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by Walter Wykes


[Downtown Las Vegas .  GEORGE stands on a street corner, dressed as Santa Claus, ringing a bell and taking donations.]

GEORGE: Merry Christmas!  Merry Christmas!  Ho, ho, ho!  Help the children have a merry Christmas! [Enter a COWBOY, down on his luck.] Excuse me, Sir—would you like to—

[The COWBOY grabs GEORGE by the collar.]

COWBOY: What?!  Would I like to what?!

GEORGE: Well, I ... I was just going to ask if you’d like to—

COWBOY: Don’t give me any of that Merry Christmas bullshit!

GEORGE: What?  I—

COWBOY: I just lost five hundred bucks at the blackjack table!  Five hundred bucks!  You know what I could’ve done with five hundred bucks?!

GEORGE: I ... I’m sorry, I—

COWBOY: Fuck off, you little prick!

[Exit COWBOY.  GEORGE straightens his costume and, after a moment, continues—this time a little more restrained.]

GEORGE: Merry Christmas!  Ho, ho, ho!  Help the children have a—

[Enter SAMMY, a prostitute.]

SAMMY: What the fuck are you doing?!


SAMMY: What the fuck do you think you’re doing?!


SAMMY: This is my corner!

GEORGE: Your corner?

SAMMY: That’s right, asshole!  My corner!  Get lost!

GEORGE: I ... I can’t.

SAMMY: What?

GEORGE: I can’t move.  This is where they put me.

SAMMY: Where who put you?!

GEORGE: The Children’s Fund.  You know, “Help the children have a merry Christmas!”  They told me to stay right here—the permit’s only good for this corner.  They said if I go anywhere else, I could get arrested!

SAMMY: Oh, for fuck’s sake ... let me see.


SAMMY: The permit!  Let me see the fucking permit!

GEORGE: Oh ... okay, it’s ... ahh ... it’s right here somewhere ... I … I don’t … oh!  Here it is!  See.  Fremont and 4th.

[He shows her the permit.]

SAMMY: Well, I don’t give a shit.  You’ll have to go somewhere else.

GEORGE: But it says—

SAMMY: Beat it.


SAMMY: Scram.

GEORGE: [Hesitantly.] Where’s ... where’s your permit?

SAMMY: My permit?

GEORGE: That’s right.  Your permit.  Do you have a permit?

SAMMY:  No.  I don’t have a fucking permit.

GEORGE: Well ... then I don’t see why I should have to—

SAMMY: Do you want me to kick your ass?

GEORGE: What?  No, I—

SAMMY: ‘Cause I will.  I’ll take that stupid fucking beard and shove it up your fat red ass if I have to!

GEORGE: You know what—you’re a very rude person!  I don’t know what kind of charity would hire a person like you to take donations anyway!  You’re ... you’re very abrasive!

SAMMY: Charity?

GEORGE: Yeah, you’re ... you’re taking donations—right?  I mean, that’s why you want my corner?                    

SAMMY: Yeah, I’m taking donations for the fucking Women’s League of America!

GEORGE: Well, then you should really try to be a little nicer because—

SAMMY: I’m a whore, asshole!  A hooker!  I let guys fuck me for money!

GEORGE: Oh ... well, I ... I’m sorry ... I didn’t ... really?

SAMMY: Yeah.  Really.

GEORGE: Wow!  I’ve never met a real hooker before!  I mean, I knew some girls in high school who were kind of slutty, you know, but they weren’t professionals.  I mean, they didn’t get paid.  Mom isn’t gonna believe this!

SAMMY: So what do you think?  Now that you’ve met one—a real live whore.

GEORGE: I … well … I don’t—

SAMMY: You want a ride?

GEORGE: A ride?  I don’t …

SAMMY: A ride.  You know.

GEORGE: Oh!  A ride!  I got it!  I’m with you now!  Oh my god!  I’ve been accosted by a hooker!  This is great!  This is so exciting!

SAMMY: Well?  You want one or not?

GEORGE: Oh, no.  Thanks for the offer, but … my mother would be really disappointed.  Besides, I don’t have any money.

SAMMY: Well, get lost then.

GEORGE: I ... I still don’t see why I should have to give up my corner.  I mean, I have a permit, and ... you know ... what ... what you’re doing isn’t even legal.

SAMMY: What are you—a cop or something?

GEORGE: No!  No!  Not at all!

SAMMY: Don’t fucking scare me like that!  Fucking cops!  I hate them!

GEORGE: Oh!  Me too!

SAMMY: Really?

GEORGE: Don’t get me started!

SAMMY: You don’t like cops?

GEORGE: No!  In fact, I blame them for my current situation!

SAMMY: What do you mean?

GEORGE: Well ... I’m driving down Maryland Parkway the other day, right, and this cop pulls me over for absolutely no reason!  Big guy with sideburns.  He gives me some crazy story about not using my turn signal—which is ridiculous because I ALWAYS use my turn signal!  I mean, I’m known for using my turn signal!  I should be like the turn signal mascot!  Anyway, he asks if he can search my car, right, and I’m like, “Sure—go ahead. You’re not gonna find anything here, pal.”  So he searches my car and finds this bag of marijuana in the glove compartment!  I have no idea how it got there!  Seriously!  I don’t even smoke pot!  I tried it once, but it just made me paranoid and sleepy.  I think he planted it there, you know, to make his pothead quota or something!

SAMMY: So this is what—community service?

GEORGE: Yeah.  I had to do twenty hours.  This is my last day.  But I kind of like it, so I think I’m gonna volunteer.  Help spread good cheer, you know.  The Christmas spirit and all that.

SAMMY: That’s actually kind of sweet.  Most guys I know wouldn’t volunteer to do the dishes.

GEORGE: You know, you’re very nice for a whore.  I mean hooker.  I mean … what’s the politically correct term?

SAMMY: I don’t think there is one.

GEORGE: Seriously.  I mean it.  You came on a little strong at first, you know, but now that we’ve worked through the whole corner thing—

SAMMY: You’re still gonna have to leave.

GEORGE: Right, but— [Enter an OLD WOMAN with a cane.  She drops a few coins in GEORGE’s bucket.] Thank you.

OLD WOMAN: Merry Christmas, young man.

SAMMY: Hey!  Why not me?  Why not merry Christmas to me?!  Fuck you, you old bag!

[The OLD WOMAN scurries off, terrified.]

GEORGE: [Calling after the OLD WOMAN.] I ... I don’t know her!  Merry Christmas to you too!  Ho, ho, ho!  The ... the children thank you!

SAMMY: [Peeking into GEORGE’s bucket.] Hey ... how much you got in here anyway?

GEORGE: I don’t know.  It’s just a bunch of coins.

SAMMY: Holy shit!  You must have like two hundred dollars in there!  Look at all those quarters!  And you said you didn’t have any money!

GEORGE: Well, it’s ... it’s not mine.  It’s the children’s, you know. 

SAMMY: How much of that money do you think actually goes to those kids?

GEORGE: I ... I don’t know.

SAMMY: None of it!  Are you kidding me?  Not a fucking dime!  Nobody does shit for nobody!  Not unless they’re getting something on the side!  The whole thing’s a fucking scam!  Children’s Fund my ass!  This money goes straight to the casinos!  That’s where it goes!  That’s where all the money in this town goes!  Do you know what you could afford to do with this money?  Do you know what you could afford to have me do?!

GEORGE: Have you do?  What ... what could I have you do?

SAMMY: Things you’ve never imagined!

[SAMMY slides a hand inside GEORGE’s Santa suit.]

GEORGE: Oh, I … I don’t know about that.  I’ve imagined a lot!

[Inside GEORGE’s costume, SAMMY’s hand continues to roam freely.  GEORGE looks about nervously.]

SAMMY: Believe me, Sugar—whatever fantasies you’ve cooked up in that little head of yours ain’t nothing compared to the things I’m gonna do to you!  I’m gonna blow your mind!

[Suddenly, GEORGE jumps .]

GEORGE: Whoa!  Hold on! [Removing her hand.] I’m sorry, I … I can’t.  It’s not that I wouldn’t like to, but … this money belongs to the children.  It just wouldn’t be right.


SAMMY: You know what … this corner’s really dead today.  I think I’m gonna try another spot.

GEORGE: Oh … okay, well … I hope I didn’t offend you.

SAMMY: No.  Shit.  It’s just—Daddy Mack ain’t big on down time.

GEORGE: Daddy Mack?  What’s that—like your pimp?

SAMMY: He gets real uptight—keeps calling these “sales meetings” where he talks about efficiency and fully booking our inventory.  He has graphs and pie charts.  Fucker went to business school or something.  It’s ridiculous.  If he thinks we’re slacking off, he beats us with this stick he keeps on his desk.

GEORGE: He beats you?  With a stick?

SAMMY: Or whatever else he’s got handy.  Got me with a paperweight once.  Had a black eye for two weeks. 

GEORGE: Oh my god!  That’s awful!

SAMMY: What’d you expect?  It ain’t the sweet life.

GEORGE: Well, I don’t know … it just seems like … couldn’t you go to the cops or something?

SAMMY: Yeah.  Right.  The cops are gonna help me.

GEORGE: Well … maybe I could do something.

SAMMY: [Laughs.] What are you gonna do—rough him up?

GEORGE: No, but I … I thought … well, maybe I could scrape up a few dollars—buy you for an hour or two.  We could go to a buffet.

SAMMY: A buffet?

GEORGE: Yeah.  All you can eat.

SAMMY: Shit—I gotta watch my figure.

GEORGE: I’m serious.  I want to help you out.  It’s Christmas!  I’d feel horrible if you got a beating on my account.

SAMMY: It’s really not that bad.  You get used to it after a while.

GEORGE: How much would it cost?

SAMMY: Look, you really don’t want to—

GEORGE: How much?  You’ll get no beating today!

SAMMY: A hundred bucks.

GEORGE: A hundred bucks.  Wow.  I don’t have that kind of cash on me.

SAMMY: Well … it was a nice thought, sugar.

GEORGE: Although … I could always take out a loan!

[GEORGE jiggles the bucket.]

SAMMY: What?

GEORGE: There’s a lot of money in here.

SAMMY: But … you … you said that money belongs to the children.  It wouldn’t be right, remember?

GEORGE: Oh, don’t worry, I’ll pay them back.

SAMMY: Yeah, but—

GEORGE: No buts!  I’ve made up my mind!

SAMMY: Look, I just … it’s sweet of you to try to help me out, but—

GEORGE: Just out of curiosity, what do I get for a hundred bucks?

SAMMY: What?

GEORGE: You know … what … ahh … what do I get?

SAMMY: What do you get?


SAMMY: I thought we were going to a buffet.

GEORGE: Sure, we can do that too, but I figure if I’m paying for it, I might as well … you know.

SAMMY: So you actually want to …

GEORGE: Well, that’s what you do—right?


SAMMY: Yeah.  That’s what I do.

GEORGE: So … what do I get?

SAMMY: Only one way to find out.

GEORGE: Okay, well … where do we …

SAMMY: I’ve got a room at the Golden Nugget.

GEORGE: Great.  Let’s go.

SAMMY: [Speaks into her bra.] You get that, Elvis?

GEORGE: Elvis?  Who’s Elvis?!  What are you—

[Enter an undercover policeman dressed as ELVIS PRESLEY.]

ELVIS: I got it, pretty mamma.

[ELVIS flashes a police badge.]

GEORGE: [To SAMMY.] You’re a cop?!

SAMMY: No, I’m a street whore trying to stay out of jail. [To ELVIS.] Do you believe this guy?  He was actually gonna steal money from the Children’s Fund to pick me up!

GEORGE: But you said—

ELVIS: He ain’t nothing but a hound dog.

[ELVIS produces a pair of handcuffs.]

GEORGE: [To ELVIS.] Wait a second!  Those sideburns!  You’re the cop that pulled me over!

ELVIS: Small world, ain’t it? [ELVIS pushes GEORGE up against the wall and begins to frisk him.] You have the right to remain silent.

GEORGE: This isn’t fair!

ELVIS: If you give up this right, anything you say can and will be held against you in a court of law.

GEORGE: This is entrapment!  I used my turn signal!  I ALWAYS use my turn signal!

[ELVIS handcuffs GEORGE.]

SAMMY: Tell it to the judge, asshole.                  

ELVIS: [To SAMMY.] I thought you were going soft on me there for a minute.

SAMMY: Shit.

ELVIS: That’s my girl.

GEORGE: How can you do this to me?! I was trying to help you out!  I thought he was going to beat you with a stick!

SAMMY: I told you, sugar.  Nobody does nothing for nobody.

ELVIS: Don’t cry, hound dog. If it makes you feel any better, we’ll have a mighty blue Christmas without you. [The cop does a patent Elvis karate chop.] Thank you.  Thank you very much.


* * *

Copyright © 2006 by Walter Wykes

CAUTION: Professionals and amateurs are hereby warned that Blue Christmas is subject to a royalty. It is fully protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America, and of all countries covered by the International Copyright Union (including the Dominion of Canada and the rest of the British Commonwealth), and of all countries covered by the Pan-American Copyright convention and the Universal Copyright Convention, and of all countries with which the United States has reciprocal copyright relations. All rights, including professional and amateur stage performing, motion picture, recitation, lecturing, public reading, radio broadcasting, television, video or sound taping, all other forms of mechanical or electronic reproduction, such as information storage and retrieval systems and photocopying, and the rights of translation into foreign languages, are strictly reserved.

Inquiries concerning all rights should be addressed to the author at sandmaster@aol.com



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