How Murray Saved Christmas

North of the North Pole and south of the stars

lies a quaint little village called Stinky Cigars.

The name is so awful that folks pass right by it.

It's a trick that we use to keep our town quiet.

You'll see that we've got some celebrities here...

The groundhog, Columbus, and Chinese New Year.

There's Jack Frost and Washington,

Lincoln and Cupid,

and dear April Fool, who's as sweet as he's stupid.

Yahtzee.

- Oh! - Man!

St. Pat and St. Nicholas fill our saint quota.

If you're looking

for St. Paul, check Minnesota.

- Ho ho! - Har har har.

You have to be proud and a little bit nuts

to honor a banner with two smelly butts.

Please join me in our town anthem.

Well, that killed half the day.

We've got to get a shorter anthem.

- It's a nice place to work. - It's a nice place to grow up.

It's such a nice place, you just want to throw up.

Everyone's happy, except Murray Weiner,

owner of Murray's Holiday Diner.

Murray is grouchy and cranky and crabby,

nasty and ghastly, obnoxious and flabby,

ill-tempered, ill-natured, malevolent and...

- All right! - They get it.

Yet still everyone in the holiday bunch

would come into Murray's to have a great lunch.

You might see George Washington eating and drinking

on President's Day with Abraham Lincoln.

And how, you might wonder, did Santa get that?

Just thank Murray's

chocolate-chip cheesecake for that.

Ho ho ho!

You get the bagels. You got the chili.

Thanksgiving Turkey, stuff yourself silly.

Cupid, you're sweet. I don't want to be pushy.

But get off my seat with your bare-naked tushy.

Ooh.

Here's your roast beef, Leprechaun.

This is rare. I want well-done.

Much obliged.

And back in the corner, all by himself,

sat an odd little fellow named Edison Elf.

What are you doing playing with food?

It's wasteful and dirty and terribly rude.

I'm just sitting here quietly making a racket.

I'm Edison Elf. I'm a bit of a tinkerer.

Kid, as a tinkerer, you are a stinkerer.

Hey! I invented horse socks...

To go with horseshoes...

And a loud watch alarm for people who snooze.

I'm up! I'm up!

And here is a toy that I know kids will love.

It's a Jack-in-the-box with a spring boxing glove.

I call it a Jack-in-the-boxer.

Box, boxer, glove. It's a pun.

This would at least get an honorable mention

if there were a contest for world's worst invention.

What?

- It's stupid. - It's clever.

- It's nasty. - It's nice.

Go show it to Santa and get his advice.

I will. I will!

He forgot to pay his bill.

Ho ho!

- Nice work, Dave. - My name is Chet.

- But I thought he was Chet. - I'm Dolores.

- And you must be the new guy. - I've been here 87 years.

Ok, break's over. Back to work.

Who wants cocoa?

- Yes, please! - Me! Me! I do!

It's $8 for the large, 5 bucks for the small.

- For a lousy coffee? - Wow. That hurts.

All right. Double time.

He's a great guy outside the office.

At Santa's Workshop on Christmas Eve day,

zillions of toys were stuffed into the sleigh.

There were Jacks and wax lips and all kinds of loose stuff...

Crumpunglers, tumpuzzlers.

You know, Dr. Seuss stuff.

There were dolls that said "mama" and dolls that said "goo,"

dolls that made music... And dolls that made pooh.

There were dolls that grew tall at a push of a button

and a doll, best of all, that didn't do nothing.

Santa was ready, about to take off,

when from behind him, he heard a small cough.

Santa... Ahem.

Could I have your attention?

I'd just like to show you my latest invention.

Yes?

My Jack-in-the-boxer belongs on your list.

It's a Jack-in-the-box with a fabulous twist.

Aaaarggh!

You're, uh, supposed to point it away from your face.

Ho ho! Don't worry, son.

I'm perfectly schnibble and ready to glibble.

- You're starting to dribble. - Really?

All of the toys fell out of the sled.

And they bounced one by one off of poor Santa's head.

Mama!

Gah!

Oh, nutmeg.

Anyone else hear that?

_

Hmm, it needs work.

Globble, glibble, ish, kibibble. Hee hee!

Mmm!

Appetite... Good.

When someone is having a less than a jolly day,

they call on this man.

His name is Doc Holiday.

Diaper rash.

- Ooh! Ooh! - Seasickness.

I'm under such pressure to see my shadow

and get winter over already.

What if I don't see it? I mean, should I lie?

Diaper rash.

- Aah! No... - Claus-trophobia.

One year I was certain I saw my shadow,

but it turned out to be an oil stain on the pavement.

I cannot tell a lie. Ha ha. You're fat.

I'm a rodent, not a meteorologist.

Uh, diaper rash.

Uh, how's it look, Doc?

Would you like to hear the bad news first?

I'd rather hear the good news.

Oh, I didn't say there's good news.

Heh heh. In layman's terms, Santa Claus is suffering from...

Where exactly did you go to med school?

Colombia.

Bogota, Colombia.

Doc Holiday never cured anything.

But you had to admit, the guy sure loved to sing.

Stop. Stop! This is terrible!

I will.

All right. I ruined Christmas.

I mean, that's not the worst thing in the world.

Actually, it is.

I've done the worst thing in the world.

People will forgive me in time.

They'll be able to look back at this and laugh...

Ha ha... In say 6 billion, 8 billion years.

So let's review. I hurt Santa, broke his toys,

ruined Christmas, and now I'm stuck in a trench.

Help! Help!

Hmm...

Oof!

Where are you going? What's all the rumpus?

So long, Easter Bunny. Good-bye, Columbus.

There in the snow stood the holiday stars,