For Whom the Sleigh Bell Tolls

Good morning, USA! I got a feeling that it's gonna be a wonderful day The sun in the sky has a smile on his face And he's shining a salute to the American race Oh, boy, it's swell to say Good Good morning, USA Aah! Three days till Christmas! Mr. S., I have to mail my letter to Santa. I'm asking for an authentic polar bear helmet from the movie Golden Compass. You're a golden dumb-ass! Dad, be nice to Jeff. He's just excited about Christmas. He's a grown man and he still believes in Santa Claus. Isn't it amazing? To maintain that childlike sense of wonder? No, Hayley. And I'm not getting that moron a damn thing for Christmas. Just because you married him doesn't make him a part of my family. Actually, it does, Dad, and you need to accept that. Hayley, the only thing I have to accept is that socially I can't wear mascara even though it makes my eyes pop like firecrackers. Look, I've got wooden clogs to put around the tree. I'm starting a new Christmas tradition. What was wrong with our old traditions? Like letting homeless people smell our napkins after Christmas dinner? On The View, they said we could try the Dutch custom of putting presents in wooden clogs. Barbara Walters said it, and she had an affair with a married black senator. So, you know, she doesn't drive in the slow lane. Well, I'm not gonna be able to fit my present for Steve in a shoe. I'm getting him his first gun this Christmas. It's the perfect way for us to bond. A gun? Can't you bond over something else? I've tried everything else-- darts, a Ping-Pong table, that puppy. The puppy! Eh, it's probably too late. Well, I'm sorry, but guns are too dangerous for Steve. Promise you won't get him one for Christmas. I promise I won't get Steve a gun for Christmas. Merry Wednesday, son! A machine gun? Mm, seems a bit dangerous for me. But I guess if coked-out child soldiers in the Congo can do it That's the spirit. Hey, Mr. S., I'll go shooting with you guys, too. Jeff, I am trying to have a bonding experience with my son. You are not my son. You are no part of this family. And when I open my eyes, you better be gone, okay? I don't want to see a trace of you. Terrible. Pardon me, sir. I'm what you might call an advanced drinker, and I've been having a Dickens of a time concocting an eggnog that provides the certain heady tingle that I require. Well, normally, people put bourbon in their eggnog. I'm telling you, I can't get drunk! My apologies, sir. I had to be sure you were serious. There is legend of a There is legend of a moonshiner who lives atop the tallest peak of the Chimdale Mountains. They say he's blind, standing nine feet tall, with four arms and Excuse me, do you have seasonal beers? You're killing his story! I can't do anything right. Atop that mountain, a four-armed nine-foot blind man, who also has the tongue of a dragon, makes the strongest whiskey on Earth. They say that if you're crazy, it makes you sane. And if you're sane, you'll never believe a word of this story. I believe everything. Then take this map. It is my gift to you. But just know that I'm all set with the beer, but I've got a random question. Do you sell watch batteries? Get out. Steve, shooting a gun is like being intimate with a woman. First, you inspect it to make sure it's clean. Then you grab it on the butt and jam the magazine in. If it doesn't fit, make it. Almost shot my eye out! Whoa, looks like your mom was right. This isn't safe. Safety goggles. Ooh, new target! Snowman! Get him! Oh, my God! A mall Santa! I-I didn't see him. Is he? Dead? Were you gonna ask if he's dead? I was gonna ask if he's okay. Oh, no. No, no, no. No, no. No. He-He is, he is dead. He is not okay. He will never be okay, because he is-- say it with me-- dead. You didn't say it with me. Why did you have to give me a gun? I'll never pull another trigger as long as I live! Relax, Steve. Part of gun ownership is killing people by mistake. What the hell do we do now? Well, we're gonna keep things pretty simple. Check the guy's fingerprints on my CIA computer, send an anonymous note to his next of kin, and make sure your mother doesn't find out. If she knew I gave you a gun, she'd kill me. Or maybe she'd get you to do it, huh, killer? No. No, I'm kidding, but you-you have killed someone. Got to be around here somewhere. Excuse me. Well, if it ain't an alien in a wig. What you say is true, sir. And I seek a blind moonshiner with four arms who makes the strongest whiskey known to man. You found him, alien. But you only have two arms. And it appears you can see me quite well. Take a drop of this here. I call it shineapple. Just a touch! Do you believe me now? Oh, my God. It is you. The name's Bob Todd. Bob Todd Williams. Robert Todford Williams. Bobby Todd, if you like. Todd Willy's fine, too. Robert Todd and Bob Todford's all the same. If you holler "Mr. Williams," I won't know what to do with it! I do however go by T-Dub at the racetrack. And all the ladies, well, they call me Bert-Bert. Bob Todd, my name is Roger. And it would be an honor if I could purchase your whiskey. Purchase? I got no use for your green money. What the hell am I supposed to do with it? Go shopping in a store? Buy a record? Guess I'll have to go a different route. Ain't no need to prostrate yourself. You want some of this whiskey, I'll teach you how to make it. Oh, my God, thank you! Oh, boy, you had me in the palm of your hand there. 'Bout a second later, that would've been the other way around. Okay, let's hide this guy in the backyard while I run his prints. Damn it! Just be casual, follow my lead. Hey, Francine, you look amazing! You look amazing, Francine. You're so attractive. Strange. Our mall Santa's prints aren't in the CIA's files. Uh-oh. Okay, here's what happened. I killed him! You were right, Mom, I'm too young for a gun! A boy shot a man today! A boy shot a man! Steve killed somebody? Have you called the police? No need to. Me and Steve can handle it. Stan, you've done enough. I will not have this Christmas ruined. Now, we're just gonna bury that body deep in the woods and never talk about it again. We don't speak of this to anyone. I can't believe we're burying this guy in the woods. I can't believe you guys didn't let me smash his teeth out and cut off his hands. What? You want to get away with this or not? Okay, I'm gonna teach you how to make this here whiskey the way my pappy taught me. Just know that my methods are unusual. I'm the opposite of them Jews with the curlicue sideburns. What-What do they call them-them sideburn Jews? Orthodox? Right. I am unorthodox. Now take you a full swig and we'll get started. You did it! You kissed the raccoon. You're a real moonshiner now, you son of a bitch. Go forth and brew my ancient elixir with these sacred jugs. I look forward to the day we meet again, you wise old cracker. You are always welcome here, budro. You are my kin. And I will let you drive my Camaro when I fix the got-dang drive shaft. What the hell? Please tell me I'm not the only one who got a crazy letter. I got one, too. Did someone blab about what happened in the woods? No! Uh-uh! Breaking news. It's the day before Christmas, and many people are saying it doesn't feel like Christmas at all. Let's go to Terry Bates. Sir, if I asked what month it felt like to you, what would you say? If I had to guess, I'd say mid-October. And what is your profession? I make calendars. With cats on them. For lesbians. Ooh, lesbians are so hard to buy for. Well, there you have it, Greg. There's no feeling of holiday spirit out here at all. It's almost as if someone has killed Santa Claus. Oh, my God! Did I?! Of course not. There's no such thing as Santa Claus, Steve. Oh, my God. The body's gone! "The Smiths have been naughty, and that makes Santa not nice. " Oh, no. It's true! I killed Santa! Santa's not dead, you fools! He's in the North Pole, recovering. But he'll be back to kill you all before the sun rises on Christmas Day. Fly, Mimsy! What do we do? If that elf is right, Santa's going to kill us in less than 12 hours. Okay, look. Maybe that wasn't a real elf. Maybe it's just some midge playing a trick. We all know how mischievous little people are. Most of them don't have jobs, which gives them plenty of time to think of schemes. I don't think that was a little person, Stan. Look at this! Oh, my God. I can't believe I shot the real Santa. I can't believe there is a real Santa. So that year I got a vibrator from Santa, that was really from Santa? Dad, we have to get Jeff. He's at the house. He could be in danger. That's the first place Santa will look for us. Forget about Jeff. It's just the four of us now. Make that five, numb nuts. Roger? Santer's after you, huh? Y'all best follow me, then. I got a spot where no one gonna find you. Won't hear when I make you squeal like a pig, neither. What? Nothing. Deliverance joke. Poor Ned Beatty. He can he can play Rudy's dad all he wants, but when we look at him, all we see is him getting rammed in the woods. Santer's after you, huh? Mm-hmm. I'd like to see that fat testicle tickler come down my chimney. Would it be okay if we hide out in your house for a while? Hell, yeah. It's Christmas Eve. Shoot, let's go sing a damn song. Come on, y'all. Relax. I told you-- Santer's not gonna get you up here. It's totally safe, and you look fantastic. They're right. Just because we're being hunted like dogs doesn't mean we can't have a great Christmas. Screw Santa. Let's have some fun. Here we go, y'all. Come in after the "diddle-diddles. " Two, three, four. Oh, my God. Who is that? What is he doing here? I called him. I wanted to spend Christmas with my husband. I do not want him in our band. There's no instruments for him to play. Right, Bob Todd? He can play the skin flute. Oh. Merry Christmas, all. Damn it, Jeff. Go turn off your van. The radio's still on. That's not my radio, Mr. S. My keys are right here. Then, what the hell is that noise? I'm coming for you, Smiths! Hyah! How did he find us? Oh. I wrote him a letter telling him where he can deliver our presents. He's trying to kill us, you moron! You gave away our hiding spot! Dad, stop it. He didn't know. He doesn't know anything! He's super dumb, Hayley. Jeff, please leave my family alone forever. Will you do me that kindness? Dad! He understood. It's a Christmas miracle. Okay, we got a fight on our hands, people. I'm going to shoot that fat turd in the belly. I heard that, Bob Todd. I hope you did, you butt licker! All right, Steve and I will go outside with Bob Todd. Francine, you and Hayley lock the door behind us and shoot from the windows. But-but, Dad, I swore I'd never touch another gun as long as I live. The emotional burden I've felt ever since Can it, Growing Pains! Pick up a gun this instant and send these toy makers to hell! Ooh. How's that feel, Linda? Yeah! You're doing it, son. Is it weird to have a boner? It'd be weird if you didn't. Mom, can't you make Dad be nicer to Jeff? Oh, honey. He'll come around, eventually. When? I've been with Jeff for four years. On your right. I think he just has to get used to the idea of Jeff living in the house. Remember how hard it was for him to get used to Roger? Not to mention what's-his-name. My name is Klaus Heisler. I'm out of ammo! Damn it! Me, too. We need more weapons. How about what-what about these? We can sharpen them with our mouths and make swords. Here. Just just suck it till it's pointy. Wow. Hayley-- brand-new respect for you. Francine, give Hayley your candy cane. Shut up. I can do it. Dad, there's too many of them! I want to help, Mr. S. You want to help me? Stand here and shield me from arrows until you die. Jeff Fischer! Come and fight with me. You're a good boy. You don't have to die with the Smiths. I got you that polar bear helmet from The Golden Compass that you asked for. Jeff, don't do this! Let him go, Hayley. I knew he wasn't Smith material. Dad! Season's bleedings. Sorry about this, Santa. Alex! Jeremiah! Let me help you there, Mr. S. You guys hold them off. I'll tend to Mr. S. in the cockpit. Even after all I said, you you still saved my life. I didn't do it for you. I did it for Hayley. She's my wife, and if you're important to her, you're important to me. Personally, I think you're an ass. Well, how about that? There's too many of them! Jeff, what do you say we go out there and die as a family? Damn. We only had until Christmas Day. Everyone, back to the North Pole! Retreat! Retreat! Guess I can kiss my presents good-bye. You're damn right, you jerk! "You were lucky this year, Smiths, but I'll be back next Christmas to kill you. " Oh, my God. It looks like we found our new Christmas tradition! Does your family always have such messed-up Christmases? Yeah, Jeff. And now you do, too. This sucker tried to turn into liquid energy on me, but I wasn't having none of that. Ooh. That'll make some nice venison. Mm-hmm. I'm gonna cook y'all a hell of a meal today. Right after me and this here reindeer make sweet, tender love. Merry Christmas, everybody! Merry Christmas.