♪ Here comes Santa Claus, here comes Santa Claus ♪
♪ Right down Santa Claus Lane
♪ Vixen and Blitzen and all his reindeer ♪
♪ Pulling on the reins
♪ Bells are ringing, children singing ♪
♪ All is merry and bright
♪ So hang your stockings and say your prayers ♪
♪ 'Cause Santa Claus comes tonight ♪
♪ Here comes Santa Claus, here comes Santa Claus ♪
♪ Right down Santa Claus Lane
♪ He's got a bag that's filled with toys ♪
♪ For boys and girls again
♪ Hear those sleigh bells jingle jangle ♪
♪ Oh, what a beautiful sight
♪ So, jump in bed
♪ And cover your head
♪ 'Cause Santa Claus comes tonight. ♪
(bells jingling)
Christmas trees!
Get your Christmas trees!
Don't let your neighbors mistake you for a Moslem!
Oh, Donna, I'm so happy.
This is our first Christmas together.
Mm... mwa!
This one looks good.
Hmm, full on top,
big, old bottom--
just my type, right, Donna?
Don't forget bushy in the front.
Ha, ha, ha, ha!
♪ My anaconda don't want none ♪
♪ Unless you got buns, hon, baby got back. ♪
Ooh, baby, you keep moving like that,
I'm gonna jump in there for a "treeway."
Ha, ha, ho, ho! (laughing)
You freak it, you buy it.
Then I guess we've got ourselves a tree.
Ow, bitch! What the hell?!
I pick the tree for this family.
You know, since Robert left,
I have been letting Rallo pick the tree.
All right, then pick one.
I got one right here.
What? That lame little pint-sized thing?!
(groans)
There's nothing to grab onto.
It's like an Asian or a little boy
or a little Asian boy.
♪ My anaconda don't want... ♪
Oh, come on now. I feel ridiculous
singing that to this tree.
It's wrong. Wrong!
This tree is wrong!
We're getting the one I want.
Man, you don't know nothing about Christmas.
My real dad knew how to pick out a tree.
Too bad he's busy off busting mafia punks for the FBI.
FBI? What kind of horse...
Yeah, Robert's off working for the FBI.
What are you talking abou-- ow! Bitch!
Ow! What the hell?!
What is it with your family and kicking people?!
How can you let Rallo believe
that Robert is an FBI agent?
Maybe if it stood for "Freeloading, Boozing Idiot."
(laughs)
Hey, that was right off the top of my head.
Suck on that, Wayne Brady.
Look, Rallo kept asking him
why he never came to visit.
Next thing I know, Robert's telling him
he's an undercover agent, so I just went with it.
You lied to your child?
It's like my great-grandmother used to say,
"A lie is just an upside down truth."
What?!
(thinking): Hmm, can I trust Donna?
Look, I'll tell him the truth
when he's older and can handle it better.
I guess sometimes lying is the right thing to do.
Like the time I ran into that guy from Entourage.
Hey, you're Adrian Gr... (mumbles)
from Entourage.
Yes, I am.
Yeah, you're totally believable
as a big movie star,
with your weird pot belly,
spindly arms and huge head.
Your body is gross.
Wow!
Your boss goes all out for the office Christmas party.
Why does Mr. Waterman have
shirtless men walking all around?
Well, Rallo, when you're older,
there are things that...
Oh, is he a gay?
Yes, he is a gay.
Well, he knows how to do Christmas
better than you, Plump Chump.
(growls)
I'm gonna need this and plenty more.
(giggles)
The bubbles tickle my nose.
The Brown family's here.
Hide the silver!
(laughs): I'm joking, of course.
It's already hidden.
Welcome. Hello, I'm Lydia,
Lloyd's wife. (chuckles)
Oh, this is already better than
the last homosexual's Christmas party I went to.
(wheezing)
♪ Silent night
♪ Holy night
♪ All is calm
♪ All is bright...
Great! Well, I'm going to head...
You sit back down.
♪ Round yon virgin
♪ Mother and child.
Cleveland, I need a favor.
You're about Fred Peterson's size, aren't you?
Ha! He wishes.
Oh, you mean body size?
Yeah. Why?
Fred always plays Santa Claus at these parties--
big, hearty laugh, great with the kids.
Anyway, he hanged himself in his carport last night.
What?! Yeah.
Don't know the details.
Apparently, he had raped a bunch of folks.
Fred Peterson did?! Yup.
Mm, what people do.
So I was hoping, if you don't mind,
that you could put on the Santa suit
and entertain the kids.
Uh... sure.
It was old ladies.
- Huh? - He raped old ladies.
Fred Peterson raped old ladies?!
- Yup. - Mm, have mercy.
Here you go.
Ooh, wait a minute, the beard.
Where is my beard?
(sighs): Right here, Lloyd.
(Christmas carols play)
Merry Christmas, Tim.
Arianna. - It is so nice to see you, Donna.
As for your daughter's cleavage,
well, I could see that across the room.
Excuse me?! What?!
And exit Tim.
Hey, everybody, look outside!
(bells jingling)
Ho! Ho! Ho!
Merry Christmas!
Oh, man! Santa Claus?
Now that's a good get.
You actually rented a reindeer?
No, my husband owns it.
So, what, he keeps it tied up somewhere,
just to bring it out on Christmas as a prop?
Yes. I can't imagine how that feels.
Aw, that poor reindeer.
Tyra Banks says animal cruelty is wrong,
except when it results in a bacon double cheeseburger.
We gotta do something about this.
Merry Christmas, children of Waterman Cable.
Mmm. That's what I'm noggin' about.
One of you little kids get up here.
(giggles, grunts)
All right, first off, I've heard about your list.
Now, I want you to understand
that most of the stuff I do is more limit-testing
than out-and-out naughtiness.
Well, what would you like for Christmas?
A Slinky.
A'ight.
Thanks, Santa. Good to know
I can count on somebody this Christmas,
not like my lame-ass step-dad.
Oh, I'm sure your step-dad is doing the best he can.
Santa, you're being kind,
and that's who you are, and I love that.
But no, Cleveland just plain sucks at Christmas.
(chuckles) You got a second?
Hey, Prancer, park that tray of drinks right here.
Attention, people of YouTube.
Today, I am setting a reindeer free,
a courageous act which may end up being seen by Tyra Banks,
who will then call me and ask me to become
the Gayle to her Oprah, but without the sexual obligations.
Okay, I think I got him untied.
Mr. Reindeer, I now give you your freed...
Aah, the hooves!
Or is it "huves"?
Either way, this hurts like a "myoother fyooquer."
(grunts)
Bye!
Ah, and this fool is like,
(mimics Cleveland): "Gee, Donna, do you think
this tinsel is a fire hazard?"
I'm sure that sounds nothing like him.
Meanwhile, my real dad is out there
putting his life on the line for justice.
And you should see what my bozo step-dad calls a mustache.
Aw, hell no!
His mustache is cool!
And your dad is not an undercover agent!
Your dad is nothing but a no-good deadbeat loser
who "freelances" at a car wash! - What?!
Your dad's a bum!
How am I gonna get out of this one?
Find out after these loud and off-putting messages.
Was Santa right about Daddy?
That he lied about being an FBI agent
and going undercover as a dog to bust Michael Vick?
(slurred): I should've--
Santa should've kept his mouth shut.
(belches)
That will not smell good.
(sighs) I'm afraid your dad was lying, honey.
I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner.
What about all these letters Dad sent from Russia?
I sent those.
What about his badge?
It's a promotional item from Paul Blart: Mall Cop.
What about his FBI MVP trophy?
Yeah, you can just get trophies made for anything.
(squeaking)
You mean...?
(groans)
Hmm, I'm gonna keep it.
I can't believe you've been lying to me.
I'm so sorry, baby.
Just know that your family loves you very much.
Mm... mwa.
♪ Glo... o-o-o-o-oh
♪ O-o-o-o-oh
♪ O-o-o-o-oria
(Laura Branigan's "Gloria" begins)
♪ Gloria ♪ Glorias ♪
♪ I think they got your number
♪ Glorias ♪
♪ I think they got the alias
♪ Glorias ♪ ♪ That you been living under
♪ Gloria.s ♪
ALL: G-L-O-R-I-A!
(all panting, scattered applause)
Thank you, Wally and the Fluffers.
That was glorious.
And now, the child who was selected
from the entire student body to read his letter
to Santa "Chhhlaus" that just might help remind us all
what "Chhhhhhhristmas" is really about,
an adorable little "goy," Rallo Tubbs.
(ancient tune plays)
(feedback squeals softly)
(clears throat)
"Dear Santa, (bleep) you,
and (bleep) Christmas."
That's what happens when you put a Jew
in charge of a Christmas pageant.
This is all your fault.
You hads to go get drunk
and tell him the truth about his dad.
Yeah? Well, you been lying to him for years.
And it was working!
At least we don't have to lie to him anymore,
'cause I'm done making phone calls
(Robert's voice): talkin' like this.
"Happy Birthday, Rallo.
How's your mama's ass look?"
You know what?
This is my fault, and I'll fix it.
I'll get Rallo back into the Christmas spirit.
Thanks, Cleveland.
(Robert's voice): Good lookin' out, doughboy.
Hey, look, Rallo!
It's Stoolbend's largest model train exhibit.
Mm-hmm.
Look how festive.
It's not nearly as depressing
as the real railroad industry.
They say it's cheaper than flying,
but that's only true if you think
your time's worth nothing.
Santa's driving the train?!
You're a waste of a life, fat man.
Time to end it all.
(train whistle blowing)
(sirens wail, tires screech, people screaming)
REPORTER: Blood on the tracks today in Holidaytown,
where for 68 passengers, a routine train ride
to Gum Drop Village instead took a detour
to the Gum Drop County Morgue.
And now, over to Dirk with sports.
Hey, better make that two massacres today.
The Holidaytown Celebrators were shut out eight to nothin'.
A bad day indeed for pretend, cake-figurine baseball.
(screaming)
(huffs)
Merry Christmas, Cleveland.
I was your secret Santa.
Oh, pens. Yeah.
I saw you writing with a pen that one time,
so I know you like 'em.
I do like pens!
See? He likes pens.
No, I know. No, I know he likes pens.
I, I just thought it would look cheap.
And-and it does.
Your opinion.
Well, I guess it's my turn.
Here you go, Holt.
A can of 25-year-old Red Bull Private Reserve?
Just like Brody Jenner drinks!
My whole life,
Christmas was always about Holt not being good enough.
You give me wings, bro!
(cries)
You give me wings!
(sobbing)
A'ight, then.
Daddy issues, party of one.
Yeah, well, speaking of daddy issues,
I still don't know what I'm going to do about Rallo.
Maybe if we get him a big enough gift...
Look, Cleveland, it seems pretty clear
that Rallo feels hurt, and he's just displacing his anger
onto Santa and Christmas.
The only gift he could possibly want would be to see his father.
The most human among us is a bear.
Let that sink in.
(throaty whisper): I got to go find Rallo's dad.
Merry Christmas.
Cleveland Jr., you're very lucky to have a father.
You know, not all boys have fathers.
Tonight I'm going to do my best to make sure
that Rallo has a father on Christmas.
But it's gonna be a dangerous mission,
and I might not make it back.
No, Daddy, don't go!
Shh, shh, shh, shh, shh.
You've been a good boy this year.
I try, Daddy.
Proud of you.
And I bet Santa's gonna bring you some nice gifts.
I hope so.
Mm-hmm.
I'm so lucky to have a son like you.
So peaceful.
You're creeping me out a little, Dad.
Oh, I'm sorry.
Seems like just yesterday you were standing up in your crib,
shaking on the sides like you couldn't wait
to bust out of there and explore the world.
Now look at you.
All fat.
Can't play baseball worth a pile of dog crap.
Still writing letters to Santa Claus at 14.
Layin' back, taking it while your dad strokes your face.
What's wrong with you?!
What kind of kid have I raised?!
Okay.
Now I'm gonna go find Rallo and Roberta's dad.
(car alarm chirps)
You are not going out at midnight on Christmas Eve.
Try and stop me.
(Taser crackling)
(farting)
(sustained fart)
Ah.
Cleveland, nobody's been able to track Robert down for months.
Why don't you just be a normal step-dad,
buy his love and move on?
No, I'm gonna give Rallo the only present
that's going to restore his faith in Christmas:
his father.
What the hell?!
(erotic moans) (panting)
(purring)
♪ Just hear those sleigh bells jingling ♪
♪ Ring-ting-tingling too
♪ Come on, it's lovely weather for a sleigh ride together with you ♪
♪ Outside the snow is falling and friends are calling yoo-hoo ♪
♪ Come on, it's lovely weather for a sleigh ride together with you ♪
♪ Giddyap, giddyap, giddyap, let's go ♪
♪ Let's look at the show
♪ We're riding in a wonderland of snow ♪ (cell phone ringing)
♪ Giddyap, giddyap, giddyap, it's grand ♪
♪ Just holding your hand...
(men chattering, whooping)
Yoo-hoo.
Everybody decent?
Doughboy?!
What the El DeBarge are you doin' here?
I need to talk to you about your son.
Ma'am, I think I saw the Atlanta Hawks out there.
Look, Rallo knows you've been lying to him
about being an FBI agent, and it's ruined Christmas for him.
So?
The Beach Boys' Brian Wilson,
his dad made him take a crockie in a cardboard box
under the Christmas tree in front of the entire family.
Is that true?
That's what I heard.
What the hell?
Well, if so, Brian Wilson defecated in that cardboard box
because he loved his father,
just like all boys love their fathers!
No matter how bad they treat them.
So I'm gonna dress up like Santa
and bring you to our house as my gift to Rallo.
And if you won't do it, you're not worth the box
Brian Wilson dropped a little deuce coupe in.
Get your hands off me.
Look, Robert, this Christmas,
the best present you can give Rallo
is just being present.
Don't you hang your homonyms on me, doughboy.
I thought what you said was beautiful.
Thank you.
Merry Christmas, whore.
Merry Christmas, Rallo.
Oh, is that today?
Here, baby.
Look what's under the tree.
Ha. A slinky.
What's wrong?
I remember the old Rallo
who used to think a toy could fix anything.
That child's a stranger to me now.
Ho-ho-ho.
Well, Santa, you got some gigantic jingle bells
showing your face around here.
Santa!
You're 14 years old.
Rallo, Santa wanted to apologize
for what he said at Mr. Waterman's party.
So he went out and got you
the Christmas tree you really wanted.
He brought you a picture of the guy
who played Grady on Sanford and Son.
Whitman Mayo! Yes! I needed him.
Thanks, Santa Claus.
(flames whooshing)
Aw...
ROBERT: Ho, ho, ho!
Merry Christmas, peoples.
What the...?! What the...?!
Oh, my word!
Some type of warlock has cursed Christmas!
What's goin' on around here?
Maybe this will clear things up.
Dad!
How you doin', Rolo?
Oh, I'm so happy to see you.
Last night, I realized
it's important for me to see my sperms on Christmas.
What's up, Rwanda?
(listlessly): Merry Christmas, Dad.
A wise man told me, the best gift
is just being here.
Kind of butchered it, but whatever.
Look, Rocco, I'm sorry I lied about being an FBI agent.
It was a lowdown, dirty move.
Wow, you actually got through to him.
Course I did.
It's my damn show.
But why, Dad?
Why would you lie to your own kid?
I guess I didn't want you to know the truth about me.
But now it's time I told you everything.
No more lies.
The truth is...
I am...
Santa Claus.
What?! You're Santa Claus?!
ALL: You're Santa Claus?
See, I live at the North Pole,
so that's why I can't visit that much.
Oh, that's why you guys lied.
So I wouldn't know Santa's true identity.
Exactly.
And so your mama can't garnish Santa's wages.
But we gotta keep this a secret.
Just between us.
But wait, if you're Santa Claus,
then who's this clown?
Cleveland?!
Oh, well, that's about right.
Sorry-ass wannabe trying to be as cool as my dad.
Dad, there you are.
Did you know that Rallo and Roberta's dad is Santa Claus?
(growls)
(sighs)
You're a good boy.
Merry Christmas.
(cooing)
So, this all makes sense to you, Rallo?
Hell, yeah!
My dad's Santa Claus!
♪ Oh, the weather outside is frightful ♪
♪ But the fire is so delightful ♪
ALL: ♪ And since we've no place to go ♪
♪ Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow. ♪
Ho-ho!
A black Santa Claus. (grunts)
(sleigh bells ringing) (pained): Ho-ho-ho-ho...