Over at the Stuckey Bowl, the crew is decorating the alley for the holiday season. Phil runs up and says he has a wowser of a theme for this year's decorating: "Christmas on Jupiter." He thinks they can get some radioactive reindeer and a two-headed Santa Claus that shoots lasers out of his beards. Sometimes I think Kenny's spiking Phil's root beer with crystal meth. It's only a theory, not a fact, so please...no conspiracy emails just yet. A Leonard Prescott enters the alley, looking for the bowling-alley lawyer. He kisses Shirley's hand, which almost makes her blush. Ed walks over to Prescott and tells the guy what a pleasure it is to meet Stuckeyville's biggest philanthropist. I expect the old codger to haul off and whack Ed a good 'un until I realize that "philanderer" and "philanthropist" are not exactly the same thing. One of the two needs to come up with a new name, because I keep getting them mixed up. ["I have the same problem with 'narcoleptic' and 'necrophiliac.'" -- Wing Chun] Anyhoo, Prescott needs an "elf." Y'see, philanthropy is Prescott's game, and he wants to go beyond just helping the various charitable organizations in town; he wants to help each and every individual citizen of Stuckeyville get what he or she wants for Christmas. He wants to sit at a desk and write a check for everyone who's willing to come to him and tell him what he or she needs in order to have a Merry Christmas. Ed asks why the crazy old coot has come to Ed; Prescott's filthy rich and must have a lawyer on retainer. The guy's got thirty-eight lawyers on retainer, but none of them understands what he's trying to do here. He asks Ed to think back and try to remember the best present he ever received. Ed doesn't even have to think...he blurts out that it was the Snoopy Sno-Cone Machine. Ed then sings the Snoopy Sno-Cone Machine jingle that drove parents absolutely mad back in the '70s. Prescott smiles and says that the look of joy on Ed's face says it all. That's the same look he wants to see on the face of every single Stuckeyvillian as he writes them checks for their best presents ever. Ed understands and says, "You've got yourself an elf, Mr. Prescott." I can't begin to count the amount of times I've heard that exact phrase. Except when I hear it, I'm usually presented with a midget woman locked inside a cage in the basement of an adult bookstore.
Back over at the Burton household, Mike, Nancy, and the Evilest Goddamned Baby Sara are watching TV while eating dinner. Mike gets up to turn the TV off just as Steve Kmetko is welcoming everyone to E! News Daily. Nancy's upset, because she wanted to see the latest on Larry Hagman's nervous breakdown. What's there to see, Nancy? He was a big star, his show got cancelled, he drank himself halfway to death, he got a new liver, he smoked PCP, and now he signs autographs for $5 apiece at car shows. Wait ten years, Sweetie, and you'll be experiencing the same thing for yourself, signing autographs at car shows and wondering where in the blue hell you went wrong. Mike says that he's turned the television off because he's ready to set a better example for the Evil Baby Sara. Mike relays the story about how Evil Baby Sara was checking out his dingleberries while he pranced around the kitchen nude; he says that the Dark Baby is becoming aware of her surroundings. Meanwhile, Evil Baby Sara tries to converse telepathically with bin Laden to let him know that we are a vulnerable country at this stage of the game. Mike is ready for him and Nancy to shed their bad habits and introduce a little culture to their lives. So I guess this means the days of seeing Mike nude in the kitchen are completely over, unless he has to pry a piece of toast out of the toaster and his fingers won't do the trick. But that'd be the only other scenario that we'll ever see him nude in the kitchen again. Mike says he wants some stimulating conversation at the dinner table from here on out. It becomes deadly silent in the room until Mike finally blurts out that his favorite architect has always been Frank Gehry. Nancy laughs heartily. So do I, but only because I've accidentally gotten a miniature peanut butter cup lodged in my belly button and it's beginning to melt and I'm trying to fish it out but it tickles. What? TMI?