Back at the Bowl, people are lined up to get a check from Mr. Prescott. Shirley is offering the patient throng of folks some egg nog to keep that whole Christmas vibe going. One guy takes some and says it smells like paint thinner. Shirley says she's still working on the whole egg to nog ratio. We see Mr. Prescott writing a check for a gentleman who wants to buy his kids a trampoline for Christmas. You know, far be it from me to use this space as a forum for my personal beliefs, but I think today's children are just a little too obsessed with trampolines. When I was a child, sure, trampolines were fun. But today, children have laser pointers, karaoke machines, and internet porn. Enough with the trampolines, kids! Get inside, fire up that karaoke machine, gimme a little "Born To Be Wild," and surf www.nudecrackwhores.com for a while. Would it kill you to make your Uncle Bob happy? So anyway, the guy gets a check for a trampoline. The next lady asks for a microwave. Prescott asks Ed how much one of those sons of bitches costs. Ed says about $200. Prescott writes her a check for $200. She asks what would have happened if she had asked for two microwaves, and he says she would have received a check for $400, but that it's too late now. She leaves as Phil walks in. He introduces himself as P. Washington Stubbs. Prescott asks how much he needs, and Phil says $50 billion. He's shot down on that one, so he says he needs a mechanical bull. Ed asks, "A mechanical bull?" Phil admits it was the first thing that popped into his head. Prescott asks how much a mechanical bull costs, and Phil says, "$50 billion." I had no idea those things were that expensive, but I guess that's why you don't see them around much anymore except at redneck weddings and bar mitzvahs.
Carol is finishing up the preparations for the faculty Christmas party while Drunk-Ass tries to focus his blurred vision on a streamer. He asks Carol if she can pick up the Christmas cake, and Carol says yes in the most flirtatious voice I've heard since Mae West choked to death on a jug of sailor semen. Drunk-Ass thanks her for helping out, and Carol brings up the "kissing thing" they've been doing. Drunk-Ass is all ears (and diseased liver) and willing to listen to her. She says it's great that they haven't let the whole kissing thing get in the way of their professional relationship. It could have, but it hasn't. She asks what the big deal about kissing is anyway. It's two people with their lips touching. It's no different than a handshake, patting someone on the back, or a handjob in the back of a principal's Chevy Nova. Carol says that kissing is nothing to panic about. Drunk-Ass agrees with her. The concept that she's not about to be swept off her feet in a drunken liplock finally smacks her upside her bleached blonde head, and she leaves the office.