Santy Claus Gets A Little Extra Motivation

12.10.09 8 years ago 74 Comments

(Christmas Eve)

Santa: Oh, dear! This storm doesn’t seem to be letting up!

Mrs. Claus: Papa, why you so worried? Here. I make-a you-a nice SCUNGILLI. With the pepperoncini.

Santa: Oh, thanks mama!

Mrs. Claus: That’s-a my Santa!

Santa: Oh, I feel bad for all the little children out there tonight. This storm is the worst we’ve EVER faced! Even Rudolph’s nose isn’t bright enough to cut through this much snow and ice! I’m afraid… we may have to cancel Christmas.

Mrs. Claus: But papa! You-a never cancel-a the Christmas! You need-a fresh-a pepper on your chicken parmagnana!

Santa: Well, I just don’t know how we’re going to deliver all these presents in this kind of weather!

(knock on the door)

Voice: Open up! It’s not a fit night out for man nor beast! NOR ROBERTO HUMIDOR!

Santa: Well, who could that be? Mama, could you get the door?

Mrs. Claus: Of course. And I-a bring-a you-a some fresh SALTIMBOCCA.

(door flies open, smell of egg nog farts wafts in)



Santa: Why, it’s coach Ryan of the Jets!

Ryan: Hey! I smell meatball subs! You got meatball subs in here, lady? I bet you do! I bet you do, you saucy little bitch!

Mrs. Claus: Ooh hoo hoo hoo! I make-a you a plate!

Ryan: No plates necessary! Just throw it and I’ll catch it all with my mouth! Santa, Mrs. C, lemme tell you something. I have had a HELL of a Christmas Eve. We had turkey for dinner, and when I sat down to relax afterwards, I must have farted at least thirty fucking times. BUT I SMOTHERED ALL OF THEM WITH MY TURKEY-STUFFED ASS! Then, when Rob fell asleep next to me, I finally got up and released them all at once! I CALL THAT THE OZONE. I’m my own dutch oven!

(chugs wassal)

Santa: Why, that sounds like great fun!

Mrs. Claus: Papa, how-a you gonna make-a you own dutch oven with such a little ass? Kids expect a Santa with a big ass!

Ryan: She’s right, Gift Boy! You need to get chompin’! Now, first order of business around here. NICKNAMES. Santa, I don’t really like your name. I don’t like the a at the end. Make you sounds like a twat. My half-Mexicali QB with a shit knee says any guy with an a on the end of his name, in his culture, is either a woman, or about to be made one! HOW ABOUT THAT NACHO? Now, from here on out, your name is THE BIG PEPPERMINT!

Santa: Okay.

Ryan: Mrs. Claus! From now on, your new name is FRA DIAVOLO. Because you’re Italian, and you’re spicy, and want you covering me!

Mrs. Claus: (blushes)

Ryan: God damn, you are one fine looking Eskimo wop lady. Hey Big Peppermint, you hit that pussy every night? Do you? DO YOU FUCKING KILLLL THAT PUSSY?

Santa: Well, I…


Ryan: OHHHHHHHH! Oh! Oh, ol’ Minty has a big ol’ toy to deliver down that pussychimney! That’s some good pussy right there, old timer. YOU RESPECT IT.

(whips out chewing tobacco)

Chaw, anyone? Chaw? No? Okay. Now! The reindeer! Lemme get a load of these little hunks of venison.

Santa: Oh well there’s Dasher, and Dancer…

Ryan: What the fuck? Dasher and Dancer? What is this, a fucking Broadway play? Do these reindeer fly and suck cock at the same time? BULLSHIT. From now on, these reindeer are getting new names! Except Blitzen! I like the cut of his jib! The rest of them will be named Fucker, Killer, Hacksaw, Pussyblaster, Cockfrost, Axeman, and Blitzen 2! You got those names right?

Santa: Well, I…

Ryan: Next order of business. MIDGETS! El Minto, I heard you got some midgets working here.

Hermey: I’m a dentist!

Ryan: You’re a cumswiller is what you are, boy. Listen Santa, these little midgets are adorable. I’ll give you that. But they sure don’t look motivated to me!

(sniffs own armpit)

Santa: Well, there’s this big snow tonight, and I just don’t know if we can get our sleigh off the ground!

Ryan: You called the right man, Mintburger.

Santa: I didn’t call you.

Ryan: NOT IMPORTANT! Now, all of you listen to me. Peppermint. Deer. Midgets. Fra Diavolo spicepussy. I want all of you to gather round right now.

(everyone gathers)

Ryan: You think a little snow ever got in the way of a Rex Ryan team? You think my Jets would ever pussy out on a game because of Jesus’ confetti?

Everyone: No.

Ryan: Goddamn right, they wouldn’t. I wouldn’t let them. And I’m not gonna let you. People, there are two kinds of people in the world. People who say, “I can’t,” and fucking WINNERS. And midgets, but that’s neither here nor there. When I look around this room, I don’t see a bunch of crying pussies. I don’t see a group of people who are ready to give up before they even bother trying. That’s not what life is about. It’s not about quitting before you even start. You try, and go like Hell, and if you come up short, well fuck it. That’s the way it goes sometimes. WINNERS ARE NEVER FUCKING AFRAID TO FAIL. I don’t go by this REFUSE TO LOSE bullshit. You’re gonna lose sometimes. You’re gonna get your heart broken. BUT WINNERS ALWAYS FUCKING GO FOR IT ANYWAY. IN RAIN. SLEET. SNOW. HAIL. FROGS. WHATEVER. THEY ATTACK! THEY FUCKING KILLLLLLLLLLL!!!! ARE YOU FUCKERS READY TO FUCKING KILL?

Everyone: Yes.


Everyone: Yes.


Everyone: YES!

Ryan: You are going to go out there, and you are going to fucking FLY. You are going to get this sleigh off the ground, and we are going to fucking ROCK THIS FUCKING CHRISTMAS. Then we’re all gonna go out for Abominable Snow Monster steaks and brandy! AND WE’RE GONNA FUCK SOME YETI TANG! And make gingerbread women and eat only their crotches! AND WE’RE GONNA TRIM THE TREE WITH HUMAN EARS! You fucking ready to do this?

Everyone: YES!

Ryan: Fucking bring it in.

(everyone brings it in)


Everyone: KILL!

Elf: Holy crap, I want him to be Santa next year.

Ryan: You got it, Taquito.

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