Bad Santa

Willie:
Oh yeah, baby, you won't be able to sh*t right for a week!

Marcus:
It won't happen again. I can promise you that. Willie here has low blood sugar. That's all.

Willie:
That's right. I forgot to take my pill.

Bob Chipeska:
It's not just the swearing. Forgive me for prying, but did one of you, um, fornicate...

Willie:
Fornicate?

Bob Chipeska:
Yes. With a heavy-set woman in the big-and-tall dressing room?

Willie:
Look, I've boned alot of fat chicks in my time, sure. But, as far back as I can remember, I've never fornicated anybody.

Bob Chipeska:
Yes... Well, even still, I think it's best for all parties considered if we...

Marcus:
If we what?

Bob Chipeska:
Well, I have somebody else interested in the position.

Willie:
Before you do something stupid you might want to think about this sh*t.

Bob Chipeska:
What are you talking about?

Willie:
I'm talking about firing a little black midget. A small, colored, African-American small person. That's what I'm talking about. I'm talking about your face all over goddamn USA Today, that's what I'm talking about. I'm talking about 150 of these little motherf***ers all over the sidewalk out there. Holding pickett signs and using bullhorns and sh*t like that. Screaming and hollering your name out. Unfair practices, get me?

Bob Chipeska:
Oh no, this is not a handicapped thing. I have nothing against you people.

Willie:
You people? Did you hear that Marcus? He said 'You People.'

Marcus:
Who the hell is us people?

Bob Chipeska:
No... He said... But... what... No no. Um, I think it's best if we just forget we had this conversation.

Willie:
Good thinking. And don't worry about us. We'll be fine. Let's get the hell out of here Marcus.

Willie:
You're pathetic.

Willie:
I said, "Next," goddamn it! This is not the DMV!

Bob Chipeska:
I don't know. There's just something about the guy that makes me uneasy.

Gin:
Well sure. Santa f***ing someone in the ass.

Bob Chipeska:
Hi. Bob Chipeska. Welcome. Great photo and resume by the way.

Marcus:
Thanks. You know, we've been at this for a long time and all, so we like to think we do a good job.

Bob Chipeska:
You two are perfect for this job, truly. So, I don't want his unpleasentness affect your performance in any way.

Marcus:
Oh no. We...

Willie:
Performance?

Bob Chipeska:
Yes. Your performance. You know, the...

Willie:
Do you mean sexual?

Bob Chipeska:
Excuse me?

Willie:
Are you saying there's something wrong with my gear? Is that what your saying to me?

Bob Chipeska:
I'm sorry, your gear?

Marcus:
Willie...

Willie:
My f*** stick

Marcus:
Willie, take a seat. You know how your blood sugar is.

Bob Chipeska:
He's not going to say f*** stick in front of the children, is he?

Marcus:
No! It was just a joke. An adult joke. For us, adults. It's a joke. Just a joke.

Sue:
F*** me, Santa! F*** me, Santa! F*** me, Santa!

Willie:
You can't drink worth sh*t.

Marcus:
I weigh 92 pounds, you dick!

Gin:
Santa likes to f*** fat chicks in the ass.

Kid:
Your beard's not real.

Willie:
It was real, but I got sick and all the hair fell out.

Kid:
How come?

Willie:
I loved a woman who wasn't clean.

Kid:
Mrs. Claus?

Willie:
Actually it was her sister.

Gin:
Look here, get himy outta here and I'll go smooth things over with Chipeska, Tell him it was food poisoning or something.

Marcus:
What do you mean, get him outta here?

Gin:
Take him to the car.

Marcus:
In case you didn't notice I'm a motherf***ing dwarf, so unless you got a forklift handy, maybe you should lend a hand hmm?

Gin:
That figures. You want all kind of set-asides. Special treatment 'cause your handicapped. You're all the same.

Marcus:
Special treatment? I'm 3-foot-f***ing-tall you a**hole! It's a matter of physics. Draw me a sketch of how I get him to the car, huh?

Gin:
B*tch, B*tch, B*tch!

Marcus:
Sketch it up, you f***ing moron. F***ing Leonardo da Vinci.

Gin:
What'd you call me thigh-high?

Marcus:
I called you a f***ing guinea homo from the 15th-f***ing-century, you d*ckhead!

Gin:
I could stick you up my ass, small fry.

Marcus:
Yeah? You sure it ain't too sore from last night?

Gin:
You got some lip on you midget.

Marcus:
yeah? Well these lips were on your wife's p*ssy last night. Why don't you dust that thing off once in a while? A**hole!

Marcus:
If I call you next December, IF I call you next December, you're gonna be so happy to hear from me, you're gonna do a goddamn back flip. You're gonna put that Santa hat on so fast that you're gonna get f***ing hat-burn.

Gin:
We split the dough right down the middle. Any merchendise you take, I get to look at and cherry pick.

Marcus:
No. Money is one thing but you ain't getting the sh...

Gin:
This ain't no Chinese menu, jagoff! I tell YOU how it's gonna be. This is pricks fix!

Willie:
Pricks fix?

Marcus:
Ah, he's a f***ing moron.

Willie:
Oh really? Is that how you got the upper hand?

Marcus:
F*** you.

Willie:
Negotiating?

Marcus:
You don't like it? Next year, f*** off. I can always get another box jockey.

Willie:
Yeah and I can get another midget too.

Marcus:
Yeah? Where? You see us hanging off of f***ing trees like f***ing crab apples?

Gin:
Sweet Jews for Jesus!

Gin:
You know what I see when I look at you? America's got a sad future ahead of it.

Kid:
Good night, Santa. Good night, Mrs. Santa's sister.

Willie:
What are you, my f***ing mother? You shat me out of your womb?

Marcus:
You said that yesterday, you f***ing moron.

Marcus:
You could never front your own racket and do you know why, Willie? Because you got no discipline, you got zero f***ing initiative. You'd fall apart without me. You're just too pathetic for words. You're a f***in' loser and you f***in' know it.

Kid:
Should I fix you some sandwiches?

Willie:
I don't want any f***ing sandwiches. What is it with you and fixin' f***ing sandwiches?

Willie:
Why don't you wish in one hand, and sh*t in the other. See which one fills up first.

Willie:
I beat the sh*t out of some kids today, but it was for a purpose.

Willie:
You know, I think I've turned a corner.

Marcus:
Yeah? You f***ing petites now?

Willie:
No, I'm not talking about that. I beat the sh*t out of some kids today. But it was for a purpose. It made me feel good about myself. It was like I did something constructive with my life or something, I dunno, like I accomplished something.

Marcus:
You need many years of therapy. Many, many, many f***in' years of therapy.

Marcus:
Your soul is dog sh*t. Every single thing about you is ugly.

Willie:
OW! Watch the toenails, kid. Sh*t!

Willie:
Things are f***ed up at the North Pole. Mrs. Claus caught me f***ing her sister, now I'm out on my ass.

Gin:
Man is a sexual being.

Kid:
It's a wooden pickle.

Willie:
Are you f***ing with me?

Kid:
Why do you need a car?

Willie:
What the f*** are you talking about?

Kid:
This car.

Willie:
Which turn is it?

Kid:
Sage Terrace. Where's your sleigh?

Willie:
It's in the shop, getting repaired.

Kid:
Where are the reindeer?

Willie:
I stabled them. Is it left or right?

Kid:
That way. Where's the stable?

Willie:
Next to the shop.

Kid:
How do they sleep?

Willie:
Who? The reindeer? Standing up.

Kid:
But the noise. How do they sleep?

Willie:
What noise?

Kid:
From the shop.

Willie:
They only work during the day, all right?

Kid:
I thought it was always night at the North Pole.

Willie:
Well, not now. Right now it's always day.

Kid:
Then how do they sleep?

Willie:
Oh, sh*t. Sage Terrace. What is it with you, anyway? Somebody drop you on your f***ing head?

Kid:
On *my* head?

Willie:
Well, yeah. What, are they gonna drop you on somebody else's head?

Kid:
How can they drop me onto my own head?

Willie:
No, not *onto* your... Would... God damn it! Are you f***ing with me?

Grandma:
Let me fix you some sandwiches...

Hindustani Troublemaker:
I am not gay!

Willie:
What the hell, buddy?

Hindustani Troublemaker:
BUDDY! I am not gay!

Willie:
Are you off your f***in' meds or something?

Hindustani Troublemaker:
Yes. But that isn't what this is about. You're as queer as a ten dollar bill!

Willie:
Well, let me tell you something, motherf***er. My brother lost a goddamn arm fighting you f***ers in Vietnam.

Marcus:
More booze, more bullshit, more butt-f***ing

Willie:
Sure, the 3 B's.

Willie:
I've been to prison once, I've been married - twice. I was once drafted by Lyndon Johnson and had to live in sh*t-ass Mexico for 21/2 years for no reason. I've had my eye socket punched in, a kidney taken out and I got a bone-chip in my ankle that's never gonna heal. I've seen some pretty shitty situations in my life, but nothing has ever sucked more ass than this!

Willie:
I'm an eating, drinking, shitting, f***ing Santa Claus.

Marcus:
Motherf***er! Oh you lousy, f***ing motherf***er.

Kid:
Do you and Mrs. Santa have kids?

Willie:
No, thank the f*** Christ.

Kid:
What about the elves?

Willie:
Well, they stay with Mrs. Santa. I get them on the weekends.

Marcus:
You are by far the dumbest, most pathetic piece of maggot eatin' sh*t that has every slid from a human being's hairy ass.

Willie:
Is that your underwear?

Kid:
Part of it.

Willie:
Where the hell's the rest of it?

Willie:
Actually, don't tell me. I don't want to know. What do you want?

Kid:
I was thinking I wanted a purple stuffed elephant, not pink. But now I changed my mind.

Willie:
Yeah? What?

Kid:
Now I don't want an elephant at all. I want a gorilla named Davy for beating up the skateboard kids who pull on my underwear. And he can take his orders from the talking walnut, so it won't be my bad thing.

Willie:
Jesus, kid. When I was your age, I didn't need no f***ing gorilla. And I wasn't as big as one of your legs. Four kids beat me up one time and I went crying home to my daddy. You know what he did?

Kid:
He made it all better?

Willie:
No, he kicked my ass. You know why?

Kid:
Because you went to the bathroom on mommy's dishes?

Willie:
What the f***? No!

Kid:
He tried to teach you not to cry and be a man?

Willie:
No. It's because he was a mean, drunk, son of a b*tch. And when he wasn't busy busting my ass, he was putting cigarettes out on my neck. The world ain't fair. You've gotta take what you need when you can get it. You've gotta learn to stand up for yourself. You have to stop being a p*ssy and kick these kids in the balls or something.

Willie:
Or don't. Sh*t. I don't care. Just leave me the hell out of it.

Kid:
Okay. Thanks Santa.

Willie:
What do you want?

Fraggle-Stick Boy:
Fraggle-Stick car.

Willie:
What the f*** is that?

Fraggle-Stick Boy:
Fraggle-Stick car.

Willie:
Well I heard you. Fraggle-Stick car. Fine.

Fraggle-Stick Boy:
What's the North Pole like?

Willie:
It's like a suburb.

Fraggle-Stick Boy:
Which suburb?

Willie:
I don't f***ing know. Apache Junction?

Kid:
Santa!

Willie:
Yeah.

Kid:
You're bringing my present early?

Willie:
No

Kid:
But I never told you what I wanted.

Willie:
I said I didn't bring it, dipshit.

Willie:
Hey, can I get another drink down here?

Skateboard Bully:
Hey, loser. I hear your buddy's not here to protect you any more. See ya got me a new bike. Thanks a lot. I'm talking to you, fat-ass.

Kid:
Aaah!

Willie:
Just something to cripple your sister with...

[Chipeska is seen arguing with a man who had been the Chamberlain's Santa for years.]

Bob Chipeska:
Harrison, will you listen please? Financially--

Fired Santa:
Well, you get what you paid for, Chipeska. Five Christmases I've been here, and now you flip me for some stranger who'll do it for peanuts and happens to work with a real midget. Well, let me tell you something, though: nobody cares! Nobody comes for the elf; Santa's the main attraction. I do Burl Ives songs. Does this schmoe even play guitar?

Bob Chipeska:
Look, Harrison, it's not about the money or the midget. Believe me if it was-- I don't think they like the term midget. I think you're supposed to call them--

Fired Santa:
Oh, just forget it! [Walks away as Willie and Marcus enters the store, then yells to them] Hacks!

Bob Chipeska:
[to Marcus and Willie] Hi. Bob Chipeska. Welcome. Great photo and resumè by the way.

Marcus:
Thanks. You know, we've been at this for a long time and all, so we like to think we do a good job.

Bob Chipeska:
I'm so glad you two can come at such a short notice. You two are perfect for this job, truly.

[Willie drones out the conversation between Bob and Marcus, eyeing a woman's ass as she walks]

Bob Chipeska:
So, I don't want his unpleasantness affect your performance in any way.

Marcus:
Oh, no, we--

Willie:
Performance?

Bob Chipeska:
Yes. Your performance. You know, the...

Willie:
Performance, like, sexual?

[Bob looks up at Willie in confusion]

Bob Chipeska:
Excuse me?

Marcus:
Willie.

Willie:
Are you saying there's something wrong with my gear? Is that what you're saying to me?

Bob Chipeska:
I'm sorry, your gear?

Marcus:
Willie...

Willie:
My f*** stick!

[Bob makes a shocked and disgusted look, Marcus quickly saves the situation by shoving Willie]

Marcus:
Willie, take a seat. You know how your blood sugar is.

Bob Chipeska:
He's not going to say "f*** stick" in front of the children, is he?

Marcus:
No! It was just a joke. An adult joke for us adults. It's a joke. Just a joke.

Gin:
[smoking a cigarette in his office] "F*** stick"?

Bob Chipeska:
Yeah, I know it's odd, but as our security manager, I want you to be well aware of this. His little friend promised he won't say it in front of the children which is fine. There is an adult's world and a child's world and that's OK. I'm no censor.

Marcus:
Willie, this has been a long time coming. Every year, you're worse. Every year, you're less reliable. More booze, more bullshit, more butt-f***ing.

Willie:
Sure, the 3 B's.

Sue:
You're pretty regular for a Santa.

Willie:
It's not that much of a big f***ing deal. It's just a job, you know what I mean? I'm just an eating, drinking, shitting, f***ing Santy Claus.

Sue:
Prove it.

[cut to Willie and Sue having casual sex in Willie's car with Willie still wearing his Santa uniform]

Sue:
F*** me, Santa. F*** me, Santa. F*** me, Santa. F*** me, Santa. F*** me, Santa. F*** me, Santa. F*** me, Santa. F*** me, Santa!

Willie:
Can't I at least take this hat off?

Sue:
NO! I love the hat.

Willie:
Okay.

Sue:
I've always had a thing for Santa Claus. In case you didn't notice. It's like some deep-seeded childhood thing.

Willie:
So is my thing for tits.

[Marcus is scolding Willie for dry-humping an underage lady in the arcade]

Marcus:
That's just the kinda sh*t that's gonna get us pinched.

Willie:
She said she was 18.

Marcus:
But you promised no arcades! You said you'd only hustle Big and Tall.

Willie:
What, you shat me outta your womb? You're my f***ing mom now? I don't need any goddamn lectures outta you. I know how to keep a low profile, thank you. [unlocks the stolen BMW]

Marcus:
[referring to the car] What the f*** is this, Mr. Low Profile?!

Willie:
Mind your own goddamn business. [opens the driver's side door, and several empty beer bottles and cans spill out onto the ground. Willie gets in, starts the car and drives off]

Marcus:
[shouting after Willie] Ever hear of the open-bottle law?!

Woman in Food Court:
Look who's here, Jimmy! It's Santa!

Willie:
Great. F***ing great.

Woman in Food Court:
Let's tell him what you want for Christmas.

Willie:
F***. [turns to the woman and son and yells] I'M ON MY F***ING LUNCH BREAK, OK?!

Woman in Food Court:
[offended] Are you insane?! Management's gonna hear about this.

Willie:
Think that's a threat? You really think you can make my f***ing life any worse, you go right ahead. Be my f***ing guest. Take a shot.

Willie:
[while having sex] Yeah, baby! Yeah, baby! You ain't gonna sh*t right for a WEEK!

Willie:
[to Thurman] Thank you for giving that letter to the cops. I forgot I asked you to do it, but it's a good thing you did, or 'Santa's Little Helper' would have plugged his ass. And now the cops know I wrote it, which is gonna keep my ass out of jail. That, plus everyone agreeing that the Phoenix police department shooting an unarmed Santa was even more f***ed up than Rodney King. Cops are treating me like f***ing royalty, which is new in my experience. They're making me a sensitivity counselor so that tragedies like this would never again embarrass the department. Meanwhile, I told the cops that you had no one to take the f*** care of you. So they set it up with Mrs. Santa's sister until your dad gets out in 1 year and three months. They made her a guardian pro-temp. As for my little helper, I'm sorry to tell you that he and his prune faced, mail order wife are going to be exploring mountains with your dad. I just hope your dad doesn't go sucking sh*t from them like I did.

Willie:
[in a letter to Thurman] Dear Kid, I hope that you got my present and that there wasn't too much blood on it, although there was blood on the presents you gave me which didn't keep me from enjoying it, so maybe the blood doesn't matter so much, I guess. Just in case they took it as evidence, I'm also sending you a T-shirt, I hope it's the right size. I'm healing up good and they tell me that I will soon be 100%, even with eight bullets dug out of me cause they didn't hit any vital organs, just my liver, which is f***ed anyway. Hahaha. Anyways, I told the cops you had no one to take the f*** care of you so they set it up with Ms. Santa's Sister to watch you till your dad gets back in one year and three months. They made her a guardian pro tem, or some such sh*t. Anyway, she makes better money than bartending and seems to like you, your house, and Jacuzzi. As for my little helper, I'm sorry to tell you that him and his prune-faced, mail-order wife are gonna be exploring mountains with your dad. I hope your dad doesn't go sucking sh*t for them like I did. Thank you for giving that letter to the cops, I forgot to ask you to do it, but it's a good thing you did or Santa's little helper would've plugged his ass, and now the cops know I wrote it which is gonna keep my ass outta jail. That plus everyone agreeing that to Phoenix police department shooting an unarmed Santa was even more f***ed up than Rodney King. Cops are treating me like f***ing royalty now, which is new in my experience. They're gonna make me the sensitivity counselor, so that tragedies like this will never again embarrass the whole f***ing department. Whatever. So I'll be staying in Phoenix now telling the police how screwed up they are, which is not a bad job as jobs go. They're supposed to let me out of this hospital room soon, so I'll see you when I come over and f*** Ms. Santa's Sister in the Jacuzzi. Until then, don't take no sh*t from nobody, least of all, yourself. Anyway, see you soon. Santa.

Marcus:
Jesus Christ! Can you maybe at least keep it together for just 10 minutes?

Gin:
When I look at you, you know what I think? I think America has a sad future ahead of it....