“I’m Sorry, Did I F***ing Stutter When I Said To Bring Us Some Figgy Pudding?”

Hi, Dan. Well yes, I suppose it is “me again,” though the “again” is little confusing, right?  I mean, it implies our previous transaction had concluded.  But never mind that, you know?  Never mind. The point is that we’re still here. You and me. And the carolers.

Waiting.

“Waiting for what”?  I… is.. Is that a serious question?  Oh my God, are you being deliberately obtuse?  Because I like to think we were quite clear.  Explicit, even.

The pudding, Dan.

The figgy pudding.

Well, that’s not my problem that you don’t “have any.”  It is, in fact – quite literally – your problem.  We conveyed quite directly what we want you to bring us, and when we want it.  We repeatedly underscored that we won’t leave until we get some, which makes it especially perplexing that you’re surprised we’re still here.  Like you doubt our resolve.  Like a group of people standing in the cold who’ve organized their demands into song are to be doubted.

Listen, Dan, you have the power here. You can keep this from going south.  Right now, we’re just a couple of guys, standing on the porch on a snowy night, talking about pudding.  

But make no mistake, fail to produce some figgy pudding and we will burn your god damn life to the ground.

You see that caroler over there?  He’s hard to recognize under the top hat and whimsical scarf.  Yeah, that’s right, Gary Jackson – the survivalist nut, exactly!  Dan, I have to be honest.  I’m on your side.  You give us some figgy pudding, right?  Give us some figgy pudding – right now – and we’re gone.  Whispers in the wind.  But Jackson?  He wants you to not give us any figgy pudding.  He wants this, bad.  He thinks this is his time to shine: weapons, medical supplies, you name it.  We’ve got Neosporin, we’ve got boxed water, we’ve got thermal blankets, we’ve got canned yoders.  I don’t know what the hell canned yoders are, Dan, but we’ve got ‘em.  Jackson estimates we can last out here, without a supply run, until May.  Let me ask you: you think you can last in there until May, Dan?  Do you have provisions?  The financial means?   

So, to repeat, since apparently we weren’t clear when we sang it to you multiple times: We will not leave, Dan.  We will not leave until we get some. 

How do you make figgy pudding?  Are you a dimwit?  I mean… oh, wait, are you Amish, Dan?  There’s lights on, so I assumed not, but is that it?  You’re Amish?  No?  So you have access to Google, then.  I’ll give you some helpful search terms: “Pudding.”  “Fig.”

Yeah, we’ll wait.  We’d love nothing more.

See?  Was that so hard?  I appreciate a man who can see reason, I truly–  Dan?  This is chocolate pudding.  It’s chocolate pudding, Dan.  As if we were… and you thought you could… it’s just…

Oh, Dan.  Dan, Dan, Dan.  I didn’t want it to go this way. I really didn’t.  

It’s a lovely night, isn’t it?  So quiet.  The air so crisp.  [sighs]  We do wish you a merry Christmas.  We do.  We wish you a merry Christmas. We wish you a merry Christmas, and a happy new year.  And that God may forgive us for the hell that is about to be unleashed.

Still not 100% clear on what canned Yoders are…