Stories from Today's Christmas Episode (Patreon)

Here's everyone's Christmas tales presented in the antiquated text format.

What Do You Get the Man Who Has Everything? (Branson)

                Jared Beerwater had it all. A supermodel girlfriend with a 90 IQ, a hotshot job at a fortune 500 company, and a posh penthouse apartment in the whitest neighborhood in New York City as long as you don’t count the orthodox. This was a man who wanted for nothing. He ate the most expensive cuts of meat of the rarest birds in the world. There was just one problem.

                No one ever got him good presents because they were stuff that he had already owned. Every Christmas, Jared Beerwater sulked. He sulked because the presents were boring, it was cold and on Christmas the bank was closed so Jared couldn’t go visit all of his money in the vault.

                This happened every year at the Beerwater family Christmas and little Suzie Beerwater would always have a front row seat. She watched Jared whine, pout, and look at pictures of little bags of cocaine in his phone to try to cheer. She had had enough. Suzie decided to spend all year trying to get the perfect Christmas gift for her Uncle. She was determined to make it a Christmas that her uncle Jared Beerwater remembered forever.

                On January 1st, Suzie sat down with a paper and pencil and began to make a list. Vitamins, she thought? No, her father told her. Jared replaced his organs nearly every year at a “farm” in Brunei that was co-owned by Raytheon and Blackwater. Macaroni picture, she asked? NO, her father said. Jared just bought a macaroni drawing made by Marina Abramovic that she had peed on, and it still would smell a little like the pee if you put the drawing in direct sunlight. Hmm, Suzie turned to her father and said What about a ---. Her father immediately interrupted her.

                “Whatever you were gonna say, Suzie, he’s got it. He recently purchased the comedy writing Rule of 3s from Second City. He’s four steps ahead of you.”

                “This is going to be harder than I thought,” Suzie said.

                “Yeah, plus you are a kid and you don’t have any money.”

                “Yeah, that too. Hope I don’t just get bored and give up,” Suzie said.

                The year passed and nothing important happened the whole time. Soon, it was Christmas Day. Suzie sat wide-eyed and beaming as her Uncle Jared Beerwater, sullen and depressed, lazily opened her gift to him.

                “I hope you like it,” Suzie said.

                “I probably already have it, Suzie. It’s fine.”

                “Is it an abstact concept?” Jared asked.

                “What?”

                “Is it an abstract concept. Like an item meant to represent something non-concrete, something you can’t hold in your hand.”

                “Well…”

                “Yeah, like three years ago Helen gave me a single ornament and said it represented family. Christine once put a small mirror in a box and gave it to me and said that she had gotten me ‘awareness’. What’d you do? Did you get me a box with nothing in it and then you are going to say it is because I already have everything so you got me Nothing.”

                “Yeah,” Suzie said.

                “Sorry Suzie, someone already got me that. But listen here. I really am appreciative. It isn’t about the gifts. It really isn’t. I just want to tell you that I love you and it was a very thoughtful gift and I’m glad you got me a gift instead of giving to charity or something.”

                “This is the best Christmas ever!” Suzie screamed, hugging her uncle Jared.

                “Yeah. Okay. Yep. Alright. Long enough.”

Mistletoe Man (Branson)

                A long, long time ago in Victorian-era England, there was a man with very wet lips named Simon Nasty. He was a very horny man, and he was also English, which meant he said “Oh My” all of the time, and imagined gusts of wind blowing up some ugly plaid skirts in order to see some gigantic underwear. Simon enjoyed ladies, he enjoyed perving out, but most of all, he enjoyed having sex. He went nuts for the stuff. He was constantly thinking about it and when he thought about it he would absent-mindedly start thrusting in place wherever he was standing.

                For legal reasons I must clarify that Simon Nasty is not Jack the Ripper. We don’t know who Jack the Ripper was, but it can be confirmed that it wasn’t Simon Nasty because all of the prostitutes in England knew to never get into Simon Nasty’s car, which was always humid and had leather seats.

                Simon Nasty always got bummed around Christmas. One Christmas, when Santa was sliding down the chimney into Simon Nasty’s studio apartment, Santa found Simon standing on a chair with a noose around his neck.

                “Simon!” Santa screamed, “Why!”

                “I hate Christmas!” Simon screamed, “Everyone is always talking about family, merriment, eating a lot of food, and people stop thinking about sex! I hate it!”

                “That doesn’t mean you have to kill yourself!” Santa said.

                “Kill my—Ohh,” Simon laughed, “No, I’m doing something else, but I can see why you think that.”

                Later, when Santa returned to the North Pole, he was sad. His elves tried to cheer him up, but it was to no avail. Santa was sitting in his workshop one day when he came up with a great idea to help Simon Nasty.

                “I got it!” Santa screamed, “I’ll make Mistletoe make people kiss! That way, it’s a little bit sexy, but also wholesome. It’s a little, I don’t know, Druidic, but I think it’ll work. I think this could really make the Holidays better for guys like Simon. Also, I’ll make everyone drink a lot of alcohol from now on!”

                Santa unveiled his invention to the world, who loved it. On Christmas Day, Santa shot down Simon Nasty’s chimney, beaming and proud, waiting to see the change in Simon’s mood.

                Santa immediately saw Simon Nasty standing on a chair with a noose around his neck.

                “Simon, no!”

                “Santa, great news! This has been the greatest Christmas ever!”

                “Then why are you about to commit suicide-“

                “Wrong! I’m doing the other thing!” Simon said, smiling.

                “Oh! I take it the mistletoe worked well for you this year?”

                “Santa! I basically busted 24/7. One of my nuts fell off. I have to take salt tablets because I am cumming so much that my body can’t sweat anymore. The doctor thought I was going to die! I fingered so much my middle finger grew a little bicep! And even better news, I’m the first guy to find the clit!”

                “Well, that’s okay, maybe a little—“

                “Also, Santa, I have a gift for you! Unless you are allergic to having HPV!”

                Okay, stop the story, this is disgusting, I don’;t know who cleared this to be read on air.

The Christmas Basketball (Branson)

                There was once a young boy who loved basketball. His mother and father sat him down before the holidays and asked him, “Son, you can have absolutely anything you want this Christmas. You’ve been a good little boy and Santa told us that he’s going to get you a good present because you love doing your chores, love being nice, love being respectful,  you always brush your teeth and you always go to bed on time.”

                The boy did not hesitate to speak.

                “Mother, father, it pleases me to hear that I have been a good boy. It is true that I love to do my chores. It is true that I love being nice and that I love being respectful. It is true that I brush my teeth every night without reminder and that I go to bed early and often, so that I can grow up to be big and strong. But, above all else, I must admit, there is something that I love more. I love shooting the basketball. The orange pigskin. The rock. The dome. Whatever you want to call it, mother and father, I make music with that thing. I got the ball on a string and I weave up and down the court, slashing through defenders and scoring the ball with ease. My Christmas wish is to have a basketball of mine very own.”

                The boy’s father was stunned. “Basketball? My dear boy, Santa has said that you can have anything you want. Anything. Money, jewels, luxury automobiles… are you positive that your wish be for nothing more than a humble basketball?”

                “Yes father, I am afraid so. That is my wish.”

                “Very well,” said the boy’s mother.

                On Christmas Day, the boy was very, very excited. He woke up bright and early and ran into his parents bedroom. He jostled them awake yelling, “It’s Christmas! It’s Christmas!” Everyone smiled and hugged as they ran towards the Christmas Tree waiting to see what Santa had gotten them.

                As everyone opened their gifts, the boy’s mother handed him a spherical shaped present. The boy smiled, and immediately opened it. Inside was the most beautiful basketball he had every seen. Pristine leather, alternating red and green design, the boy received his Christmas Basketball, and he was ecstatic.

                In his pajamas, he sprinted outside. His father chased him with his shoes and socks as he raced toward his basketball hoop that was attached to the garage. He hurried to put his shoes on and he gathered himself, got into his shooting stance, and drained basket after basket after basket. The boy hit over 100 baskets in a row as his parents watched in stunned silence.

                “Son! You can’t miss with that thing, huh?”

                “Guess so mom! Must be a magic basketball!”

                “A magic basketball?” Dad said.

                “A magic basketball,” said the man next door, in his sleeping cap, leaning his head out of the window.

                “A magic basketball!” Said another neighbor.

                “A magic basketball!” Said the paperboy, the paperboy that delivered the Christmas Paper.

                “Look at the paper here,” father said to the boy, “It looks like the Los Angeles Lakers are having tryouts on today, Christmas day! I tell you what, son, you should try out.”

                “You think so? Will they let me try out with my own basketball I bring from home?”

                “I don’t see why not. Let’s go into the garage and paint it orange.”

                “What if I make the team? Then will I have to play games with a different ball? Like, I don’t think they will just let players travel with a single basketball that they only use for the rest of their career.”

                “Shut up and get in the car, son.”

                Did you know that little boy’s name? Ladies and Gentleman, that boy’s name was Kobe Bryant. He painted that red and green basketball orange and he played in the NBA for years. It was kind of complicated to make sure he only used that basketball his whole career but he got it done. 

The Most Truly Wonderful Christmas Gift (Andrew)

Once upon a time in a wholesome town known as Berrywood it was the best season of the year, Christmas time. It was only 12 days until Christmas and the biggest loser in town, a boy named Jiminy, wrote a letter to Santa claus every day. Jiminy was whitewashed by the town bullies, the Scrooge Boys, every single day, all because he loved Christmas the most.

School was hard for Jiminy because he wanted to make sure every class room had decorations for Christmas. One day Jiminy collected heaps of holly in the forest to turn his history classroom truly into tinsel town. However, on his way to school, he got nailed square in the face with a snowball solid as a rock. It wasn't even a snowball actually, it was an iceball and it smoked him pretty good. "Well Well Well, lookie at what we got here fellas, Santas little Helper himself!" It was Norman Rockwell Jr Jr. the leader of the Scrooge Boys and his two sidekicks, Spruce and Hemlock. "Where do you think YOU'RE going, tiny tim!"

I'm going to school, Jiminy said, bleeding profusely from his presumably broken nose and spitting out blood through his stained teeth.

"Not if we have anything to say about it!" Spruce grabbed all of the holly from Jiminy's arms  and threw it into the snow. Before he knew it, all three scrooge boys has their rodneys out and were peeing steaming streams all over the holly.

"I wonder if this will attract some lady reindeer! Hehehehe!" snickered Hemlock. "Shut up, dickhead!" replied Spruce, grabbing a clump of yellow snow and blasting Hemlock square in the face with it. "You're a dead little rat!" screamed Hemlock as he tackled Spruce into the snow and the two began to wrestle and curse one another.

Jiminy thought he'd use this opportunity to get away but Norman grabbed his snowsuit by the hood. "Not so fast, little elf. I need you to do something for me."

I'm not doing jack for you, Norman. I have to get to school.

"That's the plan, numbnuts." Norman said. "Tonight's the big christmas pageant at school. Everyone is gonna be there. You know I hate Christmas and I'd like to see that whole deal up in smoke. And I need YOU to make that happen."

"What are you gonna do, Norman?" asked Jiminy.

"You're gonna go in disguise as baby jesus in the manger and smuggle in these stink grenades. Right at the big finale we set them off, all the girls scream, the parents all start puking and Christmas will be ruined."

"I wont do it!" cried Jiminy.

"You will do it, because I said so."

"I dont think so." At this moment Jiminy reached into his snowsuit and withdrew a gun. A .45 Magnum. "It was my dads, my mom gave it to me as an early gift this year."

Norman's face became as white as his eyes, wide and frozen as the december air. "Jiminy. You don't know how to even use that shit. Cmon, I'll show you. We can go shoot squirrels. Just, let me see it. We were just messing around."

At this point, Spruce and Hemlock were on the ground in the snow, staring in terror at Jiminy pointing the gun at Norman Rockwell Jr Jr. Hemlock managed to spurt out "H-hey come on Jiminy! You heard him! That's not a toy made a tthe north pole. You're just a little kid! You don't even have arm pit hair. Stop messing with him."

Jiminy looked to the ground, the gun still raised. "I'm not having you ruin Christmas again. I've worked too hard this year" His eyes met Normans once more. "No more scrooges."

The bullet passed through Normans neck, obliterating his trachea, and sailed straight into Spruces shoulder. The kick from the magnum surprised Jiminy and caused him to stagger. Upon seeing this, Hemlock thought he'd get out of dodge. But Jiminy had already recovered when Hemlock had made it but 10 feet and Jiminy rang out a another shot into his back. Jiminy wiped the tears from his ruddy- eyes, collected the heap of the piss covered holly and headed in the direction of his school. A single cardinal watched the scene as Jiminy walked away and the winter sun gave no warmth to the three scrooge boys, as they laid motionless in the snow.

The Most Perfect Cup of Hot Cocoa (Andrew)

No other drink says winter time wonder like a cup of piping hot cocoa. We all know very well that first sip of the chocolate splendor with the froth on your lips and the little marshmallows floating about like otters in a river. The delicious desert thats loved by all can only be perfected with the right recipe. First, you must have a mug. Preferably your favorite one, mine has Santa Claus on it ane the handle is a candy cane. Next you must put in the chocolate cocoa mix and some boiled creamy milk and marshmallows. Use a spoon to stir it and drink it all as quickly as you can, don't let it get cold! Mom and dad might enjoy a snort of peppermint schnapps in theirs to cozy up on those cold winter nights! When the kids are asleep waiting for santa clause of course. That's when they can really give eachother the present they both want. This hot cocoa will be perfect to take to the parade or to warm up after a snowball fight or even, well sure, while opening presents.

The Grandfather Clock (Andrew)

Tonight at midnight, the great big grandfather clock will ring true in the hall. Dong dong dong. it will loudly sound with the big brass arm thing that swings back and forth. Scurry scurry scurry will go the mice in the walls. And whoosh whoosh woosh! the snowy wind will shake all the houses. And yes, we will know it is truly Christmas, not just the eve. Yes, it will be Christmas day and the children will hardly be able to stay in bed. But if they do not, Santa will not come. Listen out the windows, all covered with crystals. Do you hear the sleigh bells? Or the sliding of ice skates by young lovers making figure eights on the lakes. Twinkle twinkle twinkle do you see the north star? Yes, you can be sure it is Christmas now, due to the brightness of it. With Frankencense, Myrr and everyones favorite, that gleaming gold, we will know the lord has been born in a manger, by Mary and St. Joe himself. Can you hear their donkey? Hee haw hee haw! Yes, it is Christmas day. And when you hear Santa come down your chimney chute, be sure to listen for his laughter Ho ho ho! Merry Christmas! he declares, while eating snickerdoodles washed down with a cold glass of milk. So shut your eyes tight, cause after tonight, you will find the greatest delight under the Chris

...guess that one got cut off

The Green Christmas Tree of 49th Avenue of Manhattan (Charles)

Over there on 49th Avenue, waaay waaay on the west side of Manhattan, where nary a green tree can be found, is where this story takes place. There was a boy living there, named Timothy Christmasboy, who dearly loved Christmas. However, he lived on a festering shit island of trash and smog. It was a place so shitty that many of its denizens did not even care about having fun on Christmas. It was a place where Wall Strett traders would actually ASK for coal for Christmas, because the coal index was outperforming the toy index on the local Wall Street stock market. That's how fucked up this place was.

But to little Timothy Christmasboy, Manhattan could still be a place of wonder. But the problem was. His family was without a green Christmas Tree, on the eve of christmas.

"Oh how I long for a christmas tree," said he.

Then his mother said, "Well. Come now. There are many, many presents in the living room with your name on them. We got you basically everything you wanted—spoiler alert. Your dad has been working hard on Wall Street every day in order to buy you these presents. Actually I changed my mind, *I* have been working hard on Wall Street every day. I bet you expected the dad to be the high powered Wall Street trader. But it's actually the mom and you're sexist," said the mom both to the reader and to her son.

"I appreciate that mom," said little Timothy Christmasboy. "But I need to see a classic green tree in order to feel like it is the holiday season. I want a green Christmas tree as green as the greenest Christmas grinch."

"But you know everything in this city is smoggy and brown and disgusting. There's no place we can find such a tree on such short notice."

The little boy was so sad but he was not ready to give up. He went outside and found some cigarette butts on the ground. Like a hundred of them. And luckily, there was a guy who was recently painting the front door of their apartment building, and he left the paint there, and the paint was a nice Christmas tree green. So Timothy Christmasboy took the paint and the cigarette butts and told the doorman to let him ride him on his back, up 12 flights of stairs, up to his apartment, instead of just taking the elevator, and so the doorman had to climb so many stairs down on all fours like he was a lowly christmas reindeer, getting kicked in the sides by little Timothy Christmasboy as he demanded he go faster.

When he got back to his apartment, the boy put some cigarette butts together at the trunk of the tree, using some glue to stick them together, then he put a bunch of cigarette butts on there like branches. And then he just dumped the green paint bucket over the top, in a mess of goop that drenched the fetid butts.

Then his mom walked into the room. "Damn this shit is sad as fuck. Like I can't believe this shit right now. Ok. Ok. Fine. I'm going to call a delivery man, and force him to work on Christmas eve, and make him drive out to New Jersey to find the greenest tree, and drive over here in all the traffic and the snow, and make him set up the tree in our living room, then yell at him while he's doing it, and then give him no tip and be mean to him even more. Will that make you happy?"

"Yes mom," said Timothy Christmasboy.

And then his mom did all the stuff she said she was going to do, and truly Christmas was saved. The end.

The Year Christmas Was Cancelled (Charles)

Well it's Christmas again, but this time things are different. Maybe it's not this Christmas, and maybe it's not even next Christmas. But this is a Christmas soon and near. This a Christmas you will live to see. All the Christmas elves have tirelessly worked throughout the year to make all the stuff they like to make for us without compensation. However, this year, there's a problem. The unspeakable has happened and Christmas is finally cancelled for good. The institution of Christmas had survived three wars against it, multiple pandemics, and seven grinchings. However, following the united states' abolition of its minimum wage laws, there's no longer a niche for exploiting cheap elf labor.

Even though the presents have been made, it is simply not cost effective to bother to deliver them.

And so the merry little elves were ordered to smash mountains and mountains of PS5s, or whatever PlayStation was the newest at this point in the future. All the fluffy puppy dog plush toys they had slaved over that year were taken out back behind the elven workshop and blasted in the head with a shotgun. All the ice that was meant for people's Christmas cocktails was given back to the polar bears, who then froze to death.

They say the North Pole is the happiest place on earth. That's because Disney Land and World burned down the previous summer. But now, even the North Pole is not so happy or nice. The elves never really had jobs, in the sense that they were never paid for their labor, which they were fine with, but now on top of all that, they had become bored. They just sat around twiddling their thumbs all day. Some of the elves would put their hands in their pockets and rock back and forth. Some would tap their toe impatiently and look at you like Sonic the Hedgehog if you don't click any buttons for a while. One elf became an alcoholic but the rest just did stuff like what I was saying before. And actually it worked out for that alcoholic elf, because he got a book deal about his journey to recovery and managed to escape the North Pole. It sucked for all the other elves though who never did shit and never had any dreams and really it was a miserable existence and Santa wasn't even really friends with them so they didn't get to chill and hear his cool stories, they were simply bored always. And not to mention all the nice Christian boys and girls around the world who never got another present ever again. That made them bitter and they all grew up to be pill poppers.

And so it turns out one lesson was learned on that dreary Christmas Day which never was. It turns out that Christmas never was in our hearts, it was in the stuff. And now all the stuff is gone. And well there's not much left to do about it. Also, eventually all the elves died when a nuclear bomb got dropped on them. It's cause there was another world war cause people didn't get enough presents anymore. The end.