Nevrmore's Tales - A Christmas Debacle

Nevrmore · 09-09-2006, 10:26 PM

Hello there. My name is Nevrmore[sic]. You may remember me from such films as "Salmonella ain't no Musical" and "Crabs - A Musical, but more, Unlike Cats." Okay, not really. Believe it or not, this is not my first forum-posting experience. I figured since I'm new here I'd get off on the right foot by posting one of my more famous tales from other sites, here. It may be a little early for this tale, but what the hell. Without further ado, A Christmas Debacle...

PS: Rated PG-13.

Scene opens to a quaint little home wrapped in a blanket of snow. The lights are on inside the house. View pans inside one of the windows into a bedroom where a boy feverently writes on a length of parchment. A girl enters.

GIRL: *Fake british accent* Wha' do ye think you're doing, you assmunch?

BOY: *Fake british accent* Wai I'm writin' me Chris'mas list to Santa. I've been a good li'l boy all year, I 'ave.

GIRL slaps BOY, knocking him out his chair. She continues to slap him while he is on the ground.

GIRL: You li'l wicket! Ain't ye got no brains? Ain't ye got no smarts? Doncha know tha' Santa ain't real!?

BOY: *standing up* Santa is real, 'e is! I know it t' be true!

GIRL: You really are a 'tardo, aincha?? I 'ope that the puppy mum and dad got ya fer Chris'mas dies before ya open it!

GIRL exits room. BOY puts finishing touches on parchment and seals it in an envelope. He runs outside and puts it in the mailbox. GIRL pokes her head out the window

GIRL: 'e's not real, assmunch!

GIRL's head disappears back into the window.

BOY: 'E is real, I know 'e is. 'E's waiting at the North Pole, I know it!

Scene fades to black. Switch to a place completely covered in snow. The top of a large, striped pole comes into view. The pole reads "North Pole" View pans out to show a large estate built in the center of the area. Pan out more to see a dead elf with his tongue attached to the pole. View switches to inside the house.

A very old, morbidly obese man, SANTA, lies on a love couch watching the Late Show. Drool dribbles out of his mouth and pools inside his cleavage. He reaches a stubby hand to grab another cookie from the plate seated at the table beside him to little success.

SANTA: *through a sea of sputters* Confound it all! Where's my god damned elf in charge of giving me my damn cookies?!

At this, a small CHINAMAN dressed in a ridiculous "elf" outfit runs into the room, cookie in hand.

SANTA: Wha? Who're you? You aren't my cookie elf!

CHINAMAN: All elf jobs were outsourced eary this year, Craus-sama. We now your miselable sraves instead of steleotypical Eskimo.

SANTA: Well, you're about the same size, I guess.

CHINAMAN hands SANTA the cookie and promptly leaves the room. Seconds after SANTA devours the delectable treat, MRS. CLAUS enters the room.

MRS. CLAUS: Honey!! The Reindeers are unfed, the sleigh's dented, the toys aren't wrapped, the stables need to be cleaned out, and it's Christmas Eve!

SANTA struggles to look up at his wife of 468 years over his own stomach. Instead he waves his hand casually.

SANTA: So?

MRS. CLAUS: It needs to be done now!

SANTA: What do you think you're here for, dear?

MRS. CLAUS leaves the room in a huff.

SANTA: We're still having sex tonight, right? Right??

There is a momentary silence. Suddenly, a bright light shines down upon SANTA from off screen. After a few failed attempts at lifting him up, a crane drops from above, hooks his belt, and raises him off screen.

Scene opens with SANTA being lifted from the bottom of the screen onto a large field of clouds. He looks around for a moment before spotting pearly-white gates stretching for miles. A man as equally old as SANTA is motioning to him. 20 minutes and many breaks for breath later, SANTA arrives infront of ST. PETER.

SANTA: Sup Pete?

ST. PETER: Sup Nick? How's the wife?

SANTA: Oh, you know, the bigger of a bag she becomes, the bigger mine do, too!

SANTA and ST. PETER laugh heartily before a deep earthquake shakes ST. PETER back to seriousness.

ST. PETER: Yeah, The big guy wants to see you. *whispering* He seems pretty pissed.

SANTA: Oh crap, he didn't find that video of me and Mary, did he?

ST. PETER: Nah, says it's something about your work ethic. Anyway, better not keep him waiting.

The Pearly Gates open and SANTA goes inside. He walks down the golden road, looking at the different buildings and their signs indicating their purpose as he passes them. One reads "Wing Attachment Area". the sound of a drill and a woman shrieking is heard as SANTA passes it. Another reads "Grievences to God". A person enters it, and almost immediately after a bolt of lightning strikes inside the building. Yet another reads "Portals Into People's Showers". This building is almost completely overcrowded as people fight for entry. Finally, SANTA comes to the biggest building of them all at the end of the road, eponymously named "God". The giant doors open as he enters. Inside, a 5 story tall figure in a white robe sits on a throne, tapping his fingers impatiently.

SANTA: Hey, G-dawg, sup?

GOD: Sup, Nick?

SANTA: How's Mary?

GOD: She's been out a lot, but seems happy. Anyway, I'm seeing a problem with you, Nick.

SANTA: What kind of problem?

GOD: *With a big sigh* You don't seem to be devoting yourself to Christmas, anymore. You're just too lazy. In the old days you'd run cross-country and climb up houses with your bare hands to deliver gifts.

SANTA: Yeah, that was before you made those blasphemous flying monstrosities. What's your point?

GOD: Now all you do is lounge around all day, getting fatter and fatter.

SANTA: Aw, come on, that's not true!

Cut to SANTA'S back, where love couch is nearly absorbed into his buttocks.

SANTA: Okay, maybe I'm not as fighting fit as I used to be, but-

GOD: And you're being very disrespectly to Mrs. Claus, and underfeeding the reindoor, and procrastinating and, well, you're a fatass!

SANTA: Geez, God, no need to be a douchebag about it.

GOD: *rubbing his forehead* Yeah, sorry, I just got out of a stressful political stint, and I've been on edge lately. But really, Nick. I'm disappointed in you. Look at you! What kind of icon are you for the most treasured holiday?

SANTA: Well, what do you want me to do about it?

GOD: Whatever you can! Work out, go on a diet, something! I mean, Jesus!

VOICE OFF-SCREEN: Yeah, Dad?

GOD: Not you, champ. Anyway, just go do *something*. *Anything*. Got it??

GOD snaps his fingers and SANTA appears back at his home. Cut to a close-up of his face. His brow furrows in determination.

SANTA: I'll do it!

Scene opens to SANTA sitting in a doctor's office. A DOCTOR enters from the right with a clipboard in hand.

DOCTOR: Your test results are back, sir.

SANTA: And?

DOCTOR: *thumbing through clipboard* Well, you seem to have diabetes, first of all. Both types, strangely enough. Also, your heart is nearly completely suffocated from cholesterol, You have 74% body fat, and we found three Chinese corpses in the folds of your fat.

There is a momentary silence.

SANTA: ...So...74 means...good?

DOCTOR: No, 74 means you're going to die before the month's end.

SANTA: Jesus!

VOICE OFF-SCREEN: Que?

SANTA: *to himself* Heh...immigrants.

DOCTOR: We're going to have to take some extreme precautions, here, sir. We've already prescribed you to enough medications to make a bull elephant fly, and we are putting you on a strict exercising schedule. You shouldn't go near any food that contains over 200 calories, cannot sleep on your right side, or eat more than three meals a day.

SANTA: Uhm, alright....Anything else I should know?

DOCTOR: Yes, don't become too stressful. Extreme physical exertion will only result in death.

SANTA: *stroking his beard sheepishly* Yeah, uhm, well, I kind of have to make a world round trip tonight and deliver stuff to A third of the world's population before tomorrow...Does that count as physical exertion?

There is a long silence.

Scene opens to back at SANTA'S home. He is at his bed, praying.

SANTA: Hey, God? My doctor said that if I make this round trip, strangely enough I'm going to die. But I can't let the kids down! I'm faced with a serious dilemma here. What should I do?

GOD'S VOICE: Do what is right, Nick. Don't worry, I'll make sure that nothing happens to you.

SANTA: *Reassured* Thanks, God. I'm glad I didn't pick on you in highschool. I'll do it! I'll make this Christmas the best Christmas ever!

SANTA gets up and runs over to his sleigh, ready for the night's long work. Halfway there he stops, clutches the area under his left breast, and falls to the ground, dead of a heart attack.

View changes to Heaven. SANTA's soul arrives seconds later. Angry, he storms through the Pearly Gates and into GOD's home. The lights are off.

SANTA: GOD! WHAT THE HELL IS THIS?! GAME OVER, MAN! GAME OVER!

The lights suddenly snap on to reveal the house completely filled with people. Most notably are ST. PETER, MRS. CLAUS, JESUS, and whole host of ELF-DRESSED CHINAMEN, and GOD himself.

EVERYONE: Surprise! Happy Birthday!

SANTA: Jesus!

JESUS: Yeah?

Balloons and confetti fall from the ceiling. Music starts playing, and a large cake is wheeled into the building. View cuts to SANTA enjoying a cup of juice with ST. PETER and GOD.

SANTA: So you goaded me into getting my ass in gear to set me up for a surprise birthday party?

GOD: Haha, yep! Pete was in on it, too!

ST. PETER laughs.

SANTA: *sipping his drink* So, when are you going to resurrect me?

GOD: Huh? Oh, I'm not doing that.

SANTA: ....Oh.

SANTA looks at the ground while everyone else enjoys the party. The scene fades to black.

GOD'S VOICE: Hey, anyone seen Mary?

Scene changes to the inside SANTA'S house. MARY is waiting, partially nude, on his bed.

MARY: *sigh*

Fade to Black. END

PyrosNine · 09-09-2006, 10:43 PM

Any chance this should be in the forum: Arts and Crafts? And also, Have you ever heard of Mrs. Bob Cratchit's Wild Christmas Binge? It's right up your alley, and a damn funny play.

Try to buy a script of it, I went to see it Live and it was the awesomness.

Nevrmore · 09-09-2006, 10:53 PM

Quote:

Originally Posted by PyrosNine

Any chance this should be in the forum: Arts and Crafts?

I don't want it to be critiqued, I want it to be enjoyed. SO YOU BETTER ENJOY IT OR I SWEAR I'LL....!!!

Quote:

Originally Posted by PyrosNine

And also, Have you ever heard of Mrs. Bob Cratchit's Wild Christmas Binge? It's right up your alley, and a damn funny play.

Try to buy a script of it, I went to see it Live and it was the awesomness.

I love broadening my horizons. I'll look into it.

09-09-2006, 10:26 PM	#1
Nevrmore Love's Young Nightmare Join Date: Sep 2006 Location: In a psychotic nightmare and loving it Posts: 4	Nevrmore's Tales - A Christmas Debacle Hello there. My name is Nevrmore[sic]. You may remember me from such films as "Salmonella ain't no Musical" and "Crabs - A Musical, but more, Unlike Cats." Okay, not really. Believe it or not, this is not my first forum-posting experience. I figured since I'm new here I'd get off on the right foot by posting one of my more famous tales from other sites, here. It may be a little early for this tale, but what the hell. Without further ado, A Christmas Debacle... PS: Rated PG-13. Scene opens to a quaint little home wrapped in a blanket of snow. The lights are on inside the house. View pans inside one of the windows into a bedroom where a boy feverently writes on a length of parchment. A girl enters. GIRL: Fake british accent Wha' do ye think you're doing, you assmunch? BOY: Fake british accent Wai I'm writin' me Chris'mas list to Santa. I've been a good li'l boy all year, I 'ave. GIRL slaps BOY, knocking him out his chair. She continues to slap him while he is on the ground. GIRL: You li'l wicket! Ain't ye got no brains? Ain't ye got no smarts? Doncha know tha' Santa ain't real!? BOY: standing up Santa is real, 'e is! I know it t' be true! GIRL: You really are a 'tardo, aincha?? I 'ope that the puppy mum and dad got ya fer Chris'mas dies before ya open it! GIRL exits room. BOY puts finishing touches on parchment and seals it in an envelope. He runs outside and puts it in the mailbox. GIRL pokes her head out the window GIRL: 'e's not real, assmunch! GIRL's head disappears back into the window. BOY: 'E is real, I know 'e is. 'E's waiting at the North Pole, I know it! Scene fades to black. Switch to a place completely covered in snow. The top of a large, striped pole comes into view. The pole reads "North Pole" View pans out to show a large estate built in the center of the area. Pan out more to see a dead elf with his tongue attached to the pole. View switches to inside the house. A very old, morbidly obese man, SANTA, lies on a love couch watching the Late Show. Drool dribbles out of his mouth and pools inside his cleavage. He reaches a stubby hand to grab another cookie from the plate seated at the table beside him to little success. SANTA: through a sea of sputters Confound it all! Where's my god damned elf in charge of giving me my damn cookies?! At this, a small CHINAMAN dressed in a ridiculous "elf" outfit runs into the room, cookie in hand. SANTA: Wha? Who're you? You aren't my cookie elf! CHINAMAN: All elf jobs were outsourced eary this year, Craus-sama. We now your miselable sraves instead of steleotypical Eskimo. SANTA: Well, you're about the same size, I guess. CHINAMAN hands SANTA the cookie and promptly leaves the room. Seconds after SANTA devours the delectable treat, MRS. CLAUS enters the room. MRS. CLAUS: Honey!! The Reindeers are unfed, the sleigh's dented, the toys aren't wrapped, the stables need to be cleaned out, and it's Christmas Eve! SANTA struggles to look up at his wife of 468 years over his own stomach. Instead he waves his hand casually. SANTA: So? MRS. CLAUS: It needs to be done now! SANTA: What do you think you're here for, dear? MRS. CLAUS leaves the room in a huff. SANTA: We're still having sex tonight, right? Right?? There is a momentary silence. Suddenly, a bright light shines down upon SANTA from off screen. After a few failed attempts at lifting him up, a crane drops from above, hooks his belt, and raises him off screen. Scene opens with SANTA being lifted from the bottom of the screen onto a large field of clouds. He looks around for a moment before spotting pearly-white gates stretching for miles. A man as equally old as SANTA is motioning to him. 20 minutes and many breaks for breath later, SANTA arrives infront of ST. PETER. SANTA: Sup Pete? ST. PETER: Sup Nick? How's the wife? SANTA: Oh, you know, the bigger of a bag she becomes, the bigger mine do, too! SANTA and ST. PETER laugh heartily before a deep earthquake shakes ST. PETER back to seriousness. ST. PETER: Yeah, The big guy wants to see you. whispering He seems pretty pissed. SANTA: Oh crap, he didn't find that video of me and Mary, did he? ST. PETER: Nah, says it's something about your work ethic. Anyway, better not keep him waiting. The Pearly Gates open and SANTA goes inside. He walks down the golden road, looking at the different buildings and their signs indicating their purpose as he passes them. One reads "Wing Attachment Area". the sound of a drill and a woman shrieking is heard as SANTA passes it. Another reads "Grievences to God". A person enters it, and almost immediately after a bolt of lightning strikes inside the building. Yet another reads "Portals Into People's Showers". This building is almost completely overcrowded as people fight for entry. Finally, SANTA comes to the biggest building of them all at the end of the road, eponymously named "God". The giant doors open as he enters. Inside, a 5 story tall figure in a white robe sits on a throne, tapping his fingers impatiently. SANTA: Hey, G-dawg, sup? GOD: Sup, Nick? SANTA: How's Mary? GOD: She's been out a lot, but seems happy. Anyway, I'm seeing a problem with you, Nick. SANTA: What kind of problem? GOD: With a big sigh You don't seem to be devoting yourself to Christmas, anymore. You're just too lazy. In the old days you'd run cross-country and climb up houses with your bare hands to deliver gifts. SANTA: Yeah, that was before you made those blasphemous flying monstrosities. What's your point? GOD: Now all you do is lounge around all day, getting fatter and fatter. SANTA: Aw, come on, that's not true! Cut to SANTA'S back, where love couch is nearly absorbed into his buttocks. SANTA: Okay, maybe I'm not as fighting fit as I used to be, but- GOD: And you're being very disrespectly to Mrs. Claus, and underfeeding the reindoor, and procrastinating and, well, you're a fatass! SANTA: Geez, God, no need to be a douchebag about it. GOD: rubbing his forehead Yeah, sorry, I just got out of a stressful political stint, and I've been on edge lately. But really, Nick. I'm disappointed in you. Look at you! What kind of icon are you for the most treasured holiday? SANTA: Well, what do you want me to do about it? GOD: Whatever you can! Work out, go on a diet, something! I mean, Jesus! VOICE OFF-SCREEN: Yeah, Dad? GOD: Not you, champ. Anyway, just go do something. Anything. Got it?? GOD snaps his fingers and SANTA appears back at his home. Cut to a close-up of his face. His brow furrows in determination. SANTA: I'll do it! Scene opens to SANTA sitting in a doctor's office. A DOCTOR enters from the right with a clipboard in hand. DOCTOR: Your test results are back, sir. SANTA: And? DOCTOR: thumbing through clipboard Well, you seem to have diabetes, first of all. Both types, strangely enough. Also, your heart is nearly completely suffocated from cholesterol, You have 74% body fat, and we found three Chinese corpses in the folds of your fat. There is a momentary silence. SANTA: ...So...74 means...good? DOCTOR: No, 74 means you're going to die before the month's end. SANTA: Jesus! VOICE OFF-SCREEN: Que? SANTA: to himself Heh...immigrants. DOCTOR: We're going to have to take some extreme precautions, here, sir. We've already prescribed you to enough medications to make a bull elephant fly, and we are putting you on a strict exercising schedule. You shouldn't go near any food that contains over 200 calories, cannot sleep on your right side, or eat more than three meals a day. SANTA: Uhm, alright....Anything else I should know? DOCTOR: Yes, don't become too stressful. Extreme physical exertion will only result in death. SANTA: stroking his beard sheepishly Yeah, uhm, well, I kind of have to make a world round trip tonight and deliver stuff to A third of the world's population before tomorrow...Does that count as physical exertion? There is a long silence. Scene opens to back at SANTA'S home. He is at his bed, praying. SANTA: Hey, God? My doctor said that if I make this round trip, strangely enough I'm going to die. But I can't let the kids down! I'm faced with a serious dilemma here. What should I do? GOD'S VOICE: Do what is right, Nick. Don't worry, I'll make sure that nothing happens to you. SANTA: Reassured Thanks, God. I'm glad I didn't pick on you in highschool. I'll do it! I'll make this Christmas the best Christmas ever! SANTA gets up and runs over to his sleigh, ready for the night's long work. Halfway there he stops, clutches the area under his left breast, and falls to the ground, dead of a heart attack. View changes to Heaven. SANTA's soul arrives seconds later. Angry, he storms through the Pearly Gates and into GOD's home. The lights are off. SANTA: GOD! WHAT THE HELL IS THIS?! GAME OVER, MAN! GAME OVER! The lights suddenly snap on to reveal the house completely filled with people. Most notably are ST. PETER, MRS. CLAUS, JESUS, and whole host of ELF-DRESSED CHINAMEN, and GOD himself. EVERYONE: Surprise! Happy Birthday! SANTA: Jesus! JESUS: Yeah? Balloons and confetti fall from the ceiling. Music starts playing, and a large cake is wheeled into the building. View cuts to SANTA enjoying a cup of juice with ST. PETER and GOD. SANTA: So you goaded me into getting my ass in gear to set me up for a surprise birthday party? GOD: Haha, yep! Pete was in on it, too! ST. PETER laughs. SANTA: sipping his drink So, when are you going to resurrect me? GOD: Huh? Oh, I'm not doing that. SANTA: ....Oh. SANTA looks at the ground while everyone else enjoys the party. The scene fades to black. GOD'S VOICE: Hey, anyone seen Mary? Scene changes to the inside SANTA'S house. MARY is waiting, partially nude, on his bed. MARY: sigh Fade to Black. END __________________ Fate - it's either a poetic tool, or a religious paradox.

09-09-2006, 10:43 PM	#2
PyrosNine Zettai Hero Join Date: Mar 2005 Location: A figment of my own imagination Posts: 6,103	Any chance this should be in the forum: Arts and Crafts? And also, Have you ever heard of Mrs. Bob Cratchit's Wild Christmas Binge? It's right up your alley, and a damn funny play. Try to buy a script of it, I went to see it Live and it was the awesomness. __________________ Pyrosnine.blogspot.com: An experimental blog of writing. Updated possibly daily. Possibly. A fair chance. Current Works for reading: War Between them, Karma Police. PyrosNine: Weirdo Magnet Extraordinaire!

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