[Obnoxious saxophone intro music]
[Exterior: The outside of a happy snow-covered church]
[Merriam-Webster defines “exterior” as: Being on an outside surface: situated on the outside]
[Note from the studio: This is going to be a fucking disaster…]
[Note from the studio: Animation budget got slashed, roll with the storyboards…]
Hurry children! Hurry!
The choir has hummed the last noels! Get on your coats! Wrap your scarves tight round yer neck!
Hurry! Hurry!
Out the church doors! Down the church stairs! Across the church sidewalk!
Don’t you know what day it is? Why it’s December 23rd…
And December 23rd can only mean one thing…
That’s right! Father Percy Creed’s delectable dingers, zoo zads, and kissy kakes!!!
Follow the smell past the Ford F-150 with Direct Injection Fuel System, 10 Transmission Speeds, and 290 Horsepower. Yeah, this bitch, sure has legs all right, oh-ho-ho awwwwwwwwwwww yeah…those rims are c-l-e-a-n…the snow slides right off…I bet my milk would slide right off too-
-Oh yeah, oops. The Parish Center…
COME ON IN AND SEE WHAT FATHER PERCY’S COOKIN’!!!
[Camera pans uncomfortably close to the front door]
[Merriam-Webster defines “camera” as: A device that consists of a lightproof chamber with an aperture fitted with a lens and a shutter through which the image of an object is projected onto a surface for recording (as on a photosensitive film or an electronic sensor) or for translation into electrical impulses (as for television broadcast)]
[Camera leans down the right hallway]
[Interior: The inside of the happy snow-covered Parish Center, kitchen area]
[Merriam-Webster defines “interior” as: A representation (as in a play or movie) of the interior of a building]
Father Percy Creed slides in to [applause] and tends to baked goods in his happy, wholesome kitchen.
He fondles inside the oven with his silly little priest hands to fetch a tray of cupcakes and slides it down the counter. That’s the fifth one in a row!
Father Creed loves cooking cupcakes just as much as he loves sneaking in a bite or two or twenty, but no bites today. Next, he scuttles across to the counter with his silly little priest feet to sprinkle assorted red, green, and white sprinkles on the tasty treats. The perfect ratio, the perfect treats, the perfect ̶p̶e̶n̶i̶s̶ priest.
And what’s a perfect priest without his perfect kitchen? All utensils? Organized. All decorations? Full of Christmas cheer. The sink buzzes with water, and dish bubbles glisten in tune with the timed red, green, and white Christmas lights adorned on wreaths along the cabinets. This kitchen is perfectly decorated and operating as if by Santa’s silly little elves.
“Just right…” Father Creed sprinkles the final glistening, gleaming sprinkle on the exact final tip of the last to-be-topped-off cupcake.
All the sprinkles sparkle in celebration with the lights.
Father Creed nods, and music blasts from a Frosty the Snowman trinket from afar, and in sync, motorized children sing and dance ’round the snowman.
“Always just right…” Father Creed smiles and looks directly at the camera.
After every Christmas Eve mass, the church holds its annual luncheon, and Father Creed needs a whole lot of time to prepare a whole lot of treats!
Oooooooooooh, his delectable, mouth-watering Christmas Eve treats. They taste like they are ever so fresh from the oven, which causes everyone to whisper that surely, somehow, “Ol’ Percy manages to crank all these bad boys out in one single day?”
Ah, but that’s his silly little priest secret. He doesn’t. You see, he bakes the day before, on Christmas Eve, Eve.
Not such a fact would bother any patrons should they learn the truth because they wouldn’t be able to taste the difference. Ol’ Father Creed’s treats never go stale and never crumble, thanks to his secret preservation method of tucking them in with love and shielding them from sinful bacteria.
“With magic!” Father Creed douses the cupcakes with Christmas magic from a spray bottle of silly chemicals and tucks the tray in tight with aluminum foil. “With love!”
All in a day's work!
Wiping the sweat off his silly priest brow, he pops open the fridge. “Can’t relax without-
[Live studio audience goes ballistic with wolf whistles, and women start launching their drenched panties at the stage]
-my favorite beer!”
[Camera zooms in on a can of Bud Light]
“Time to crack open a coooooooold one!” *Sssssssssssssssssssssssssssst* He opens the beer as the foam sizzles to the top of the beer and strolls over to a table. “And a good book!” He flaps around a dictionary.
[Camera zooms in on Merriam-Webster’s Pocket Dictionary]
Father Creed wiggles his silly little priest butt down into a seat by a round table, gets ready to sip his beer, and thumbs to where he left off on the W’s. “I wonder what wonderous whimsical words I’ll learn about today-”
*BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP* goes the oven!
Startled, he spills beer all over his apron!
[Uproarious live studio audience laughter]
“Oh no! The gingerbread men!” Father Creed jolts out of his seat and bolts over to the second oven. He rashly swings open the door and shoves his arm inside. "OUCH! HOT!" He forgot to put on his oven mitts during the rush!
[Uproarious live studio audience laughter]
He yanks open a cabinet drawer and fumbles around the countertop for those darn mitts…found it! Father Creed grabs a pair.
[Camera zooms in on oven mitts]
[The crammed-in text on the mitts read: “With lots of love ❤️” on the left one]
[and “to Father Creed ❤️” on the right one]
[Endearing *AWWWWWWWWWWWW* from live studio audience]
“Oh, sweet Mindy.” Father Creed slides on a warm smile as he slides on the mitts.
He removes the trays of freshly baked scalding gingerbread men and drops them on the stovetop. He must make haste before they burn and get hard…
Hard?
Father Creed goes *bleh!* He doesn’t like that word, hard. And why wouldn’t he? The word “hard” makes people snicker, their minds always drifting away with the crassest interpretation…
Father Creed would much rather think of sweet words and the sweetest interpretations of such sweet words. After all, it’s almost Christmas.
He should be thinking of Santa’s Workshop, the elves making toys, and the reindeer being tethered to the sleigh. All the while, the big man himself, Santa, sitting by a warm fire with his loving wife, Mrs. Claus, as she knits stockings for fireplaces…
Such a sweet, kind woman…Mrs. Claus…teasing Santa about hogging all the milk and cookies for himself…
…and why should the greedy fatso Santa Claus get all the milk and cookies anyway? She’s a good wife. She works hard, too…yeah…fondling Santa’s lap…yeah…looking for that hard, thick bottle…yeah…begging for some milk...
Oh, if she was a good girl this year, then the “Mrs.” should get lots of milk straight from the Tannenbaum tap…
…Father Creed feels a silly little tingle in his ever-getting tighter silly priest trousers…
Father Creed shakes his head to shake away the inappropriate thoughts of sticky faces and vulgar vulvas that tease him about coming inside where it’s warm instead of all over my poor face~❤️
“It’s all over my face, Percy~❤️”
“It’s all over my face, Percy~❤️”
“What are we gonna do~?”
…the tingling of his trousers makes Father Creed feel giddier….
No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no! This is a happy kitchen, a Christlike kitchen, a family-friendly kitchen, not a chamber of smut and sin…
Father Creed takes in the smell of the gingerbread men with a soothing snort to clear his sinuses of filthy thoughts. Then, he gives each one a sizzling smooch.
One. The gingerbread man cools.
Two. The gingerbread man cools.
Three. The gingerbread man cools.
Four. The gingerbread man cools.
Five. The gingerbread man cools.
Six. The gingerbread man cools.
Seven. The gingerbread man cools.
Eight. The gingerbread man cools.
Nine. The gingerbread man cools.
Ten. The gingerbread man cools.
Eleven. The gingerbread man cools.
Twelve. The gingerbread man cools.
Thirteen. The gingerbread man cools.
Fourteen. The gingerbread man cools.
Fifteen. The gingerbread man cools.
Sixteen. The gingerbread man cools.
Seventeen. The gingerbread man cools.
Eighteen. The gingerbread man cools.
Nineteen. The gingerbread man cools.
Twenty. The gingerbread man cools.
Twenty-one. The gingerbread man cools.
Twenty-two. The gingerbread man cools.
Twenty-three. The gingerbread man cools.
And twenty-four, for tomorrow, of course. One gingerbread man for each day of Christmas except for Christmas Day.
Father Creed flutters his eyelashes and leans back over by the table with his ice-cold beer. “I’ll let those cool off, THEN I’ll finally catch that bre-”
*KNOCK KNOCK* goes the front door.
Father Creed gags on the beer and grimaces a goofy grimace. “-ak…”
[Uproarious live studio audience laughter]
Father Creed rolls his eyes, bangs his beer down on the table, smacks his thighs, and gets up as the door continues to pound, pound away. “I’m comin’, I’m comin’...” As the pounding gets louder, he picks up the pace until he can swing the door open. “YES?”
Oh, it’s just Teddy…
“...what?” Father Creed asks.
The disheveled, oafish slob of a brother, Teddy, nervously looks around in all directions. “Percy…WEEEEEEEEEEEEEE got a problem!”
[Uproarious live studio audience laughter]
Father Creed sighs. “Oh, brother! And I do mean BROTHER!”
[Uproarious live studio audience laughter, clapping, loud whistling]
“And not once did you even consider texting me back on that new cellphone I bought you.” Father Creed wags his finger. “I needed the help of the “best” janitor [He looks directly at the camera and rolls his eyes] to mop the floor hours ago!”
[Uproarious live studio audience laughter]
Father Creed fumbles around his pocket. “Speaking of which, this episode is sponsored by the Apple iPhone 13 Pro Max with a 6.7-inch display-”
With no hesitation, Teddy grabs Father Creed by the sleeve and whisks him away outside. Father Creed’s loose Apple iPhone 13 Pro Max with a 6.7-inch display hits the floor.
Teddy, in a panic, leads Father Creed around the parish center building and back by the garage.
“HANDS OFF, cretin. I know how to walk!” Father creed bats Teddy’s hand away.
“Sorry brother dear, oh sweet loving and intelligent brother of mine.” Teddy winces as he leads Father Creed to a trash can in front of the garage.
[POV shot of inside the trash can as Teddy lifts the lid, perspective is looking up at Father Creed and Teddy]
Father Creed sighs. “...bring it inside…”
The two brothers hoist the trash can by the handles and waddle to the back door.
Father creed rustles in his pockets. “You’re lucky the keys are always on me…”
“That’s why you’re the most intelligent, brother dear. Oh, sweet, loving, and intelligent brother of mine.”
Father Creed swings the door open, kicks off the snow on the outside wall, and wipes his shoes off on the mat before entering. Teddy does the same but in a more buffoonish and oafish manner. [The live studio audience loves it, probably]
The two brothers make their way to the paint-chipping-off basement door. They open it.
“Watch your step, Teddy.”
Teddy steps down the first rickety step down to the basement. “You know me, brother dear. I always watch my steps! I get at least 10,00 steps a day!”
“You don’t look like you do, fatass.”
[Live studio audience gasps and goes “ooooooooooo”]
“Percy, that’s fatphobic!” Teddy looks directly at the camera reassuringly.
[Live studio audience cheers in approval]
“Watch it! Keep your eyes on where you’re going!”
Teddy slips and loses balance. Father Creed tries to cling the trash can back.
In a silly voice, the two brothers clamor, “WHOA. WHOA? WHOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!!!”
The trash can tumbles…
*BOMP* *BOMP*
*CLAAAAAANG* The trash can bangs itself against the railing and stairs all the way to the bottom…
Father Creed looks at Teddy, miffed.
Teddy shrugs with a goofy smile. “Oooooooooops! SILLY! OLD! ME!”
[Uproarious live studio audience laughter]
They both walk down after it.
[POV downward panning shot from the wall, revealing knocked-down tools]
[Stopping at the backs of the brothers]
Father Creed shakes his head and goes *tsk* *tsk*. “Oh, Teddy…”
[Camera climbs over Father Creed’s shoulder]
…
…
The pale mangled corpse of a child that fell out of the trash can lies on the concrete. Eyes still open…chapped lips…pale, pale skin. Wearing a deep bruise above the collar of her favorite Christmas sweater…
“Teddy, Teddy, Teddy…” Father Creed shakes his head. “Holly Kringle was my brightest student out of the entire seventh-grade class…”
Teddy weeps.
“Kristine is gonna be a wreck…” Father Creed sighs and rubs his head.
Teddy falls to his knees. “It’s not fair, Percy! It’s not fair! She didn’t have to struggle! She didn’t have to die like that!” Teddy crawls closer to her, his face sunken in his hands. “She gave me a tiny elf with a candy cane in one hand and a Merry Christmas, Mr. Creed card in the other.”
Father Creed yawns and scrolls through his phone.
“She was the only one in the whole school that gave me a present! It made me so happy! I wanted to give her a present too! But she didn’t like it! SHE DIDN’T LIKE IT! I tried to apologize, but she wouldn’t shut up! I felt so silly and sorry, but she wouldn’t SHUT UP!” Teddy pounds Holly’s lifeless chest with his heavy fists. Seething with fury. “She was so sweet, Percy! People should be sweet to her too! It’s not fair! WHY DIDN’T SHE LIKE MY PRESENT!?!?!?”
Father Creed pats Teddy’s shoulder.
Teddy slows the clobbering down to a stop.
Father Creed pats Teddy again.
Teddy rises, and the two walk over to a crusty and cracked wall.
Father Creed silently feels around the cracks. One crack is just barely wide enough to squeeze his finger inside. He bites his tongue as he wiggles his finger inside. “Ah!”
With a *click* the wall pushes forward half an inch with part of the ceiling. Then like a sliding patio door, Father Creed swings the false wall right as wheels squeak from hinges up top.
Behind this false wall lies the silliest little cleanup room you ever did see! With barrels of sulfuric acid for those tough stains! A tub for soaking and hoses for the perfect rinse!
“I’ll leave you to it…” Father Creed pats Teddy’s shoulder again and steps away. “Oh, and one other thing!”
“Yes, brother dear, oh sweet loving and intelligent brother of mine?”
Father Creed clenches Teddy’s testicles with a grip akin to a monkey wrench.
“OOOOOOOOOH, BROTHER DEAR!!!” Teddy goes red in the face and sweats. His knees buckle.
Father Creed threads his clench harder. “Teddy…”
Teddy’s back bends as he goes toward the floor. “Not tiny Teddy’s balls. Not again! Oooooooooooh. Not tiny Teddy’s balls!”
Father Creed stares deep into Teddy’s soul. “Teddy…I thought MY students were OFF LIMITS!”
Teddy cries in agony. “Yes, yes, yes, oh sweet loving, OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOH, intelligent brother of mine!”
“Then why am I squeezing tiny Teddy’s BALLS?” Father Creed bends his arm as he clenches harder.
Teddy wiggles around. “Because I’m not as sweet or as loving…”
“AND?” Father Creed reaches a critical clench.
“AAAAAAAAAAND, I’m stoooooooopid. I upset you. You work so hard to take care of me. I’m sorry for being so spoiled rotten!”
“I bring the friends to YOU!”
Teddy wheezes. “I’ll be patient, I’ll be patient, I’ll be patient…” Barely getting any words in.
Father Creed releases Teddy. Teddy gasps for air as if he were drowning.
“Three strikes and you’re out, Teddy. Silly rascal.” Father Creed rubs Teddy’s head and walks to the stairs. “I’ll clean house upstairs.” He points at Teddy. “Don’t make a mess. I’ll text you after I leave. Stay down HERE! And lights out means LIGHTS OUT, got it?”
Teddy wipes sweat from his face as he nods like a chipmunk.
“Merry Christmas Eve, Eve, Teddy.” Father Creed slaps the railing as he walks up the stairs.
“Merry Christmas Eve, Eve, Percy.” Teddy drags Holly’s corpse into the silliest cleaning room you ever did see.
[fade to commercial break]
