‘Tis the season, baby.
CLANK!
The metal door swings closed behind the ragged-looking mall Santa. With a grunt of exhaustion that can only come with talking to children for eight hours, Mall Santa pulls down his fake beard and leans against the dumpster. Out here, it is quiet. Out here, he is alone. Out here, he can be himself.
Mall Santa lights up a cigarette. He releases a puff of smoke into the air and follows it upward with his eyes.
Mall Santa:
…fucking brats.
GASP!
Mall Santa spins around to the source of the gasp. There he finds little Sally McStally – all of about nine years old – standing in absolute shock at the sight of Santa with his beard off and smoking a cigarette.
Sally:
S… Santa?
Mall Santa grunts. It’s too late to turn back now. And even if he could undo this, in the mood he’s in – he’s not sure that he would. You know what? Maybe it’s time he got a little payback.
Mall Santa:
Scram, kid. Santa’s busy.
Sally:
What… what are you doing?
Mall Santa’s eye twitches. He leans down, getting very nearly directly in Sally’s face.
Mall Santa:
I’m taking a fuckin’ break, kid. Cause I’ve been listening to twerps like you yammer on all day and I’m tired.
Sally’s lip begins to quiver. Mall Santa relishes his brief moment of power. He decides to push it a little further.
Mall Santa:
And you know what? There is no Santa Claus, kid. I’m a fake. Cause your parents are lying to you.
Sally’s mouth is agape. Her world has been rocked. The look on her face conveys her rush to process this when…
MOTLEY CREW: WIIIIIIIILLLLLD SIIIIIIIDDDEEEEEE!!!!
Out of nowhere… FREDDY KILGORE! He’s face painted, he’s baby-oiled, he’s in his wrestling tights, and he’s ready to rumble! Mall Santa has just a second to turn… AND HE EATS A CALL OF THE WILD DIRECTLY TO THE FACE!! A LOOSE TOOTH GOES FLYING AS THE CLASSIC WRESTLER’S BOOT COLLIDES WITH THE WANNABE KRIS KRINGLE’S FACE!! MALL SANTA IS DOWN!! MALL SANTA IS DOWN!!
Kilgore looks down at the broken Santa Claus… and a singular muscular arm reaches down to snatch off his red hat. Kilgore places Jolly Ol’ St Nick’s hat atop his own head, and with a holiday twinkle in his eye, he turns to little Sally McStally.
“LET ME TELL YA SOMETHING LITTLE LADY! YOU DON’T LISTEN TO A WORD THIS PIECE OF GARBAGE SAYS! HE’S A FAKE! A PHONY! A WANNABE JABRONI!”
Mall Santa grunts, so Kilgore kicks him in the side.
Sally:
So… he’s wrong about Santa?
“BABY – HE COULDN’T BE MORE WRONG! IN FACT, SANTA SENT ME TO PUT A STOP TO HIS LIES! NOBODY HAS MORE CHRISTMAS SPIRIT THAN PAPA WILD THING, DUDE, AND SANTA KNEW THAT I WAS JUST THE MAN TO CRUSH THIS NO-GOOD GRINCH!! LET ME ASK YOU THIS: WHAT DO YOU WANT FOR CHRISTMAS, MY MAIN LADY??”
Sally furrows her brow to think.
Sally:
Um… world peace?
Kilgore pauses for a beat.
“I GOTTA SAY, BABY – I REALLY THOUGHT YOU WERE GONNA ASK FOR A TRAIN OR SOMETHING! BUT, SANTA AIMS TO PLEASE – AND SO DOES PAPA WILD THANG! YOU I’LL TELL YOU WHAT I’M GONNA DO JUST FOR YOU – FREDDY KILGORE IS GONNA SPEND CHRISTMAS PROMOTING PEACE. AND HE’S GONNA DO IT BY KICKING EVERY BAD GUY IN THE FACE!”
Kilgore now turns toward the camera, going into full promo mode. He flexes.
“I KNOW THERE’S A BUNCH OF SCOORGES IN CLASSIC WRESTLING, BABY, AND I SAY BRING ‘EM ON! I’M BEGGING, I’M PLEADING, I’M ON MY KNEES ASKING THE CLASSIC BRASS TO PUT ONE OF THEM IN THE RING WITH PAPA WILD THANG SO HE CAN DECK THEIR HALLS, BROTHER!!”
He turns back to Sally.
“NOW RUN BACK TO YOUR PARENTS, LITTLE LADY. AND YOU BE GOOD!”
Sally breaks out into a smile.
Sally:
Thanks big scary Santa!
Kilgore flashes her a thumbs up as he runs off. He turns into the camera – still brandishing the Santa hat.
“MERRY CHRISTMAS TO ALL – TO ALL A WIIIIIILLLLLD NIGHT, BABY! HO, HO, HO-WWWWLLLLLLLLLLLLL!”