Bit: Christmas Essays

Episode: 321 - Santa Claus Conquers The Martians

Transcribed by


Joel: Okay, everybody got their Christmas essays ready? (Random affirmative responses.) Okay, well who wants to go first?
Crow: Ooh, oh oh oh oh oh ooh.
Joel: Who wants to...(to Tom) you want to go first?, (to Gypsy) you want to go first?... oh Crow, you wanna go first buddy?
Crow: Uh...oh,"A Christmas Oratorio--... oh wait...uh... "A Christmas Editorial" by Crow T Robot. (Clears throat repeatedly.)
Tom: Oh would you just get on with it, for crying out loud!
Crow: Sorry, I was...alright...uh, okay... "A Christmas Editorial" by Crow T. Robot...uh, I know, I already said that...okay...What's the big deal with Santa's elves anyway? What happens to all those dumb, trains and horses and cars? No ever...kid gets 'em! Um...These are the kind of toys grandma drags out at Christmas to decorate the house...which smells like her feet no matter how much essence of yuletide lightbulb ring oil she uses...but I uh...No, these are the real misfit toys. They end up in Marshal Field's window displays and FAO Schwarz catalogs or overpriced little gift shops in Vermont and Door County, Wisconsin. My message is for the elves: Gentlemen, what is the problem? Why don't we ever see you in front of a circuit board loading microchips into a Segavision with your little wooden hammers? Elf labor short? The good people at Macao are eager to take your prototypes and turn them into a hundred thousand knockoffs! Elves and Santa: Take an example from the Keeblers, now there's some fairies who know how to market! In closing, uh...step out of the legend days, fellas, and join the century of the Pacific. Oh, and Merry Christmas. The End.
Joel: Yay!! Good job, Crow...Okay, who's next? Tom?
Tom: Uh, my turn.. Uh, okay. Thank you, Mr. Doe. Uh, okay, my essay is entitled "A Child's Christmas in Space" Uh, let me set the mood here--Agedda-agedda-agedda! (Shakes up his head which happens to be a snow globe for this episode). There...It's quiet in the cold of our own little orbit, starless and bible black. And as I look down on the big blue beam we would call home I think it so near, yet... oh, I wish on that star and I hope that in a little snow-covered house with a warm hearth and a loving family, maybe some kid is looking up tonight and wishing upon us. Oh, and how I hope sweet Santa will fly by tonight because if he does I'm gonna reach right out and hug that big guy. Oh, for the sound of hooves against the steel hull of the ship. Oh, to see the rosy face of Santa in the portal offering me a Coke and a smile... (gradually gets more and more upset and hysterical) ...of course, his cheeks would be rosy because there's a vacuum out there, I mean Santa's heart would explode! But he wouldn't feel it because the capillaries in his brain would pop like little firecrackers (Joel begins to try to calm him down) due to the blood boiling away in his face like pudding in a copper...OH THE HUMANITY!! (Now both Joel and Crow are trying to calm him down.) And his jolly old belly would start bubbling like a roasted marshmallow, eyes bulging and popping out... AND THE REINDEER--OH THE REINDEER!!!--keep floating like holiday floats and in turn exploding in a hail of blood and entrails! Prancer: BOOM! Dancer: BOOM!
Joel: HEY!
Crow: Tom!
Joel: Tom take it easy, Santa's gonna be okay, buddy.
Tom: You sure?
Joel: Yeah, give him a little credit, okay?
Tom: Phew, what a relief!
Joel: Alright, it's my turn. I'm wanna do my reading on, uh, Christmas Past.
Tom & Crow: Long past?
Joel: Well, uh um, yeah... long, uh, America's Past, you know... okay... (Reading) I'm talking about the '70s Christmas office parties. Back when a fully stocked bar was considered standard office furniture and office parties were like something out of a Playboy cartoon. Why the desks would be overflowing with every kind of hard liquor, why there were gallons of scotch, bourbon, vokda, gin, not to mention Galliano, Ameretto, Midori, rye, German crock pot gin, you name it, and sexism was blatent. Boy, oh boy, you'd find salesmen groping secretaries in the mail room, keys would be exchanged, and although this was Christmas, Jesus was nowhere to be seen.
Tom: Geez, Joel, you thought I was bad!
Crow: Yeah, are we really this cynical about Christmas?
Joel: Well, uh, maybe Gypsy has a Christmas word for everybody... (All look to Gypsy, who opens her mouth slowly to a reveal golden glowing nativity scene and the sound of a music box playing "The First Noel," to oohs and ahs from the bots).
Joel: Well, Merry Christmas, everybody. We got a commercial sign... (music box continues playing through logo.)