M. Thomas Cooper

CHARACTERS

SANTA:  The gift giving man of the North Pole.

SAM:  A bartender.

VERN:  An Elf.

(A neighborhood bar in the North Pole, in the background Tom Waits plays, perhaps The Piano’s Drunk, Not Me. Santa sits nursing a beer as Sam cleans the bar.)

                                                            SANTA

Rather ironic—sad really—that we know nothing of the way the universe is today, don’t you think so, Sam?

                                                            SAM

Santa, that’s not an acceptable topic of conversation—you know that.

                                                            SANTA

I know that monstrous money pit in the sky—I of course refer to the Hubble telescope—only gazes into the far reaches of the past.

                                                            SAM

Santa, please.

                                                            SANTA

But imagine where we would be if it were able to see into the future. Just imagine, Sam. Just imagine.

                                                            SAM

Ya know, Santa, it being nearly Christmas and all, maybe you should keep the philosophy to yourself? Okay? I don’t need anymore fights like the other night. Okay?

                                                            SANTA

Very well, Sam. However, you realize, it was not “philosophy” which instigated that fruckus, but sheer ignorance and bigotry. I was well within my rights to point out the hypocrisy of those leftwing labor….

                                                            SAM

Santa, drop it. You’re preaching to the choir. Besides I can’t afford another “fruckus,” so keep your pessimistic rhetoric to yourself. Please?

                                                            SANTA

Well, philosophically speaking, Sam, if I were a pessimist, children would be getting avian flu vaccinations and radiation suits.

                                                            SAM

And why aren’t they?

                                                            SANTA

Because elves are afraid of flying and formal wear.

                                                (Vern enters.)

                                                            VERN

Where is he? Where is that pudgy, no good, two timing bastard? Sam! Where is that fat son-of-a-Ho-Ho-Ho?

                                                            SAM

Still haven’t got those glasses yet, eh Vern?

                                                            VERN

Hell no, you know our health care is bullshit. But cut the chit-chat, where is he?

                                                            SAM

Two chairs to your left. And you keep it friendly, otherwise…..

                                                            VERN

Sure, Sam. Sure. Okay, chub-master, prepare for the ass whoopin’ of your life.

                                                            SANTA

Your other left, Vern. He’ll be okay, Sam. Relax.

                                                            SAM

He better be.

                                                            SANTA

Closer. Closer. Almost….

                                                            SAM

Shut up, fat man. I don’t need your help.

                                                (Vern wanders away.)

                                                            SANTA

Sam, would you be kind enough to redirect our friend?

                                                            SAM

This is ridiculous.

                                                            SANTA

Ah, what aspect of life isn’t? I think Camus once said something to the extent that given the choice between existence and….

                                                            SAM

What’d I say, Santa?

                                                            VERN

Is he still philosophizizing?

                                                            SAM

Give him a pint and what else does he want do?

                                                            VERN

Besides play with his candy cane?

                                                            SANTA

Ignorance, my friends, is not armor, or an excuse.

                                                            SAM

Tell it to Jack Frost, Santa. There ya go, Vern—the pudgy one is at twelve o’clock.

                                                            VERN

Thanks, Sam. Okay, blubber boots, prepare for the ass whoopin’ of a lifetime.

                                                            SANTA

One moment, Vern, before you “whoop my ass,” would you please tell me what this is about?

                                                            VERN

Hey, jelly belly, you know damn well this is about Clarese.

                                                            SANTA

I’m sorry, Vern, but who is Clarese?

                                                            VERN

You rosy cheeked rapscallion you don’t even remember her name! She’s my wife!

                                                            SANTA

I’m sorry, Vern, I didn’t know you were married.

                                                            VERN

You were best man at my wedding!

                                                            SANTA

I’m best man at every elf’s wedding, Vern. You can’t realistically expect me to remember every elf that gets married and their wives too. Can you?