Work Text:
A Visit from St. Nicholas
or
'Twas the Night Before Christmas
by
Clement Clarke Moore
*
A Dramatic Reading
by
Craig Tucker & Tweek Tweak
(and Stripe)
*
The scene opens in Craig's room, where a screen-saver of a crackling fireplace plays on the computer screen. The room is dimly lit by a small tabletop Christmas tree and the monitor. Soft, orchestral Christmas music plays in the background. Two boys and a guinea pig are in bed, beneath a thick Christmas-printed quilt.
“My name is Craig Tucker, and my boyfriend, Tweek Tweak, and I, are going to read you a poem.”
“We are? It's dark in here, Craig! What if you strain your eyes, with just the firelight?”
“It'll be fine, Babe. I can see it OK.”
“NRGH! Are they filming this!? What the hell is wrong with the writers of this show?”
“The audience will love it, Tweek. Trust me. It'll make the Shippers blow up the Internet. Ahem...”
'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a guinea pig;
(Stripe, on the blankets between them, crawls up on top of Tweek's head)
“You're not supposed to be stirring, Stripe! Craig said so!”
Craig, thinking: This is not going to go well.
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there;
“GAHH! Who? Some strange man is coming to get me?”
“No, Tweek, just Santa.”
“South Park's Santa? OH GOD! Not him!”
“Maybe he'll sing “Rio” by Duran Duran for us, Babe.”
“So long as that snowman doesn't come to life and try to eat me! ARGH!”
“That only happened once, Tweek, and we weren't even there.”
“Are the stockings up high enough, so they don't catch on fire?”
“Yes, Tweek, and it's not a real fire. Now can I read, please?”
The children were nestled all snug in their beds, just like us,
While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads;
“What the hell is a 'sugar-plum', Craig? And what 'children'? Who else is here?”
“Tweek, calm down. It's just us, right here, in my bed. Sugar-plums are good, trust me.”
“But they made those other kids hallucinate?”
“They were dreaming, Babe.”
And mamma in her 'kerchief, and I in my cap,
Had just settled down for a long winter's nap,
“NRGH! You never take that chullo hat off! Why is that? You've got such nice hair.”
“Tweek, Honey, I'm trying to do a dramatic reading here.”
“Your mom has a kerchief? What's that?”
“It's like an old-fashioned chullo hat for women, Tweek.”
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
“ARGH! NO! Don't get up! Don't look! It might be the Underpants Gnomes again!”
“Tweek, the Gnomes are all at the North Pole helping Santa. Trust me.”
“Then I won't get underpants for Christmas?”
“No, Honey, no underpants for you this year.” (snort)
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.
“NO! They'll see us! You're not really gonna throw up, are you?”
(SIGH)
“Don't open the window, it's ten below out there, Craig!”
“Then snuggle up a bit closer, I'll keep you warm.”
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below,
“Breasts? What do you know about breasts?” (twitch)
“The guy is talking about the snow drifts, Tweek, not tits.”
“The snow drifts looked like boobies?”
“Apparently so. Do you mind?” (Craig waves book around)
“This author must have been a pervert!”
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer,
“Those are wild animals! They're dangerous, Craig! Those antlers and sharp hooves!”
“Relax, Babe, I put some of Stripe's veggies out for them. It'll be fine.”
“They'll poop on the roof!”
“Reindeer are friendly, Tweek.”
“BUT WHAT IF JIMBO AND NED SEE THEM?! ARGH!”
(munch, munch, munch)
“Tweek, what have I said about feeding Stripe in bed?”
With a little old driver, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick.
“I don't trust him! A fat old man that comes down the chimney once a year? WHY?! He eats the cookies and drinks all the coffee! What if he steals children?”
“He'll love the cupcakes you made, Babe, and he doesn't drink coffee. You're safe. And he doesn't steal children.”
“NRGH! Didn't you see the movie “Elf” with Will Ferrell?”
(sigh)
More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;
"Now, Steven! now, Fluffy! now, Horace and Chantelle!
On, Skippy! on Rainbow! on, Patches and Montell!”
“Who the hell are they, Craig? And what about Rudolph?”
“Those are the new ones, Babe. The other reindeer all got killed over Iraq, remember?”
“WHAT?!”
“It was Cartman's fault, Tweek. He wanted Santa to bring Christmas to Iraq in Season 6.”
“Well, where the hell were WE?”
“Home, where it was nice and boring, Babe. Just the way I like it. Ahem...”
“What about Olive?”
“WHO?”
“Olive, the other reindeer? She used to laugh and call Rudolph names?”
(Tweek sings that verse of the Rudolph song) “Olive, the other reindeer, used to laugh and call him names. She wouldn't let poor Rudolph...”
“Tweek, tomorrow you start on the decaff!” Wow, what a bitch that Olive was? Craig wonders.
To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!
Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!"
“The sooner the better! This isn't a Christmas poem, Craig; it's a horror story! ARGH!”
(Tweek cuddles Stripe, shivers a bit.)
As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky,
“What the hell does that mean?”
“I have no idea, Babe, just go with it, OK?”
“Hurricane? Here? You mean a blizzard?”
“I guess, then you'll just have to stay here, Tweek.”
“Oh, OK? But what if Santa can't make it?”
“Then I'm sure he'll call Jesus to fix it, Babe.”
So up to the house-top the coursers they flew,
With the sleigh full of toys, and St. Nicholas too.
“You're sure the Underpants Gnomes aren't with him?”
“I'm sure, Honey. Let me fix the blanket, now. Better?”
“Yeah...”
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.
“GAHH! What if he falls off? We'll get sued! Just don't put on the suit if he dies! You'll have to be the next Santa then!”
“Tweek, Honey, that was Tim Allen in a Disney movie. Wrong network. Don't worry.”
“Tim Allen is coming here?! NRGH!”
“No, Tweek. Tim Allen is on ABC. He can't get us here.”
As I drew in my hand, and was turning around,
Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound.
(Tweek pulls blankets over his head.) “AIGH! What if he brings Mr. Hankey with him?!”
(Craig, breaking the fourth wall) “You just knew that was coming, didn't you?”
(Craig's phone rings)
"Hello? This is Craig!"
"Craig? It's Kyle. Have you seen Mr. Hankey yet?"
Craig sighs. "No, Kyle, we didn't eat any fiber today. Sorry. Good luck with your Christmas Poo!" (hangs up)
"ARGH! What the hell is wrong with him?"
"I don't know, and I don't believe in talking poop," Craig replies, finding his lost place in the book.
He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot;
“Fur? Fur is murder! Tell that to Stripe! That's just sick! Look at him!”
“Stripe's fine, Babe.”
A bundle of toys he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack.
“ARGH! He'll stuff me in the sack, I just know it! Make him go away, Craig!”
“He's never going to come, if you don't go to sleep, Tweek! Now where was I?”
His eyes -- how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
“You sure it's not Big Gay Al?”
“No, Big Gay Al isn't coming, Tweek.”
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow;
“That doesn't sound like our Santa?”
“No, it sounds more like Clyde, minus the beard, when he's had too much eggnog!”
The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath;
“He's smoking?! In the house?! ARGH! I'll get lung cancer!”
(deep breath)
He had a broad face and a little round belly,
That shook, when he laughed like a bowlful of jelly.
“ARGH! It's Cartman! Hit him with the fireplace poker, Craig!”
“It does sounds like him, doesn't it?” (laughs)
He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself;
“That kinda does sound like Clyde?”
“Yeah, and I bet Clyde's already asleep, too!”
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread;
“Says you! What if it's all a scam? What if he comes back to rob us on New Years? What if he kidnaps Stripe?”
“Tweek, it's Santa! He's not gonna do shit like that.”
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled all the stockings; then turned with a jerk,
“I hope he brings something other than sugar-plums! Like those little flavored Christmas coffees?”
“I'm sure he will, Babe. You've been a very good boy this year. Ahem...”
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose;
“How does he do that?”
“Magic.”
“Like Harry Potter?”
“I dunno. I'll ask the Harry Potter kids in Conifer, next time I see them.”
“How come we never play 'Harry Potter'?”
“Because it's gay!”
“We're gay, Craig. So why don't WE ever play Harry Potter?”
“We will tomorrow, OK, Babe? Just let me finish.”
"But I didn't bring my stuff! What'll I use for a wand?"
Craig faces the cameras. "This is a G-Rated fluff piece, people. I ain't touchin' that one!"
Craig looks back at his book.
He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
“Oh God! He's finally gone! Thank you, Jesus!”
“You're welcome, my child!” (distant voice)
“AIGH! (grabs hold of Craig) Give him the Sugar-plums, Craig!”
But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,
HAPPY CHRISTMAS TO ALL, AND TO ALL A GOOD-NIGHT!
“Tweek?”
(muffled sounds)
“Get out from under there, before you suffocate, Tweek!”
“I heard a voice! You know what they call that?”
“It sounded like Jesus, Tweek. It's His birthday, you know.”
“Craig, did you fart?” (Tweek's head pops out)
“Got you outta there, didn't it? -hehehe- Now go to sleep!”
“How can I sleep after that story? Oh God, what's next? Krampus?!”
“No, he's afraid of guinea pigs, Babe. Trust me. And if Krampus is coming, he'll go after Cartman first. After he stuffs Cartman's fat ass in his sack, he won't be able to carry you!”
“If you say so.”
“I DO say so. Goodnight, Tweek.”
“Goodnight, Craig.”
“Goodnight, Stripe.”
“Goodnight...”
“This isn't 'The Waltons', Tweek!” (pause) “Tweek?”
Craig carefully puts the book aside and looks over, but Tweek has fallen asleep. He kisses Tweek's forehead. Craig then faces the camera and flips off the readers.
“Merry Christmas! Now get outta my house!”
END