Santa: (VO) There was me, that is Santa, and me three elfies, Snowball, Twinkles and Chunky. And we sat in the Korova milk-and-cookie bar making up our rassoodocks what to do with the evening. It was a jolly, sparkly night of holiday joy, though dry. We were drinking milkplus. Milk plus Christmas cheer, milk plus holiday spirit, milk plus child's wonder. That would sharpen you up, and get you ready for a bit of the old naughty-and-nice.
Santa (V.O.) It was around by the derelict Christmas Shoppe that we came across Scrooge and his four droogs. They were getting ready to perform a bit of the old hide-the-crutch on weepy young Tiny Tim.
Santa and elves step out of the shadows.
Santa: Ho, Ho, Ho... Well, if it isn't starving, stinking, miserly, old Scroogie in poison. How are thou, thou year-old sack of dried-up Christmas pudding? Come and get one in the yarbles, if you have any yarbles, you eunuch jelly thou.
Scrooge snaps open a switchblade knife.
Scrooge: Let's start the war on Christmas, boys!
The fight begins—a wicked swirl of chains, knives, kicking boots, exploding Christmas lights, brick-packed stockings, flashing candy canes, and sacks of coal.
The dust finally settles. Scrooge and his droogies are reduced to a stain on the floor.
Tiny Tim: God bless you, Santa!
Santa: Sod off you little twit.
Santa: The police ... come on, let's go... come on.
Santa and the elves rush out of the Christmas Shoppe.
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