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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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Pic of the Day: “You know what they say about people who treat other people bad on the way up?” “Yeah, you get to treat ’em bad on the way back down too. It’s great, you get two chances to rough ’em up.”
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Pic of the Day: “We love our girl. She’s got great friends and a great house. Things couldn’t be better. After all. Riley is 11 now. What could happen?”
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Pic of the Day: “Just what I’ve always wanted.” “A restaurant?” “No, a friend with a restaurant.”
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Pic of the Day: “Look, I just need to get out of here.” “There is no way out! … Just kidding. Door’s right over there.”
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