HA!

"The point is," Santa Beiste sadly concludes, "I don't think I'm gonna be able to give you what you're asking for, even though I'd like to." "But Santa!" Brittany pleads. "I'm sorry," Santa Beiste cuts her off, "but it's just not gonna happen." With that, Santa Beiste rises to her dejected feet to shuffle out the front door. "Aren't you gonna go up the chimney?" Brittany plaintively wonders. Santa Beiste thinks that one over for a second, then responds, "On dry runs, Santy uses the Isuzu." Hee. Thus so left alone, Brittany slumps back into the depths of the next commercial break, by now most thoroughly depressed.

Brittany's locker, the following morning. Artie wheels over to find Our Dear Little Brit-Brit stripping her locker's interior of its elaborate decorations, and wonders what gives. "I think I've lost the Christmas spirit," Brittany pouts. Artie remains silent, waiting for what I'm pretty sure he knows is coming, and Brittany delivers by slamming shut her locker door and mourning, "I used to believe that Santa can do anything, and if Santa isn't magical, I don't even know if I want to believe anymore." "It isn't fair that you can't walk!" she protests. "I feel so terrible!" Artie attempts to reassure her that he's perfectly fine with the way life's turned out for him, but Brittany remains inconsolable. So, when Mr. Schue hustles by to demand their presence in the teachers' lounge, pronto, Artie begs off, telling him that Brittany's not feeling so good, and that it might be for the best if Artie escort her home. Mr. Schue takes one look at Brit-Brit slouched miserably against her now-cheerless locker, and he quickly agrees to Artie's plan.