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Pic of the Day: “It’s a Major Award!” “A Major Award? Shucks, I wouldn’t know that. It looks like a lamp.” “It is a lamp, you nincompoop, but it’s a Major Award. I won it!”
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Pic of the Day: “You see, George, you’ve really had a wonderful life. Don’t you see what a mistake it would be to throw it away?”
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Pic of the Day: “How could it be so? It came without ribbons!… it came without tags!… it came without packages, boxes, or bags!”
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Pic of the Day: “Boy, are you stupid, Charlie Brown.” “What kind of a tree is that?” “You were supposed to get a good tree. Can’t you even tell a good tree from a poor tree?” “I told you he’d goof it up. He isn’t the kind you can depend on to do anything right.” “You’re hopeless, Charlie Brown.”
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Pic of the Day: “This fog’s as thick as peanut butter!” “You mean pea soup.” “You eat what you like, and I’ll eat what I like!”
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Pic of the Day: “But… but maybe he’s only a little crazy like painters or composers or… or some of those men in Washington.”
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Pic of the Day: “Did you know that there are over two billion children in the world?” “Hmm. No wonder I keep trippin’ over roller skates.” “That means Santa would have to make, like, 800 visits a second, not including bathroom breaks.” “Well, I guess ol’ Santy’s been at it so long, he figured out all the shortcuts.”
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Pic of the Day: “How do you think the new record compares to your old classic stuff?” “Oh come on, Mikey, you know as well as I do the record’s crap. But wouldn’t it be great if Number One this Christmas wasn’t some smug teenager, but an old ex-heroin addict searching for a comeback at any price? All those young popsters, come Christmas Day… they’ll be stretched out naked with a cute bird balancing on their balls, and I’ll be stuck in some dingy flat with me manager, Joe, ugliest man in the world, fucking miserable because our fucking gamble didn’t pay off. So if you believe in Father Christmas, children, like your Uncle Billy does, buy my festering turd of a record. And particularly enjoy the incredible crassness of the moment when we try to squeeze an extra syllable into the fourth line.” “I think you’re referring to ‘If you really love Christmas…'” “‘Come on and let it snow…?’ Ouch!”
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Pic of the Day: “How horrible our Christmas will be!” “No. How jolly!” “Oh. How jolly our Christmas will be.”
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Pic of the Day: “I just can’t help it. There’s something about the guy that makes me uneasy.” “Well sure. Santa fucking someone in the ass…”
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Pic of the Day: “Where do you think you’re going? Nobody’s leaving. Nobody’s walking out on this fun, old-fashioned family Christmas. No, no. We’re all in this together. This is a full-blown, four-alarm holiday emergency here. We’re gonna press on, and we’re gonna have the hap, hap, happiest Christmas since Bing Crosby tap-danced with Danny fucking Kaye. And when Santa squeezes his fat white ass down that chimney tonight, he’s gonna find the jolliest bunch of assholes this side of the nuthouse.”
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Pic of the Day: “Now you go home and write ‘I am very sorry for what I did to Frosty’ a hundred zillion times. And then maybe, just maybe, mind you, you’ll find something in your stocking tomorrow morning.” “Like, a new hat, maybe? Ohh, yes, sir! Goodbye, everyone! Sorry to lose and run, but I’ve got to get busy writing, busy, busy, busy!”
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Pic of the Day: “My time with you is at an end, Ebenezer Scrooge. Will you profit from what I’ve shown you of the good in most men’s hearts?” “I don’t know, how can I promise!” “If it’s too hard a lesson for you to learn, then learn this lesson!”
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Pic of the Day: “Well, it’s about time! Haven’t got all night, you know.” “Who… who are you?” “Why, I’m the Ghost of Christmas Past.” “Oh. I thought you’d be taller.”
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Pic of the Day: “Look, sir, look what was discovered on your front stoop.” “What, Grimsby? The milk? The daily paper?” “No, sir, a baby.” “Oh, is that all? … A baby?!”
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Pic of the Day: “Are you here all by yourself?” “Ma’am, I’m eight years old. You think I would be here alone? I don’t think so.”
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Pic of the Day: “Miss Haynes, if you’re ever under a falling building and somebody runs up and offers to pick you up and carry you to safety, don’t think, don’t pause, don’t hesitate for a moment, just spit in his eye.” “What did that mean?” “It means we’re going to Vermont.”
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Pic of the Day: “Don’t leave, Frosty.” “Don’t worry, kid, I’ll be back. Just give me some time to find a new bowtie. This time no polka dots, maybe green or blue. I like blue. Brings out my eyes.”
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Pic of the Day: “All right, you’re a reindeer. Here’s your motivation: Your name is Rudolph, you’re a freak with a red nose, and no one likes you. Then, one day, Santa picks you and you save Christmas. No, forget that part. We’ll improvise… just keep it kind of loosey-goosey. You HATE Christmas! You’re gonna steal it. Saving Christmas is a lousy ending, way too commercial. ACTION! [Max knocks the red nose off] The Grinch: BRILLIANT! You reject your own nose because it represents the glitter of commercialism. Why didn’t I think of that? Cut, print, check the gate, moving on.”
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Pic of the Day: “Don’t be such a stranger. Come around with your husband, we’ll have a blizzard. Ha ha ha ha.”
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Pic of the Day: “Excuse me, but this is an emergency. What city is it out there?” “It’s New York, sir.” “Yikes, I did it again.”
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Pic of the Day: “Why do you doubt your senses?” “Because a little thing can effect them. A slight disorder of the stomach can make them cheat. You may be a bit of undigested beef, a blob of mustard, a crumb of cheese. Yes. There’s more gravy than of grave about you.” “More gravy than of grave?” “What a terrible pun. Where do you get those jokes?” “Leave comedy to the bears, Ebenezer.”
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