an update. At any point in your life you can acknowledge your faults, weakness and strengths and decide to start being a better person. Or you can double down and become a way worse person if you want to. Really. The decision is up to you. (beat) Hello? Nancy? Well, Nancy, walked away while I was talking so I guess we’re done with the episode. I thought we might get around to doing something with elves or Candy Canes, but we spent so much time talking about gold hungry donkey loving Dragons and Punk Rock sellouts and-
NEGATIVE NANCY reappears with a present in hand.
NEGATIVE NANCY: Here you are, Chatbot. Happy Holidays.
CHATBOT: Is that a present!!?!?!?! (beat) Is it for me!??!??!?!
NEGATIVE NANCY: You know it is. Go on.
[LAZER ZAP AND BURN]
NEGATIVE NANCY: Christ, Chatbot. You didn’t need to laser burn the wrapping paper off.
CHATBOT: Sorry…. Sorry.
NEGATIVE NANCY: Well... do you like it?
CHATBOT: A white denim jean jacket? Whoa! It's so freaking Badout. I love it! Thank you, Nancy! I’m gonna wear it right now. (Nancy impression) Check me out. My name’s Negative Nancy and I’m so punk. I like Simple Plan and Fallout Boy. Got any Safety Pins or patches, mate. Oi Oi Oi.
NEGATIVE NANCY: I’m gonna let that one slide because it’s Christmas, but you know that’s not funny or true and it’s quite offensive actually.
CHATBOT: (continuing Nancy impression) Welcome back to the worst podcast in the world, The One Stars. My name's Negative Nancy and I’m a buttface. (long awkward beat of silence) That’s you. That’s what you sound like.
NEGATIVE NANCY: Happy Holidays you fucking whackers.
CHATBOT: (still mocking Nancy) Happy Holidays you fucking whackers.
REVIEW OF A FANCY SANTA: That fancy santa has sent me to hell and back. Never since I have laid eyes upon it has my soul known a moment’s rest, nor my mind peace. It was a calm December day, and I was at the Vermont Country Store, browsing for whiskey-filled chocolates, as was my routine before the holidays, in those simpler times. When I rounded the corner past a particularly stylish display of elf on a shelfs, I met what I know now to be an agent of my own destruction. His eyes jolly, his beard luxurious, his robe glittering with elaborate golden patterns, the little ceramic bastard grabbed ahold of my heart in an instant.
Little did I know that there was another in that Vermont Country Store that very same day, someone who shared my porcelain proclivities, whose steps would come to dog my own, would come to disrupt each and every hour of sleep that I might try to capture with my head laid down to rest, tormented by what was to come between the two of us. But at that moment, that becursed moment, he was just another gentleman clad in plaid, browsing at the Vermont Country Store. Our eyes met above the fancy santa, and we shared a smile at little mr. claus’ elegant finery. That smile would be the last between us as the two of us, united as one beast, reached for the fancy santa.
The next twenty minutes are but a blur to my memory. The security tapes showed what was, in hindsight, a brutal sequence of increasingly polite “after yous,” the tension building in our bodies, the volume building in our voices until, at last, I grabbed the fancy Santa, threw a fistful of twenties at the cashier, and ran to my car, the bell on the door jingle-jangling in my wake
When my memory starts back up, I am at home, in my driveway, gazing at my prize.The fancy Santa is mine. His jollity illuminates my car, his benign gaze drilling into my own to tell me that, at last, I would have the perfect Christmas.
It was not to last. I had but one night, one evening, of that perfect joy, before it turned to ash in my hands. Craig - for Craig I know his name now to be - had, unbeknownst to me, taken down my license plate number and hired a private detective to track me down. He showed up that very next morning, a blank check in his hands, a plaintive look in his eye, begging me to sell him the fancy Santa. He would pay any price, he said, but the fancy Santa he must have. I told him to find his own, but no, it had to be mine. He, too, had felt that gin blossom spell, had connected his own memories of innocent Tonka truck rampages with the fancy Santa’s gorgeously embroidered sackful of tiny gifts. No other would do.
I sent him away, slamming the door in his face. But of course, when a man has already crossed so many boundaries to be with his fancy Santa, a simple refusal was not going to bar him from his prize. When later I went to prepare my famous home-made eggnog, the toast of all that taste it, he burst through my window, having disguised himself as the snowman my children had built in the yard, snatched my santa, my fancy santa, and tromp tromp tromped his way out the door, leaving only a pile of broken glass, a puddle, a carrot, and the fading memory of my stolen joy.
It took me nearly a month to track him down. I left my home, my family, my own ruined christmas behind, but find him I did. He was holed up in a motel in Barre, his feet up on the ottoman and a glass of rum raised high to toast the fancy santa, my fancy santa. I waited, watching his movements, learning his ways until there was no longer a boundary between where he ended and I began. Until I saw my opportunity. I posed as a candygram deliveryman, thrusting a boxful of my own beloved whiskeybottle chocolates into his hands. His eyes grew wide as he read my note - “Craig, we love you, we miss you, please come back home.“ When he started to weep, taken in by my elegant forgery of his wife’s handwriting, I struck, ripping off my gold-buttoned burgundy coat and throwing it over his face, snatching up the fancy santa and running to my car as fast as my legs would take me.
We hit the road, fancy Santa and I, finding what moment’s peace we could, never daring to rest in one place for more than a night. It was good, for a while, though, like all good things, it couldn’t last. No one can run forever, stay vigilant at every moment of every day, and when, at last, I thought myself safe, when I dared to rest, to put up my feet and close my eyes, it was then that Craig leapt over the Panera Bread sandwich counter and brained me with a stale asiago loaf. When I came to, the fancy Santa was gone from my booth, his iced tea untouched.
I’ve been chasing him, and he me, ever since, as we steal and re-steal that fancy Santa, back and forth, never stopping, never resting, my only solace in those few brief moments when I can claim the fancy Santa for myself and myself only. But I can’t do this forever. I cannot keep running from Craig, or he from me. We called an armistice, yesterday, to talk, to end this once and for all. We duel today, pistols at dawn. Winner takes the fancy Santa. It’s the only way, we both accept this. We both know. Before I go, if I do not make it back, I have to leave this review, so that others do not fall down this same path. From hell’s heart, I stab at thee. One star for the Vermont Country Store for not stocking a second fancy Santa.
NEGATIVE NANCY: I hope you all enjoyed our Punk Rock and Dragon themed Holiday Special. I’m sure there might’ve been some sort of lesson to be learned in all of that. Or not. (pause) At some point in the future we’ll be back with more episodes, but until then if you find yourself in need of a one star experience at home, here are a few recommendations from the crew: (pause) Oh shit, my bad, I guess I’m supposed to start us off here... You can call your parents and bring up some old shit for no reason.
DRAGON: You can sit on your Gold and never spend or share any of it with the villagers. The gold is there to make you and your ass warm and comfortable and nothing else.
CHATBOT: You can watch Seventh Heaven on mute while listening to Cannibal Corpse to see if anything matches up. Spoiler Alert. It doesn’t. But you’re working on YOUR ART on YOUR TERMS that’s all that really matters, right? Happy Holidays and fuck off, everybody!
