'Twas the night before Christmas in the Triton household. Outside it was snowing, and inside it smelled of pine, gingerbread men, Brenda's excellent cooking and marijuana. Clark was given the holidays off from his mayor duties. Ever since Descole trashed the place and left, there wasn't much to do in Misthallery but to sit back, relax and smoke a fat doobie.
Clark woke up, put on his slippers and went downstairs to make some coffee. He dumped his secret ingredient (weed) into his drink and stirred it around. He took a sip, but it tasted really bad.
"Damn! This is some cheap ass weed!" said Clark.
He put the cup down and dialed Randall's number into the phone.
Beep beep boop beep boop boop boop…Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing….Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing…..Riiiiiiiiiiing….K-chk!
"'Sup, dude?" Randall answered. Christmas music was playing in the background.
"Randall, I thought you were Jewish."
"What? Dude, no! Is this because of my nose again? I just think Alvin and the Chipmunks are hilarious, all right? Yo Clark, watch this."
Randall sucked in an mouthful of helium and began saying obscene phrases over the phone. Even though it was really funny, Clark wasn't laughing as hard as usual.
"Is something wrong, Clark? You sound really sober."
"That's exactly why I called you, Rand man. The pot I've got here is so bad it couldn't even get a baby high, not even a baby's baby or even a baby's baby's baby's baby's baby."
"Shit dude, that's a lot of babies. Why don't you come over and Angela and I will get you hooked up."
"Thanks man. Angela grows the best dope."
The drive to Monte d'Or was two hours long, but it was worth it for Angela's weed. Plus, she baked the best hash brownies. If you've ever wondered why she has such a huge green house on her property, now you know.
Clark rang the doorbell. Inside he could hear yelling and other loud noises. Randall opened the door.
"Major problem, Clark. Henry smoked all the dope. We're totally cleared out, but Angela just got done making fifteen fresh batches of brownies."
Clark suddenly had a Christmas epiphany.
"Randall, go gather Angela and Henry and pack your bags. You're going to have yourselves a very Triton Christmas this year."
Though Clark did not leave Monte d'Or with Angela's weed, he did leave with something more important – his friends, and brownies.
When Clark and company returned home, the family butler, Doland, took everybody's luggage and brought it to the guest room. Angela helped Brenda cook in the kitchen and they caught up with girl time and had a few margaritas. Henry played video games with Luke, and Randall ordered Chinese food.
The house was busy and full of Christmas cheer, but Clark still felt like something was missing. He made another call.
Boop boop beep boop boop beep beep…K-chk!
"Whoa, that was quick," said Clark.
"Clark, my old friend! And what do I owe you of this phone call?" asked Hershel Layton.
"You owe me your best herbal tea, emphasis on the herbal."
"Clark," Layton sighed, "you know I don't smoke that stuff."
"And a gentleman once told me you should never lie to a friend."
Layton paused. He got him there.
"I just smoked the last of it while I was grading these papers. Lucky for you, I'm about to visit Clive in prison, who sells. How much should I pick up for you?"
"All of it," Clark answered.
"I'll see what I can do. I'll stop by your house on my way home. Until then, my best regards!"
Clark hung up the phone and danced. Randall came into the room with glow sticks and a strobe light and they danced to club music until Layton showed up.
Totally psyched out of his mind when the doorbell rang, Clark ran to the front door, but accidentally stepped on a skateboard that Luke left out on the floor. He zoomed right out of the door, scaring the pants off Layton, Clive and Flora, and crashed into a bush. Once his friends pulled him out of the bush, everybody laughed. Clark's beard was covered in snow. He looked like a mighty mountain goat that had just climbed the highest mountain in front of his goat friends.
"Dude, that was sick! I hope somebody got that," Clark said as he shook the snow out of his beard.
"Got it!" Randall stood behind everybody with his camera. "Shit's going on youtube, it's going to get so many views."
"Clark," Layton began talking, "we weren't able to bring anything back. One of the prison guards found out Clive was selling and we made a deal. We gave the guard all of the weed in exchange for Clive being released for the holidays."
"It's true," Clive said, still in handcuffs.
"That guard was a son of a bitch! I will murder him!" Flora shouted.
"FLORA!" Layton put his hand over his adopted daughter's mouth. "My apologies. Flora lacks people skills and has developed quite a nasty vocabulary as she is always home by herself."
Flora bit Layton's hand, which started to bleed.
"OW! FLORA, WHY DID YOU DO THAT?!"
"That's what you get for putting your cracka hand in my mouth, byatch." Flora hopped on the skateboard, did a few radical tricks and then ollied into the house.
"She's out of control!" Layton cried.
Randall zoomed up on Layton's tears.
Although Clark wasn't high on marijuana, he was high on Christmas spirit. He invited Layton and company to stay for Christmas Eve dinner. They agreed, but Layton insisted on calling his assistant, Emmy, as back-up security in case Flora attacked again.
As Flora joined Brenda and Angela for girl time and margaritas and Luke played with his toys, Clark and the guys all sat at the long dining table, trying to come up with another way to score some mary jane.
"Has anybody talked to Don lately?" asked Clive.
"Yes, in fact," Layton spoke up, "I saw him just this morning. He's working as a janitor now at Gressenheller."
"Poor guy," Randall sighed.
"The economy's rough," Henry added.
"I'll try calling him now." Layton picked up the phone.
Beep boop beep beep boop beep beep…..We're sorry. The number you have dialed is currently unavailable.
"I can never get in touch with him, that old coot."
"WHO ARE YOU CALLING AN OLD COOT?" somebody yelled outside the window.
"DON PAOLO!" the guys shouted and ran to the window.
"What the hell are you doing outside my window, Don?" asked Clark.
"Just mowing lawns. I need the extra money."
"But Don," Layton shook his head, "it's snowing."
"You think I don't know that, Professor H. Asshole? I'm mowing the lawns early so that I can get ahead of the competition. The lawn mowing business is harsh. I may have also," Don twisted his moustache,
"placed a little bit of dynamite in my competitor's lawn mower's engines. Nyeh heh heh heh!…And I may have also switched their foot pedals with their blades."
"But how are we going to build snowmen if the lawns are all mowed?" Henry asked.
"Why should I care?" Don looked down. "It's not like anybody wants to spend the holidays with me anyway."
The guys all watched Don through the window, and everybody started to cry. Outside, the snowy wind blew long and cold, freezing Don's tears into icicles. Anybody would have sworn they were watching a Lifetime movie.
"Don, you crazy old fart!" Clark opened the window. "Get your cold lonely ass in here and spend the holidays with all of us!"
Using extreme teamwork skills and a chain made out of candy canes, the guys helped Don climb through the window (except for Clive, who was still in handcuffs.) It turns out that Don didn't have any weed on him either, but what mattered most was each other's warm company and jolly spirits.
By the time Emmy showed up, Layton was in shambles. The seams in the back of his coat were ripped, he had a black eye and one of his front teeth was chipped. Emmy had walked into the room right as Flora was about to light Layton's top hat on fire.
"Miss Flora Reinhold Layton, what do you think you're doing?!"
Emmy took the lighter away from Flora. Layton ran away sobbing with his hands over his face, screaming, "DON'T LOOK AT ME!"
"Oh, miss Emmy! The professor said his head was cold so I was going to warm it up for him!"
"THAT'S NOT TRUE!" Layton screamed from inside the bathroom down the hall. "SHE'S A SADISTIC LIAR! SHE'S ALSO BEEN DRINKING!"
"Flora," Emmy placed her hand on Flora's shoulders, "why are you doing this?"
Flora broke down and cried. She told Emmy how the professor never lets her do anything, and that he's not even her real father.
"And where did you get the lighter?" Emmy asked.
"It came free with my tenth pack of smokes. But," Flora's voice shook, "the professor took my smokes away too!"
That was it. Emmy had heard enough.
"Flora, would you like me to kick Layton's ass?"
Flora wiped back her tears with her sleeve, smiling and gently nodding her head yes.
Emmy stomped her way to the bathroom where Layton was hiding. She slammed the door shut, followed by cartoonish BONK! and ZOING! noises. The ass-kicking lasted for three minutes, and Flora enjoyed listening to every last second of it.
Afterwards, Flora joined Don for a cigarette outside, and they reminisced about the time Don locked her up in a barn and pretended to be her.
Soon it would be nightfall. There was just enough sunlight and time left for making snowmen. The snow was so thick and so high that everybody was able to make a snowman of themselves, except for Clive.
"Yours looks just like you, master Randall!" said Henry.
"Thanks, Henry! But yours is missing just one thing! Does anybody have a razor on them?"
"I do, Mr. Randall!"
Luke handed Randall the razor that was in his pocket. Very carefully, Randall shaved one piece of hair from Henry's fragile blonde head. He placed the piece of hair on the snowman's chin.
"Of course! A goatee! Master Randall, you are a genius!"
"Hey guys, that's cool and all but," Clark pointed to his face, "what are we going to do about my beard?"
"Dude," Randall said, "I got this. Does anybody have any shaving cream on them?"
"Randall, why are you looking at me?" asked Layton.
"Well something's gotta take care of that fine piece of art on the back of your neck."
"It's okay, I have a better idea."
Randall grabbed a handful of snow and threw it at Clark's beard like a snowball, going 60 miles per hour. Using the snow as a substitute for shaving cream, Randall took Luke's razor and shaved off half of Clark's beard, and then stuck the beard hair onto one half of the snowman's face.
"There! Now you're even. Don, you're up next!"
"There's no way you're touching these babies," said Don, stroking his evil genius moustache.
It was Clive who called out for a snowball fight, shortly before he remembered he was in handcuffs. He lost the snowball fight.
Finally, the moment everybody was waiting for – Christmas Eve dinner! Everybody handed their coats to Doland and warmed their chilly butts around the table.
The table was completely buried underneath Brenda's delicious cooking, as well as Angela's award winning brownies. No matter where anybody sat, there was food as far as their eyes could see, except for Layton's eyes because he had the eye sight of a blind mole, only worse.
"Wow, Brenda!" Clark shouted from across the table. "If I didn't know better, I'd say this is the best Christmas Eve dinner you've ever cooked for us!"
"The problem is," Clark stood up, "I do know better. There's one thing missing from this dinner extravaganza, and that's a solid pound of really good, dank weed."
"Clark baby!" Brenda ran over and comforted her husband. "You should have just told me you were out of weed! Go look at the Christmas tree."
Clark walked over to the tree and looked underneath it for presents.
"I don't see anything, Brenda."
"I didn't say look under the tree," Brenda giggled. "I said look AT the tree."
The Christmas tree was not a pine tree but actually a tree made out of weed. It was a Christmas cannabis tree. The ornaments on the tree were actually pine scented air fresheners, as to not give away the obvious scent of the tree's real identity.
Christmas Eve was saved.
Randall clipped a small bit of the tree and held it above Clark and Brenda's heads. They shared a passionate kiss underneath the mistletoe, and everybody clapped and cheered (except for Clive, who just cheered.)
Their cheering was interrupted by an obnoxiously loud knock at the front door.
"Oh, crap! It's the fuzz!" shouted Don, stuffing as much food as possible into his pockets.
"Guys," Clark tried to reassure everyone, "hide the tree and stay cool! If anybody asks, you're not stoned yet."
He opened the front door. It wasn't the cops. It was worse.
It was Descole.
There was an awkward silence as Descole shrugged and metaphorically pierced Clark in the eyes with a look of disgust.
"And why wasn't I invited?"
"You're not invited because you fucked up my town, you fucked up his town, you threw my wife in a cellar, you threw his wife in a closet, and you tried to kill my son on multiple occasions."
"Yes, but," Descole pouted, "isn't Christmas a time of forgiving?"
"No, that's Halloween. I'm closing the door now, Descole."
"Yeah, well what if I do this?"
Descole made a sad puppy dog face.
"Nice try, but…is that a homeless puppy?"
The homeless puppy noises were coming from Descole's face.
It only took a few seconds for Descole's master plan to work. Clark agreed on letting him stay for the rest of Christmas Eve, but only if he didn't try to kill anybody.
"I can't promise that," Descole said as he handed Doland his cape.
The gang invited Descole into their newly formed bong circle, who laughed when he saw Layton sitting across from him.
"What the hell happened to your face, Layton?"
Layton looked the other way.
Randall sucked in a mouthful of air from a helium tank and shouted, "let's get this party started!" and turned on Alvin and the Chipmunks.
Angela and Henry rolled their eyes. They had heard enough Alvin and the Chipmunks at home and blamed each other for not searching through Randall's bags before leaving the house. Soon it wouldn't matter though, because everybody would be too high to give a fuck.
"Think we can smoke this all in one night?" Clark asked the group, who responded with a "heeeeeell yeah!"
They didn't get anywhere near finishing the entire tree, but they were high enough to believe that they did.
"Dude," said Clark.
"Duuuude," said Brenda.
"Duuuuuuuuuuuuude," said Randall, still on helium.
"No dude, really," Clark looked around. "Did anybody else hear that?"
Everybody shut up and looked around the room suspiciously. There was indeed a strange noise coming from across the room.
"Oh my god," whispered Descole, "that's motherfucking Santa Claus!"
"Don't be ridiculous, Descole," snarked Layton. "Santa Claus isn't –"
"HO! HO! HO! Merry Christmas!"
Santa stepped out of the fireplace. He could walk through fire with his magic powers.
"Who wants presents?"
Eleven people raised their hands, and one person raised their foot.
"Whoa, calm down children!" Santa pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket. "I almost forgot about the naughty list! Let's see…Luke – nice. Flora – nice. Clark, Brenda, Angela, Emmy, Clive and Doland – nice. Henry – very nice! Descole, Don – nice. Layton…oh, dear. Layton, it says here that you've been very naughty this year!"
"This must be a mistake," Layton muttered as Santa handed him a squashed present from underneath his ass. It was a book of unsolvable puzzles. Descole high-fived Santa.
"Wait a second! Why wasn't I on the list?" Randall asked.
"Ho ho ho!" laughed Santa. "You don't get anything for Christmas. You're Jewish!"
"DUDE, COME ON!"
"Clive, your Christmas present is a letter from your parents."
"R-really, Santa?" Clive's eyes began to water.
"Just kidding! Your parents are dead." Santa winked. He instead gave Clive a key to uncuff himself.
"Now, Descole," Santa handed him his present, "I got you the exact model of the doll house that you wanted!"
Descole turned as ginger as Randall's hair.
"I have my reasons," he said to Layton.
One by one, Santa went across the circle, handing everyone their presents. Once the presents were all unwrapped and everyone was playing with their new toys, Santa made his way back to the chimney.
"Santa, wait!" Clark called into the fireplace, nearly catching his beard on fire. "You forgot my present!"
"Clark," Santa's voice echoed from the chimney, "you've already found your present, and it is the most special present of them all!"
And just as mysterious as how he entered the house without catching on fire, Santa was already gone.
The most special present of them all….. but what could that possibly mean?
"Who wants weed ice cream?" shouted Brenda from kitchen.
As everyone was enjoying their weed ice cream at the dining table, Clark suddenly realized what Santa meant.
"I'd like to make a speech!"
Everyone stopped eating and looked at Clark. Randall turned off the lights and shone a flashlight on Clark's face like a spotlight. Clark began his speech.
"This morning I woke up and the very first thing I thought was, 'how am I going to score some good dope?'"
"I hear that!" Don raised his ice cream cone.
"Don't interrupt my speech, Don. Christmas is a special time of the year, but all I could think of was marijuana. It was selfish of me to call Randall for weed when I hadn't even said good morning to my own son."
A few people started to cry, their tears dripping into their ice cream and making it taste really salty.
"But along my travels, I was reminded of more important things – the company from those that I love. My real Christmas present, the one Santa did not give me, is being here with my family, my friends, and Descole too. I also learned that Santa is kind of a dick. That is all."
A tremendous applause filled the room. Everybody cried and hugged each other, finally realizing the true meaning of Christmas.
"I'd also like to make a speech," said Descole.
Randall repositioned the spotlight.
"NOW THAT YOU'VE EATEN YOU'LL BE DESSERT FOR THE WOLVES!"
Descole's wolves crashed through the windows.
Clark took one last hit from the bong.
"Fuck, my mind is strong."