I hope it stays quiet. I've got more shopping to do after we get off. –I've finished mine. –What'd you get your girlfriend? –Stationery set, some paper, envelopes, leather binding. –Joe, you'll never learn. –Well, what's the matter? –No woman wants a stationery set. You get her something personal. –Well, it's got her initials on it. –No, no, no. You want something more sentimental, romantic. –What'd you get Eileen? –Well, it's different in her case. –What'd you get your wife? –A sewing machine. –That's romantic. –Well, it is in a way-- –Why didn't you buy her a catcher's mitt?
He was dressed all in fur from his head to his paws. And he stood there heroic, a real Santa… Claws. Red are his boots and so is his cape. His sword is a thing that tastes like crabcake. He wears a fine belt and a leather cravat and there is a cute, fuzzy thing which hangs down from his... hat. (purring and tapping on bell)
There's something about a man in a Santa Claus suit that just drives me absolutely crazy. Maybe it's-- It's the warmth of all that red, hot, sweaty flannel set against the austere coldness of those black, patent leather, jackboots. Or maybe it's because those rosy cheeks and twinkling eyes bespeak a passion that is about to erupt from a man who just spent a cold, lonely year cooped-up with a pack of dwarves. I'm not sure. All I know is the sight of a Santa sets my body aflame with unbridled desire.