A Review by Noah Antwiler
Oh Bill Goldberg, how do I hate thee? Let me count the ways! I hate you for your bland, one-dimensional wrestling persona that involves nothing more than slowly pacing to the ring while punching yourself in the head and barking like a Tourette's patient, killing someone, then leaving and grunting "WHO'S NEXT?" I hate you for your moveset and the fact you've wrestled the exact same match your entire career: no-sell whatever the other guy hits you with, roaring at him, performing a shoulder spear and hitting a jackhammer to end the match in a shorter time than it took for you to get to the ring. I hate you for being a big bald primadonna who started believing his own hype and stopped understanding that professional wrestling is about telling stories, not protecting your ego. I hate you for kicking Bret Hart in the head so badly he had to retire from wrestling-- oh I'm not sore, he's only the best there is, the best there was, and the best that ever will be. I hate you for thinking you can act when really your only selling point is being a 13-foot genetic monstrosity with a decent war-face. I hate you for Universal Soldier 2, which was really everybody's fault but by god I can still blame you for it.
And now I can hate you for killing Christmas! That's right, Bill Goldberg returns to the big screen-- or rather, the TV screen via the direct-to-video bargain bin at the local Blockbuster-- with Santa's Slay, a movie about Jolly Old Saint Nick finally going postal and turning his naughty list into a hit-list. This one has to put a smile on Mel Gibson's face: a movie about a giant hulking Jew killing everything good and cheerful about the day of Christ's birth. Of course, wrestling being fake and all, Goldberg can not be justifiably included in the hallowed halls of famous Jewish sports legends which includes such titans of athleticism as Sandy Koufax and...um...well that's it. I think Beckham's application is still on appeal pending confirmation of his Jewishness. But he can be included in my new list which isn't as distinguished: Big Shaved Gorilla Fucktards Who Concussed the Greatest Wrestler Ever and Forced Him Into Retirement. Not that I'm bitter over this. He was just, you know, Bret "The Fucking Hitman" Hart. The Pink and Black Attack. The Excellence of Execution. The Straightest Man To Ever Wear Pink Tights!
I decided this time around to go for a special Christmas movie review, something fittingly incompetent and filled with people I hate, sure to make me even more jaded and angry and loathe the holiday season altogether. Although for a movie that starts the world's most 'roided Jew, I think it rather unfairly leaves out the Jewish community's and spirit of involvement. Why can't Santa have a murderous Chanukah Harry sidekick who provides him automatic weapons at a discount price? ("Yeah my Cousin Murray's a doctor, he knows this guy who can fix you up, no problem!")
But really, Santa's Slay? Wasn't this originally a cast-off joke from the Bill Murray movie Scrooged about the Christmas season being commercialized and exploited in the form of a hyper-violent action flick about the North Pole being seiged by terrorists? And now we actually have a movie with the same title? Talk about life imitating art imitating life. The irony of it all makes me feel a little more joyless and dead inside...
But that's not what worries me. No, I'm not worried about Bill Goldberg in a Santa suit. I'm not even worried that this will likely be a worse flick than Jack Frost with more Christmas puns than you could stuff a turkey with. THIS is what worries me:
What, it wasn't enough that you killed the X-Men, Brett? Now you have to kill Christmas? Do you even have to ask why people bitch and moan whenever you're assigned to a film project, Brett? Never mind that you're a complete hack responsible for some of the most annoying movies made since the 90s, but you're proud to attach your name to a movie where Bill Goldberg wearing monster contact lenses and a Santa suit is about to kill someone with an icicle. Let's not even approach the pathetic "Slay/Sleigh" pun that is as lame as it was inevitable. Maybe Brett works cheap. It's the only thing I can think of as to why people let him direct their movies.
We open up on a cheery northeastern manor, with halls decked with all that shit and a merry rendition of "Joy to the World." Inside is an affluent family of white people enjoying their Christmas dinner. Two lovely young ladies are gossiping over what handbags they're likely to get as a present, discussing fashion designers as men were talking about the pitching rotation of the New York Mets. An older woman reminds them to never settle for anything less than Prada (snob status confirmed, they're all dead ducks). Fran Drescher, looking killer in a red dress and sporting a phenomenal rack gives them all a playful "oh behave" in that nails-on-chalkboard thing she does where she's around forty years old and her voice is still breaking with every sentence she utters.
Chris Kattan (best known for his stirring dramatic performance as the monkey Mr. Peepers) gives them a big ol' 'I'm only going to be in this movie for about 2 minutes' leer and asks the ladies what they want from "big ol' Santa this year." I think I may be ill. James Caan (?!?!) seated at the head of the table draws everyone's attention and says he knows what he'd like: a turkey this Christmas that doesn't taste like a shoe. Fran tries to make his head explode with her mind and somehow ties the moistness of the turkey to his inadequacy at foreplay-- thus marking the second ever time a turkey has been metaphorically linked to disgusting sexual acts, the first being Jennifer Lopez's infamous scene in Gigli where she spreads her legs and beckons Ben Affleck to mount her with the words "It's turkey time, gobble gobble." Thanks for conjuring up the spectre of Gigli for me, movie. Thanks a million.
Caan goes off to get hammered on wine while Fran starts lumping potatoes on Kattan's plate. Kattan thanks her by giving her a handjob under the table while she's serving food. Dude, not only are you finger-banging Fran Drescher, you're about to eat!!! Someone, stop this! Santa, kick in the door and kill all these assholes! Caan comes back and offers to jam a fork on Kattan's eye but for some reason thinks better of it. Fran tells one of the Snob Sisters to say grace. She thanks God for bringing everyone together and for not making them poor or Samoan. Strange nationality to isolate...
Suddenly there comes a clip-clip-clopping on the roof, and a stirring of soot in the chimney, and Santa blasts the fireplace outward in a shower of fake stone blocks! Everyone gives Santa a "huh" look then greets him like he was the Kool-Aid Man bursting through their wall and shouting "OH YEAH!"
"Yes Virginia, there is a Santa Claus!" he growls in a demon voice. Scribbles the Dog confronts him angrily, so Santa boots his furry ass into the ceiling fan to die. James Caan cocks his head to one side slightly, apparently not displeased with this outcome. Santa does a Kirk Roll onto the dinner table, snatches up a pair of carving knives and stakes Caan's hands to the table. One of the sisters passes out at a mere angry glance from Saint Nick and falls backward, accidentally spiking herself through the throat on Scribbles' oddly-dangerous love seat. Santa chugs a bottle of wine and uses a grill-lighter to spew a blast of fire, setting Fran's hair on fire!
Chris Kattan pushes away from the table and assumes a fighting stance, challenging Santa with a manly "YOU WANT SOME?" What, are you kidding me, Chris? You couldn't take the Lucky Charms Leprechaun in a straight-up fistfight. Santa mule kicks his candy ass through a cabinet, bashes another bitch upside the head with a broken table leg, and drowns Fran in a bowl of egg nog. The last woman tries to flee so he plucks the star off the top of the Christmas tree and hurls it like a giant shuriken into her spine. Dayumn! All resistance quelled, Santa turns his attention to the incapacitated James Caan and rams a turkey leg through his brain stem. So we've killed Fran Drescher, James Caan and Chris Kattan...I, for one, welcome Santa as my new overlord and wholeheartedly support his reign of murder! How can I help?
It's pretty clear this movie is being played strictly for laughs and not the straight-up horror flick I was expecting, which frankly disappoints me a little. I was hoping they'd try to make a serious go of telling a murderous Santa story so I could make fun of how stupid it all is. Turns out they're making a comedy which has a certain degree of immunity from my wrath. I feel misled; the cover implied a horror movie.
We go to Hell, Michigan. In truth all of Michigan is Hell, this city is simply honest with itself. Old Mrs. Talbot is busy hassling the friendly Jewish deli owners over the price of a roast beef sandwich which at $4.75 frankly is kind of steep for a deli sandwich with no veggies or cheese. The owner, Mr. Green (played by one of my favorites, Saul Rubinek) nicely knocks a quarter from the price and wishes her a happy holidays. Mrs. Talbot tells him to fuck off with that political correctness shit (seriously) and say "Merry Christmas" because the world should kowtow to all things Anglo and Christian. Actually I always understood why people were so uptight about being P.C. about this holiday stuff even if it is full of double-standards. "Happy holidays" is honestly the first greeting that comes to my mind anymore and it's a decent catch-all that helps you avoid being insensitive and (more importantly) potential ass-kickings. My biggest problem, ironically, is with athiests who get all riled up when they see a Christmas tree or God forbid a fucking menorah in a store window and start shitting bricks over the separation of church and state. Folks, your kids are smart enough to make the decision over whether there is or is not a God, spirits of nature, or Andy Warhol in heaven on their own-- they really are. And it is their choice, no matter how much people might try to shield themselves and their kids from all forms of religious iconography like it's some kind of infection. And I'm a guy who doesn't favor organized religion in any form.
What, I can't be thoughtful in these reviews? Gimme a break, this movie is sort of a dud for me comedically. Anyway, Mrs. Talbot passes Emilie de Ravin (?!?!) cleaning up the deli and spontaneously calls her a fucking whore. Why those hootchie...pants and that shirt that fully covers her body...whore! Whore, I say! C'mon Emilie, you're a good actress! Can't you find better stuff to appear in than Santa's Slay and that lame The Hills Have Eyes remake? Heck I think you need to get off that dog of a show Lost and start showing off those acting chops!
Mrs. Talbot starts swerving her gigantic Nixon-era car home chain smoking heavily enough to make Mickey Rourke's throat seize up and peeking through the curve of her steering wheel. Santa's sleigh merges onto the road and promptly gets stuck behind Talbot's geriatric, 20mph ass. "Move, bitch! Get out the way!" he screams over the din of jingle bells. He reaches down to a console and blows his horn, but when she doesn't speed up he spurs his mighty buffalo (?) forward and rams her off the road in a spectacular tangle of twisted metal! I hope he kills Tim Allen next. No?
Mr. Green gives his two faithful workers Christmas presents. The young man scores himself a Sports Illustrated Clock, which can tell the time in 25 different time zones. You wanna know what time it is in Reykjavik? BOO-YAH! You're all set. Actually this is a pretty cool gift; I have one a lot like it that automatically sets itself via some observatory signal that gets the official time from an atomic clock. I don't know what an atomic clock is but it sounds fucking hardcore. "Where are you going, Lenny?" "I have to get my radiation suit so I can set the ATOMIC CLOCK." Emilie gets a Wisconsin snow globe and does an admirable job of not giving away that in about an hour it's going straight in the trash. Hey, Mr. Green's Jewish and as Jewish holiday presents go these are pretty kickass. I know from experience. Good guy. It'll be a bummer when Santa shivs him with an icicle.
Nicky goes home and spends a minute disengaging the half-dozen locks on the front door, only to find the house completely dark and his grandpa unresponsive to his calls. The lights aren't working so he grabs a flashlight and checks the breaker only to run smack into Grandpa packing a box of lightbulbs. Grandpa blew out the breaker on one of his experiments or something, and Nicky whines that he really needs to stop with his crazy inventions. He picks up one of these toys, a souped-up nutcracker and squishes a chestnut, sending it ricocheting around the room like it was shot out of a goddamn rail gun. Grandpa shows Nicky the bunker he built. 'Nuff said about Grandpa, eh?
Santa decides to slum it for a while and stands on a street corner ringing a bell endlessly like one of those Salvation Army dorks outside every Wal-Mart in the country. A generic 1980s mugger leaps out from behind him and holds a knife to Santa's throat. Santa stabs him in the brain with a candy cane and tosses him into a dumpster. That went about as expected. Why would you bother holding a corner Santa at knifepoint? Just grab the bucket.
Back at the house, Nicky asks Inventor Grandpa why he's such a freak. Grandpa tells him he's not ready for the truth, but Nicky insists. Finally he agrees and opens up a secret safe and takes out a huge Christmasey book which he calls the Book of Claus, a curious tome written in Norse. Grandpa reads that there have only been two immaculate conceptions: God with the Virgin Mary to create Jesus, and the other was in 1972 when God blessed the Miami Dolphins with the win thanks to Franco Harris' phenomenal touchdown catch. Oh wait, that was the Immaculate Reception. The second immaculate conception was with Satan to produce his son, SANTA! Inexplicably, on the day of Santa's birth there would be a great number of unsolved murders and slayings in what would become the infamous holiday, the Dag of Mord, or the Day of Slayings. The Christians would gather around on this day to have a mass, or a (say it with me) a Christ-Mass to pray to God for protection.
Emilie arrives at the front door and interrupts the story. Nicky looks in the book and sees a picture of Santa's SCARY FLYING HORNED BUFFALO!!
Cut to a really tiny church that looks, honest to god, EXACTLY like the church my parents went to in Missouri. It's creepy. There's a fire-and-brimstone minister giving his usual "donate generously to the church or burn in hell" sermon, and afterwards he heads to the local strip club in his expensive 8-cylinder Jeep Grand Cherokee. Santa pulls up in his buffalo-drawn sleigh (the buffalo still puzzles me) and demands entry into the tittie bar, saying he wants to "stuff some stockings." Um, ew. The bouncer has something against Santa I guess, because he denies the red-boy entry. Kris Kringle throttles him with a wreath. We may be running out of Christmas ornaments to kill people with, although we haven't yet impaled anyone on a crucifix or a menorah, strangled them with a ribbon, throtlled them with a string of Christmas lights, or rammed a pine tree up anyone's ass, so that's three kills to look forward to.
Santa grooves into the nudie bar with a look on his face that says "Man, I have missed this."
"Ho, ho, hos!" he cheers, promptly molesting the nearest stripper with a patented Bill Goldberg lip-lock. The bouncers converge, so Santa pump kicks one in the chest, strangles another with a string of Christmas lights (told ya) and battles the remaining staff and patrons with the stripper pole after producing a spray bottle of Windex out of his ass and disinfecting it. There are still some people alive when he's done, so he takes out a lump of coal, breathes on it, and snarls "NAUGHTY" at them as he casts the coal into the room, burning everyone else alive.
Nicky and Emilie are lounging on the couch watching something lousy on the TV when he manages to blow any shot he had at a relationship by completely flipping out over the idea that she does not think his father is batshit insane. So she's being diplomatic about your dad being a former Y2K survivalist, and he has a problem with this? Emilie decides that perhaps the nuttiness runs in the family and she could go to any random house in the city and have more fun this holiday. I'm pretty sure that's true, knowing Nicky.
Now dateless, Nicky turns to Grandpa's Book of Insanity which takes us to a goofy stop-motion claymation like the old-style Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer movie. God sent an angel down from heaven who found the "young, ill-tempered Santa at the North Pole fishing with the ornery little people." This is priceless! Santa was a gambling sort of guy, so the angel challenged him to a contest of who could slide a rock closest to the hole in the ice without it falling in. If Santa won the contest, he would take the angel to Hell. But if the angel won, he would stop killing people and actually be nice for a thousand years! So the fate of mankind, the ultimate battle of good and evil came down to a round of curling? Naturally the angel won, because nobody beats God at curling. Nobody!
Nicky checks on GONAD, the official Santa-tracking website and even asks the system administrator if it really works. Fuck-nut.
The next day is Christmas. A family of horribly annoying kids opens their presents only to find them packed with high explosives that blows their heads off! Yay! The minister holds a special Christmas service in which he memorializes the arson of the Gold Diggers strip club and the deaths of all the "heathen" members of the community who perished, including Sierra Rains, Dixie Wrecked, Tess Tickler, Fanny Pounder...
Santa goes to Mr. Green's deli, only to find it closed. This seems to piss Kris Kringle off something fierce, and he pounds on the door. Mr. Green tells him they're closed for Christmas, but damn it, Santa wants his reuben sandwich and he hates the fucking Jews. He punches out the window, dodges Mr. Green's volley of chestnuts, and spears him through the glass deli case and through the wall. Mr. Green responds to a 300 lbs. Jew crashing into his chest with "Oy!" C'mon! They're both Gentiles! They should get along! Green tries to ward Santa off with his Star of David necklace, and it does actually seem to repulse him momentarily, but Jolly Old Saint Nick picks him up by the throat and stakes him to the wall with a menorah (told ya).
Cut to Bruno's Eat Here, which coincidentally is located right next door to Bruno's Get Gas. What are the odds? Although those signs are awfully imperative. A "please" would be nice. Nicky stops in to buy some gum and meets the new guy in town, an enormous black guy who moved here because there's "too much damn violence in da 'hood." He hears on the Plot Convenience Radio that there's been some kind of violence at the deli and runs off to find Mr. Green still alive and hanging by a menorah rammed through his throat. He gurgles out the word "Santa" and dies just as the police arrive. Somehow they think Nicky is responsible for picking up a 200 lbs. man and hanging him with a Chanukah ornament like Jason Voorhees and take him back to the station for some questioning, saying "something isn't exactly kosher about this." Ugh...
Nicky gets hauled in to see Captain Caulk (ugh...) who says that the witnesses report a guy dressed like Santa smashed his way into the deli at just about the same time he arrived. Nicky ludicrously tries to explain to Caulk that it really was Santa Claus killing everyone. Good plan, Nick. Convince the cop you are, in fact, a raving lunatic and give him every reason to hold you in confinement. The Captain tells Nicky to piss off before he digs himself deeper in his own grave. Outside, the two cops who arrested Nicky (with so much powdered sugar around their mouths the joke goes from hackneyed, to sort of funny, to surreal, all the way to "we fucking GET it already, fatass cops eat donuts") are looking at a map of Santa's killings, each marked with a little flag stuck in the board. They form the pattern of a Christmas tree. Huh. Actually not bad policework from the two donut cops. I wouldn't have thought of charting his pattern of violence.
No sooner does Nicky leave than Santa slaughters everyone in the station, finishing off the chief by ramming a stun gun into his balls and letting him twitch until the battery runs dry. Oof.
Nicky gets a ride with Emilie, and he goes on and on about Santa like anyone believes him, showing on his Sports Illustrated clock that Christmas (and hopefully Santa's murderfest) will end in about four hours). A police car pulls them over, prompting Emilie to serve up the line "What is it with you and Caulk?" I want to know why she hangs out with a guy who spends so much time jerking Caulk around. See? These jokes aren't funny even when I'm trying. These Caulk jokes suck.
Santa climbs out of the squad car brandishing a nightstick. Emilie floors it, causing Santa to chase after them like the T-1000. He leaps on the back of the truck and barks at them! Nicky breaks out the gun Emilie has under the seat and displays gross incompetence in using it, but luckily Emilie's a pretty good driver and pulls the Top Gun maneuver of slamming the brakes and letting the pursuer fly past them. Santa catches some buckshot and collapses into the roadway, but he's not out of it. He whistles for his Battle Buffalo!
Nicky and Emilie head to Grandpa's bunker but instead of locking themselves in try to warn a passing group of carolers that "Santa's on the loose!" He shows up right on cue and pummels several of them to death with a mining pick, then gorilla presses a woman neck-first across a rail. The pair wisely retreat back into the bunker, which, curiously, can withstand a nuclear blast but isn't much of a barrier to Santa Claus. Though I suppose he is the son of Satan. But luckily Grandpa has a back way out of the bunker and leads them to the garage where he has a pair of snowmobiles fueled and ready. They struggle to get the vehicles started while Santa emerges from the yard and confronts Grandpa. Grandpa compliments Santa on his massive gut. Santa says Mrs. Claus is a hell of a cook. I'll bet!
Grandpa says he's waited a long time for this day! "Not half as long as I have," growls Santa. Well actually it is, because you've both been waiting a thousand years. But he grabs up an icicle from the nearby roof and says there's only one thing missing from making this the perfect Dag of Mort! Looks like we know "who's next," don't we? Santa's buffalo comes raging around the corner and smashes Grandpa flat.
"Awww, grandpa got run over by a reindeer!" Santa hoots. Buffalo, Bill. But I guess that's not as funny. Santa pulls an American History X by curb-stomping what's left of Grandpa's skull. There's a hilarious moment where Nicky and Emilie have a prolonged Star Wars-style "NOOOOOOO!!!!" Emilie hops on the back of Nicky's snowmobile and they speed off. Santa hops on his sleigh and pursues them from the air, throwing explosive presents down at them! Must be good for the elves to finally stop making Playstations and start crafting anti-personnell devices, eh? Santa can't throw presents any better than he throws curling stones, which makes him a little frustrated. So he kicks in the afterburners (his sleigh actually has jet turbines) and has Barry the Buffalo ram Emilie in the back! Ho ho oh no!
Emilie decks Barry the Buffalo in the face which momentarily stuns him and takes the sleigh out of the race. They speed through the town square screaming that Santa's coming and he's not packing holiday cheer! The sleigh burns ominous contrails through the sky, sending the town residents scattering! He runs down the town minister after declaring that he's here to spread a little Yuletide FEAR! HAR!
They head to the school for shelter. Nicky wraps his jacket around his fist and punches the window. The window wins. Nicky is a complete puss. Emilie is visibly losing respect for him and quickly running out of the desire to touch his little toothpick of a wang. She breaks it herself. Nicky snarks "oh, now he'll never find us." Hey, it was your plan to begin with, fuck-cheese. Don't hate her because she's got a better right hook. She squirms through the window with his help, and she actually asks him to cop a feel. Weird.
As the sun sets, Santa decides to take a different tack on this siege. He strips off his jacket, deciding that it's time to uncoil the pythons. Good LORD his arms are huge. Now he's wearing a muscle shirt and an elaborate weight-lifting belt with a massive belt buckle. Santa assaults the school from the roof, dropping down through the incinerator. He comes up from behind them, brandishing some kind of nuclear green-glowing cnady cane and roaring "Who's your daddy? Father Christmas!!" Kringle chases them though the halls breathing fire after them. They hide in the library, so Santa lobs some tear gas grenades to flush them out. I'll say one thing: he came prepared. They run for the exit but Santa clips Nicky in the coconut with a Dickens novel (they hurt more). He pisses and whines about how much it hurts, and they find themelves sprawling on the school hockey rink.
Santa blasts through the wall driving a zamboni machine. Nicky tries to assault him by shining the light in his eyes. "I'm Santa Claus, not fucking Dracula!" he chuckles! He's about to run them down when the zamboni runs into something, halting it immediately. Santa looks over and sees a magic celestial curling stone wedged in the axle. Could have dusted off the Spear of Destiny or Gabriel's flaming sword, but we went with the Holy Curling Stone of Antioch. Goldberg curses something in Norse (and you haven't seen Goldberg try to act until you've seen him try to speak Norse) and hops down to confront the angelic son of a bitch who curled his zamboni.
Grandpa reappears, lamenting that his holy seed spawned such a total pussy, but reborn as Grandpa the White and ready to kick Santa's velvet-wearing ass. Santa says it was easy to find where he was, brandishing a letter Nicky wrote to Santa when he was a kid describing his grandpa's affinity for curling and his very gay request for an Easy Bake Oven. Grandpa says it's time to finish this charade and conjures up a set of curling stones and those stupid brooms they use to guide them. Santa says aight and opens up a hole in the ice to Hell. Grandpa says this time that's it, if he wins there's no more murder sprees ever! Santa has to be good forever. I can't believe the fate of all mankind is coming down to a sport the Canadians have practiced for decades and still aren't any good at. Couldn't we shoot hoops one-on-one or maybe have a lively competitive match of SOCOM 2? Curling? This is your climax, movie?
Grandpa places his curling stone expertly at the edge of the hellmouth. Santa curses, sizes up his shot, then turns around and chucks Grandpa's ass straight in the hole! Man, if you can't trust the son of Satan, who can you trust? Santa tells the kids not to worry...YOU'RE NEXT! Just then the clock goes off at midnight GMT! Nicky says HAH! Christmas is over! Santa reminds Nicky that actually, the North Pole is at the epicenter of all the time zones so the actual time at Santa's Workshop is completely discretionary. See, this is why I can't make fun of this movie. It's pointing out all the plot holes for me!
Nicky brandishes Grandpa's lethal nutcracker device and launches a nut straight into Santa's heart. "Chest-nut," Nicky glowers. Wow, way to pull a mean one-liner out of your ass, Nicky. Santa drops and the duo rushes forward to pull Grandpa out of the hellmouth. Santa runs off to his sleigh, I guess because he's tired from giving Bret Hart a concussion. Grandpa tells them they'd better go kill Santa because he's completely powerless now following that shot with the chestnut, but he's got to bugger off back to heaven. He vanishes, leaving Nicky and Emilie to recruit the local buck hunters to shoot down Santa's flying buffalo. The townsfolk arm up and fill the sky with lead, but none of them manage to clip the buffalo. Just as Santa's about to run escape, Emilie's dad destroys him with a bazooka.
Well that was random.
Soooo...yeah. Nicky decides to go off to struggle with his own questionable sexuality and train for his future battles with Santa when he returns. The rocket launcher seemed like a more effective Santa-busting implement than the Holy Curling Stone, but I'm no theologian. A humiliated Santa, deafeated by a closet homosexual and the Aussie chick from Lost, is forced to fly commercially to the North Pole and check his sack of toys because it won't fit in the overhead compartment. But don't be disheartened! It all works out! Santa's fiendish killing spree is later ended by Lobo, so you don't have to worry about that fat bastard coming after you this holiday season!