Yosemite Samta Addresses the Elves

Quit yer tool janglin’ and listen up, ya pointy-eared galoots. I knows for certain thars a lily-livered rabbit hidin’ among ya, or my name ain’t Yosemite Samta, the rootinest, red-suitinest toy-bearin’ hombre east, west and definitely north of the Pecos!

I didn’t hot-foot it up here to the tarnation North Pole and hog-tie no snow-dashin’ Santy Claus just to have some carrot-chewin’ varmint spoil my plans for global domination, toy-wise. That flea-infested critter keeps slippin’ Acme anvils into my gunny sack! Yesterday, when I were sneakin’ to my hidee-way with my purloined presents, I done crashed right through the ice from the weightiness and bobbed up and down like a rassin’-frassin’ ice cube!

So you ain’t blabbin’, eh? All right, Imma givin’ you curly-toed cobblers the count o’ three to give up the rabbit or I start a-blastin’!

One…

Two…

Don’t make me un-nog yer eggnog, ya short-legged toy-wranglers!

Three!

[Sound of crashing]

Gargle my garlands! Who dropped that Douglas fir on me! I said “three,” not “tree.”

[Another Christmas tree comes crashing down]

Three, three, I said “three!”

[Three Christmas trees come crashing down]

OOOOOOOOO! Now I got dang-blasted tinsel up my Rio Grande!

So, you wanna play rough, eh? Any one a you pea-brained stocking stuffers care to clash candy canes with me, you best be knowin’ that I ain’t afeard a gift-wrappin’ you into a one-way trip down a chimenee! So ya best start a-yappin’! Where ya hidin’ that fur-bearin’ rabbit?

But first I’m gonna mosey my speechin’ over here next to this open window so as to keep from gettin’ beaned by tumblin’ evergreens. Awww, lookit outside…. There ain’t no snow on account of that no-good critter jackin’ up the thermerstat on the North Pole stickin’ out of the ground like a thermomeeter, and the mercury done spurted out the top like a Pensacola pimple! But it ain’t Christmas without snow. So get me snow, ya green-sleeved gift monkeys! Snow, I said. Make it snow! When I says snow, I mean snow!

[An avalanche crashes through the window. Yosemite Samta’s hand pops up through the snow pile holding a sign reading, “HO-HO-HELP!” He shakes the snow pile off in a fit of fury and blazing six-guns.]

Next elf who tries to fast-one me, I’ll plug ’im right in the nutcracker! But I knows it were that varmint done it. No more pussy-footin’! Hand him over or I’ll blow you all to smithereenies.

[“Mrs. Claus” enters carrying a tray of treats. She clearly has a rabbit tail sticking out of the back of her dress.]

Why, Emmy! My plum pudding, I knew you’d come around. Yer ma own candy cane, doll! And look: you done brung me some sweeties. I don’t mind iffin’ I do. Lemme see now, you got yer fruity cake, yer gingerbread hombres and, Jiminy Christmas, my favorite, a yule log cake. I got a hankerin’ for some yule log!

[He picks up the yule log to reveal it has a sizzling wick burning at one end. It explodes.]

Great turkey giblets! I done detonated the desserts!

[“Mrs. Claus” runs away weeping.]

Awww, Emmy. Don’t cry, Emmy. You know I loves yer bakin’ and yer’ Yuletidy confections. C’mon Emmy, don’t be that way, my little jingle belle! That’s better. Oh, what’s that yer a-grippin there above yer saintly white hair? Is you standin’ under the missytoe? Why, Emmy, you steamin’ mug a hot cider, you!

[Yosemite Samta races over to “Mrs. Claus,” grabs the mistletoe from her and holds it over his own head. It turns out to be attached to an Acme rocket.]

Uh-oh: missile-toe.

[The rocket goes shooting out of the workshop window with Yosemite Samta attached, then upwards, exploding into the night sky and raining down tiny Samta particles that look like snow.]

[Bugs removes Mrs. Claus wig, turns to the camera and says:]

Ain’t I the naughtiest?