S1E10 Transcript

"A Post-Apocalyptic Christmas"

These transcripts are for your enjoyment, but please do not reuse, readapt or reproduce without express written permission. ~ Ken


  • Mark Hauswirth ~ Santa
  • Cody Hightower ~ Narrator
  • Alexander Luthor ~ Chad Johnson
  • Kenneth Vigue ~ Simon Rex, Pissflaps Elf, Mothman
  • Jessica Duval ~ Susie Davis/Ella, Betsy
  • Paul M Watson ~ Jake
  • Taylor Jinx Knight ~ Amata
  • Clint Winberry ~ Moose Miller, Jingle Elf
  • Jessica Marie Dickey ~ Mary Ann Belts, Karen Maidenhead
  • Christian Mower ~ Mr. Handy, Santatron, Punch
  • Peter Anthony Buxton ~ Ghoul Dad, Jangle Elf
  • Robert Solomon ~ High Priest Solomon
  • Logan Hausworth ~ Ghoul Kid #1
  • Sophie Hausworth ~ Ghoul Kid #2
  • Jorian Koeten ~ Insult Bot
  • Mary Kalopodes-Saunders ~ Overseer
  • Joseph Picard ~ Chief of Security Albert Vince



KEN:                      This is Kenneth Vigue. This is our very first annual Christmas episode and next to Halloween I am a junkie for the holidays. This is episode 10, the halfway point of our season…and aside from this festive cheer episode, I can tell you that things will escalate very quickly in Appalachia for our heroes and villains from here on out. I wanted to wish all 38,000 of you the happiest of holidays. Merry Christmas. Happy Hanukah, Feliz Navidad and a very good Festivus. Thank you for supporting the show this past year and may the turning of the calendar be kind of you and yours. And now…the tree is lit, the fireplace is crackling. Here…a special Christmas gift from us to you. Unwrap it and peek inside. What this? A snowglobe of Santa’s castle? Give it a shake. Don’t panic…we are travelling back through the swirling flakes of Christmas ash and time to last Christmas in Appalachia. But remember…this post-apocalyptic Christmas podcast contains some festive foul language, Krampus-like humor and depictions of well warranted yuletide violence. You have been warned. Proceed through the garishly decorated Vault Door at your own risk…the eggnog is to the left.




NARRATOR:        (In a Suess-like sing song way)

Once long ago, or so it is said,

way up far in the North lived a man jolly and red.

Known as Sinterklaas to some…Santa Claus to some others,

this Father of Christmas would bring presents to all, he’d do so undercover.

Yes, he’d presents to all of the children far and wide on this strange little world.


For centuries past, millennia too…

he landed his great sleigh and slid down the flue.

Beneath twinkling evergreens festooned with much cheer,

he would deposit the presents…yes, he would every year.

He’d enjoy a cookie or two, left by children tall and small…

wash it down with some milk or a brandy I recall.

Laying a finger upside or inside of his nose,

up the chimney he rose…this is horrendous prose.


As the 20th Century ended and the 21st did begin,

a dark pall on the world…

a warmongering cloud around it curled.

On one Saturday morn…no one is quite clear why

…flashes rose East to West…nations did cry.

Cry out did they all in nuclear horror…

then…a silence as complete as it was awful.

A world frozen in time…always October,

never Christmas…clocks that ceased turning over.

Still some survived, though they didn’t quite thrive.


In a castle far up north with no more ice present…

was that man dressed in red, still omnipresent.

That beacon of Christmas, that father to all…still kept on breathing…still keep on seeking…a light in the dark.

Hope for mankind or maamkind if you prefer,

the years worn on…the light didn’t occur.


The year of our Lord is now 2102…

This shit rhyming, I feel may make me cuckoo.

Let us descend through the dark to one flickering window

…where Santa sits still, slid back on a pillow.


SANTA:                 Christmas Eve.


SANTA:                 Merry Fucking Christmas everyone who’s still alive. 25 years…25 years of despair and darkness. No more children…no more light. Krampus and his servants won. Mankind gave in to hate. Good job everybody.


SANTA:                 (loud and angry) WHAT???


JINGLE ELF:         Excuse me Santa. Can….can we talk to you a minute?

SANTA:                 I said I wanted to be alone, Jingle.

JANGLE ELF:        Excuse me, Jingle. Ummm…Santa…it’ll just take a minute.

SANTA:                 (sighs) Oh very well Jangle. Come in, come in.

JINGLE ELF:         How many of those rum spiked hot cocoas have you had?

SANTA:                 I stopped counting after 20.

JANGLE ELF:        Santa, a bunch of us were talking…and we…we don’t know what we’re supposed to do anymore. We haven’t made toys in decades.

JINGLE ELF:         We know it’s been hard…first the Great War…then the pole ice flash melting…the flooding of the warehouses…radiation taking half of us out. Another quarter become feral monstrosities that you had to deal with during the Christmas Purge of 2096…

JANGLE ELF:        But we’ve seen war before. We’ve seen the worst in humanity and always…always you never stopped believing. Never stopped reaching out…once a year the mere mention of you would make people stop and see others with love and generosity. Give a little more, love a more…and just be…

JINGLE ELF:         …a little more. It’s been years of you locked up in here. The world is still turning.

SANTA:                 Oh, it’s still turning all right. The Capitol Wasteland…the London horrors…the burning sands of the Holy Land. Remember the naughty list? It used to be a fucking LIST…made of paper. We had to switch to computer, but just 2 months after the Great War it exploded. Exploded. It couldn’t calculate naughtiness that quickly. CEOs and Wall Street power brokers became raiders and cannibals.

JINGLE:                 But you haven’t even flown down there in years…

SANTA:                 Well gee Jingle…I’ve been shot out by raiders who attempted to kill an immortal yuletide being…and then realizing they couldn’t, they tranquilized me and spent 3 hours taking turns teabagging me.

JANGLE:               But…

SANTA:                 And on another occasion, I spent 3 hours running in circles trying to get back to the sled being chased by Deathclaws outside Las Vegas…

JINGLE:                 But Santa…

SANTA:                 And then the worst. I was in Charleston, West Virginia. For the first time in so many years…an entire city was coming together to celebrate Christmas. Just as I finished dropping off presents…just when I was beginning to feel the flicker of spirt again…an explosion…then screams…death…a city drowning and lights flickering out for good. I am DONE with Christmas.

JINGLE:                 You can’t just give up.

SANTA:                 What do you want from me? I sent those Santatrons down there you guys threw together to help survivors. What did they do? They took the stuff the Santatrons scavenged for them, scrapped them, bulked them with melted plastic and sold them to OTHER survivors to make a profit. What the actual fuck?? That’s okay…they were supposed to give the owners presents every now and then. I fixed them so they are more likely to see a unicorn cornholing a Snallygaster than get a present now.

JANGLE:               But you CAN make a difference. You can show the people out there that they don’t have to be the worst of themselves. And…well…

JINGLE:                 Look we need to talk about your new wife.

SANTA:                 She’s Mrs. Claus to you.

JANGLE:               Santa, Mrs. Claus died the first day of the Great War. This…elf…isn’t good for you.

JINGLE:                 We don’t even know where she came from…but I’ve seen her doing things to the reindeer with candy canes that IS NOT festive.

SANTA:                 (laughs) Don’t you mean RADdeer. (burp) All their noses glow now….it’s festive as fuck.


JANGLE:               Oh Jesus…here she comes.


PISSFLAPS:          Hey Jingle, Hey Jangle! It’s me Pissflaps!

JINGLE:                 Oh my god seriously…

PISSFLAPS:          You two want to stick around? Santa and I are going snort tinsel and do a Miracle on 69th street.

JANGLE:               Yeah…no…we’re good.

PISSFLAPS:          You two need to lighten up. It’s low tide up here and my clams on the beach…

JINGLE:                 What does that even mean?

JANGLE:               Where are you from anyway?

PISSFLAPS:          I’m from Baja California. My Daddy was Jack Frost…he was at the Easter Bunny’s bachelor party when got married to that whore the Aurora Borealis. One magic night he met my mom, Percy the Puny Poinsettia and 5 months later out I popped.

JINGLE:                 I’m sorry what?

PISSFLAPS:          Well anyway, I always had a crush on Kris Kringle here, so last Christmas when he was sulking around this horror of a planet, I stood on my head in the chimney and he slid right down. Let me tell you…it was love at first bang.

JANGLE:               This would make a horrifying holiday special.

JINGLE                  Shut up Jangle…look …umm…Miss Pissflaps Claus, would you mind if we chatted with Santa for a few minutes? We’re almost done.

PISSFLAPS:          Sure, no problem. I’m gonna go feed the horses.


PISSFLAPS:          Hey horses! It’s me! Pissflaps!


SANTA:                 What a hot piece of ass.

JANGLE:               SAN TA! Listen…all we are asking…is just look out there. Look one more time. Just one more time.

JINGLE:                 There is still good in the world. People who care. People who keep the light of Christmas alive. You just have to look for it.

JANGLE:               Any fire can start from the tiniest spark. Please.

JINGLE:                 Please Santa.

SANTA:                 (sigh) All right. Give me the enchanted snowball off the shelf. The last gift of the Winter Warlock before he melted for good. I miss that crazy old bastard.

JANGLE:               YAY!

JINGLE:                 Here you go Santa.

SANTA:                 Now let’s see…where should we start?

JINGLE:                 What about there? Where is that?

SANTA:                 What used to be West Virginia…Appalachia now. States have no meaning anymore…let’s look…wait…a picture is forming. It’s…oh no. Nope!

JANGLE:               Who  is it?

SANTA:                 I know a servant of Krampus when I see one.

JINGLE:                 It’s just a big guy and a little girl and…is that a doll? A talking Ella! We used to make those here.

JANGLE:               Until we had some issues with them anyway.

JINGLE:                 Just give it a chance Santa…there’s…there’s a flicker of love here…but it’s a funny color…

SANTA:                 Let’s move in closer so we can hear what they’re saying…



CHAD:                   Little bit! Hey, come in for a second…I used some of your crayons to draw up the plan for Vault 69 gym.

SUSIE:                   (Sad) Huh? Oh…that’s nice.

CHAD:                   What’s wrong? Don’t you like it?

SUSIE:                   It’s okay. Ella and I are tired. Good night.

CHAD:                   Good night? You haven’t eaten your dinner yet. I figured for dessert we’d head down to the Whitespring train station and use a harpoon gun to trap people inside. What’s goin’ on?

SUSIE:                   It’s just…Ella and I get sad this time of year.

CHAD:                   What time of year?

SUSIE:                   It’s almost Christmas.

CHAD:                   Christmas? Oh shit…no calendar out here and this fistcuff thing doesn’t fucking work right. Totally forgot. What’s wrong with Christmas?

SUSIE:                   We used to get prezzies a long time ago, but not anymore. Santa stopped visiting after the Christmas Ella and I met.

ELLA:                     Santa’s a big red bitch! Tee hee!

CHAD:                   Oh…well yeah. He never brought me anything either. That’s okay though…even back in the Vault we used to have a big baller party with drinking and sex in the broom closet. (Laughs) I remember one Christmas I convinced Pats to wear nothing but a…

SUSIE:                   But everyone ELSE got presents. Back when I was normal, Veronica next door got an Lil’ Atomic Oven to make cupcakes…and Timmy down the street got a brand new bicycle. Before they got blowed up, Mommy and Daddy only got me dumb presents…dresses and underwear. Santa brings what you REALLY want. What you want way down inside. He knows…but he only visits the good kids.

ELLA:                     Let’s write a letter to Krampus! He’ll beat the plebs to death with fallen logs! Tee hee!

SUSIE:                   Am…am I bad?

CHAD:                   What? I…I mean…

SUSIE:                   (Starts crying)

CHAD:                   Look Susie…things aren’t that simple. Come on…don’t cry. Look I…I was just foolin’ about forgetting Christmas. I was going to surprise you after dinner, but fuck it. Grab your coat. I have a surprise for you.

SUSIE:                   A…a surprise?

CHAD:                   You bet! I figured we’d start on the gym after the New Year. But for Christmas we’d get out of this shitty shack. Up on the hill over there where those fancy pants mansions are, some losers built festive camps all decorated with lights. You can pick out any one you want. We’re gonna spend Christmas there.

SUSIE:                   You mean it???

CHAD:                   As sure as Santa’s balls jingle, we’re gonna deck out a tree, sing some songs and have a proper Christmas.

ELLA:                     Let’s murder the homeowner!

SUSIE:                   Oh boy! Oh boy! Let’s go Ella!



SANTA:                 Oh great. Now that’s what Christmas is all about. Chad Johnson, Susie Smith and a servant of Krampus are going to break into someone’s home, murder them and move right in for Christmas. Now that is what Christmas is all about. Look Jingle, Jangle…this is a waste of time.

JINGLE:                 What’s that over there? To the north?

JANGLE:               It looks like a girl lying in the road…

JINGLE:                 Is she okay???

SANTA:                 (sigh) Let’s see…



BETSY:                   Is this on? Stupid flashlight…come on…come on…


BETSY:                   Christmas Eve…instead of being a warm vault I’m wandering around…in the dark…with 1 diluted Stimpack and no water. Way to win Betsy. Stuck in some nightmare store purgatory for who knows how long after that little bitch poisoned me with lemonade. I’m gonna get her…

AMATA:               (Faintly in the distance) Help? Won’t someone help me? Oh help!

BETSY:                   Who is that?

AMATA:               Please…some god damned dog tore my leg up. I’m crippled. Please!

BETSY:                   A…Amata? Is that you?

AMATA:               Betsy? Betsy Wilson! Oh, am I so glad to see you!

BETSY:                   What happened to you? You look terrible! What are you wearing?

AMATA:               My Vault suit was destroyed so I had to patch together this leather and metal armor to protect myself out here. It’s been terrible.

BETSY:                   I guess. I could tell you a story or two.

AMATA:               Can…can you help me? Do you have a Stimpack? It took my last one to fend off that rabid canine. I think it had some kind of disease that amplified its aggressive tendencies.

BETSY:                   Oh sure…this is my last one, but if we team up we can probably scav around here to find some more supplies. Here let me…

AMATA:               No, no…I’ve got it. I’ll do it myself, I received phlebotomy training from Vault-Tec.

BETSY:                   Umm..okay I guess. Here you go.

AMATA:               Thank you Betsy.


AMATA:               This is a modified plasma pistol. Back up a bit Betsy…nice and slow.

BETSY:                   What…what is this? I don’t understand.


AMATA:               I’m sorry about this, but things aren’t what we thought they’d be out here, and not too long ago I went an incredibly long and tedious mission for a Raider named Rose. She taught me one thing: self-reliance and survival at all costs.

BETSY:                   You bitch! You weren’t even hurt, were you?

AMATA:               No. I doctor up torn flesh with molerat entrails and viscera. The effect is pretty believable don’t you think?

BETSY:                   Go fuck yourself Amata.

AMATA:               Yeah…no. Alright, I’m going to need you to turn out your pockets into this paper bag here.

BETSY:                   Why don’t you make…


AMATA:               (Sighs) They never listen. Now I have to sift through this goo for junk. Merry Christmas Amata.




SANTA:                 Nice. The old hurt person in the middle of the road ruse. Amata…what happened to you?

JINGLE:                 Jangle, pull an old copy of the nice list there. Let’s try and find a few of those good kids.

JANGLE:               Ahhh…let’s see…ah! Here we go!

SANTA:                 This is a fool’s errand.

JINGLE:                 Oh! What about her?

SANTA:                 Dead.

JANGLE:               That one?

SANTA:                 Turned in a supermutant who does insane radio broadcasts when she’s not eating people.

JINGLE:                 What about this one?

SANTA:                 Oh. Jake…well…same neighborhood. Might as well see what he’s up to.



JAKE:                     Is this thing on? Yeah…hey future me. Guess who is spending Christmas Eve ridiculously trying to find a Christmas tree with needles still on it and not emitting lethal doses of rads? This guy. I was going to skip it. I was. Stay in…play some Red Menace on my PipBoy and take a Russian roulette sip from my holiday punch bowl to see if I’m going to wake up in some weird place…or perhaps become so heavy I break the sound barrier jumping from the New River Gorge bridge. (sigh) But then I remembered how important the holidays used to be for Gran who’d always go overboard decorating our little home back in Vault 76. We weren’t really allowed to bring in any personal effects when they first opened the Vault, but she smuggled in some of our family’s heirloom Christmas ornaments from the old country in with her. The Overseer would have the staff pass out those glittery pipe cleaner Christmas trees and on Christmas Eve as we’d tuck into eggnog and Gran’s fruit cake. She ’d delicately take those ornaments out of the tissue paper and we’d hang them one by one on the tree as she told us stories, legends and superstitions that her Gran had told her. Out here…alone…as I was planning on just skipping this night, I could feel her yelling at me to stop feeling sorry for myself. “Jacob, the first thing to do when you’re feeling sorry for yourself is stop the crying and sing a new song.” So instead of sad violins in my head…here I am…with these dumb felt antlers on my head getting my festive on. Ah…here we go. This tree is perfect! (Silence for a moment). Merry Christmas Gran.


PUNCH:                (Singing to the tune of Good King Wenceslas)

Good Punch cook puny humans now, make a feast for Mutants.

                                Dry rub and then cook them up…deep and crisp and even.

                                Try to find some meal tonight….

PUNCH:                uhhh….ummm. What come next? Something about fuel? Poo?

JAKE:                     Shit…shit shit….


PUNCH:                Hey! Who dare? Punch make dead! Smell puny human!


PUNCH:                Hmm…what happen to tree? Hmmm…you! Human in bush! You come out or Punch throw boom boom nades and make you paste.

JAKE:                     Hold up…hold up…look, I’m not looking for any trouble.

PUNCH:                You right size. Punch bring you back to Claw. We make you meal.

JAKE:                     What? No, no…I assure you I don’t taste very good. I smoke and eat a lot of spoiled meat. My insides smell like the Ash Heap.

PUNCH:                No problem for Punch. Punch boil you in broth with firecap and mushrooms. Good stew. Wait…why you got horns?

JAKE:                     Horns? What? Oh! Oh these are…umm…antlers.

PUNCH:                Ant Lars?

JAKE:                     No, no antlers.

PUNCH:                But humans no have Ant Lars. You cutting tree? You reindeer?

JAKE:                     (Sarcastic) Yeah. Okay. I’m a reindeer.

PUNCH:                Oh! Punch remember SAN TA! He love SAN TA. Used to bring punch toys when he was puny human. Punch miss SAN TA.

JAKE:                     Yeah, he uhhh…he missed you too. But he has these rules and he can only give gifts to puny humans.

PUNCH:                (Sad) Oh.

JAKE:                     But uhh…I’ll tell you what, I need to get back to the north pole with this tree he has to give some….uhh orphan kids with no legs for Christmas. So I’m just going to go okay?

PUNCH:                Yes. You go. Leave Punch. Punch help with tree.


JAKE:                     Gee…that’s great. Well I’ll be seeing yah.


JAKE:                     Hey…what are you doing out here anyway?

PUNCH:                Punch looking for food for big Chris Mas meal for clan. Claw leader, send Punch out. Tell Punch come back with meal or don’t come back. Claw hole in ass.

JAKE:                     An asshole? Yeah he sure sounds it.

PUNCH:                Punch always have to patrol. Punch want to cook, make meals. Make brew. But Claw says no.

JAKE:                     Well, the first thing you do when you’re feeling sorry for yourself is sing a new song.

PUNCH:                (Starts to sing)

                                JINGLE BALLS

                                JINGLE BALLS

                                PUNY HUMANS RUN AWAYYY

JAKE:                     No, no. Not like that. It’s a metaphor.

PUNCH:                Punch no pay to mount. Punch not desperate.

JAKE:                     No, not whore…it means….well it means if you’re not happy being told what to do, why don’t you stand up to him?

PUNCH:                But Claw legendary. Has 3 stars he put on chest. He in charge.

JAKE:                     Stars that can be put on can be taken off.

PUNCH:                Hmmm…Punch tell Claw he a Christmas bitch. Punch cook whatever Punch want. Maybe soup and salad.

JAKE:                     There you go. Look I need to get back to my cam…I mean back to Santa. But…since Santa won’t be visiting you tonight because you’re…you know 8 foot tall and green, let me give you something as one of his official reindeer.


JAKE:                     Uhh…here you go.

PUNCH:                Oh! Nice cooking pot!

JAKE                      Yeah you can cook stuff in it and wear it for the hell of it.

PUNCH:                Punch like reindeer. Mary Chrast Miss.

JAKE:                     Yeah and a Merry Christmas to you.




JINGLE:                 See! We told you!

SANTA:                 Right. That was a nice gesture, but looking back here it looks like Jake is a cannibal and has slaughtered and eaten 9 people.

JANGLE:               Oh. Well still…did you see what happened there? He could’ve left that big green guy, but instead he sensed he was sad and tried to help.

SANTA:                 I supposed if you want to look at it that way in some sort of warped elf logic. But he’s still a murderer despite carrying on Christmas traditions and impersonating one of my reindeer.

JINGLE:                 Hang on…look at all that light to the West! What is that??

SANTA:                 …that’s an awful lot of Christmas lights? Christmas lights…in Point Pleasant?

JANGLE:               Look there! Who’s that on the road outside the city?

SANTA:                 Hmmm…that looks like Simon. Simon Rex. He was always a good boy…but…he’s not looking so good. Let’s move closer…



SIMON:                Come on…come on you piece of shit. Stupid holotapes. I’m cold, I’m out of water and food…and now I can’t find a --blank holotape to record on.


SIMON:                What’s this on? This might be blank.


SIMON (V.O.):   The Vault, 307 Days to Reclamation: Christmas. Before Mom was eaten by the radroaches, Christmas was her favorite time of year. I remember when she was teaching, she’d dim the lights and we’d sit in a circle, lit only with the glow of our PipBoys, alternating in colors of red and green light and she’d tell us stories of holidays before the Great War. Of Super Duper Mart’s festooned with animated Santa Claus’ and snowmen with lasers to terminate shoplifters. Of aisles upon aisles of the latest toys. Ridable Giddyup Buttercups and automated dolly pram’s, uranium infused boardgames from Hazardbro and gallons of eggnog. Trees and houses up and down Main Street would be decked out in their finery…and snow, real snow…not ash would cover the ground and festoon the houses overnight. When she was done, we’d sing our favorite carols and do a Yankee Swap. We’d gather our unnamed, untagged presents under the tree and each grab a number out of the pint-sized slasher mask. Her Mr. Handy would call out numbers, and one by one we’d pick a random gift and open it for all to see and either keep it or pass it on. We’d never know who brought which present, but Jake and Amata would somehow always get something good. This year, we repeated the ritual, despite being probably too old for it. Jake got an actual useful water filter that he can use out there. Amata received a 10mm handgun and a pair or sunglasses. This year, not to be outdone, I picked the largest box under the tree. Perhaps too late, I heard Chad snickering in the back of the room. Tearing off the wrapping paper, I opened the cardboard box and found another cardboard box. It so continued 8 more times until finally I found a single shotgun shell casing with a note stuffed inside that simply read, “Ask Chad what kind of shot goes in here.” Stupidly, I did, and he swiftly socked me in the nuts, yelling, “Nut Shot!” I collapsed in pain and vomited all over my Christmas sweater. I really, really can’t stand him, but the Overseer says when we emerge, we must be the best we can be…so I shall take the high road and ignore him. We ended the night with a party in the main foyer, and perhaps having one too many Nuka-Cola Quantums, I retired to bed, comfortable, warm and glowing with my own irradiated inner light. It doesn’t get much better than this.


SIMON:                Oh go fuck yourself Optimistic Simon. (Sighs) Begin recording.


SIMON:                1 year later, Appalachia, Day 62. Christmas Eve. 30F, sleet and I’d like to turn West Virginia to glass. Yesterday, I was murdered and mysteriously resurrected yet again. As I journeyed back to camp I was incessantly attacked by some kind of glowing penis with teeth creature that continuously spit some noxious bile on me. Respite was only found on the outskirts of Grafton. As I approached the train station to seek out essential aid from a robot vendor, molerats began eating at my feet again. I made short work of them and realized one of them was a female. Inspired, I extracted 8oz of milk and mixed it with what was left of my Old Possum beer…to make the nearest approximation of egg nog I could summon in this hellscape. As one can imagine it gave me explosively festive diarrhea paired with projectile vomiting. Still no sign of Jake, Amata…or anyone really. But I spotted on my PipBoy a cluster of Dwellers headed to Point Pleasant, so I decided to see what’s up. Heading into the city now. But I’m fresh out of supplies…fingers crossed for a Christmas miracle.



GHOUL KID 1:     Hurry up Dad! Hurry up!

GHOUL DAD:      Alright alright. Calm down. Santatron will still be there.

SIMON:                Hey! Hey excuse me…what’s going in Point Pleasant?

GHOUL DAD:      Don’t you know? It’s the Christmas Fantasy Light Show. We organize it every year…except the year ev erything went to shit.

GHOUL KID 1:     I’m tell Mom you swore!

GHOUL DAD:      You want to see Santatron or not?

GHOUL KID 1:     Sorry sir.

GHOUL DAD:      It’s always been a big deal. We usually hike in from all over Appalachia. The bots at the bot stop were preprogrammed to set up the event the year of the Great War and they’ve been doing it ever since.

SIMON:                Please tell me there’s food.

GHOUL DAD:      Food, drinks, music…all kinds of stuff.

GHOUL KID 1:     Come onnnnn Dad! The line is going to be huge!

GHOUL DAD:      Alright, alright. See you later smoothskin.


  1. HANDY: Happy Christmas! Happy Christmas! Complimentary mulled wine courtesy of the Mothman Museum tonight only!

SIMON:                Oh my god…I’ll take one of those.


  1. HANDY: Whoa there Master! You’ll be wassailing into the river at that pace.

SIMON:                Oh damn that is so good. Can I have another?

  1. HANDY: Help yourself sir, it’s free.

SIMON:                Thanks.


KAREN:                 Cider donuts! Hot cider donuts here!

SIMON:                Karen?

KAREN:                 Oh hey Simon. Merry Christmas.

SIMON:                And to you…those smell amazing.

KAREN:                 Yeah I found a recipe in Helvetia I couldn’t wait to try and they’ve been selling like hot cakes.

SIMON:                I’ll take two.

KAREN:                 20 caps please.

SIMON:                Done. MMMphhhhh…oh…that’s perfect. Hey how did you get mixed up into this?

KAREN:                 A Mr. Handy was recruiting staff to work the event. They needed food vendors, so here I am. There’s a few of the old gang around here somewhere…

SIMON:                What?? Jake and Amata??

KAREN:                 No…I’ve seen Moose. He stole a bunch of donuts. Had to call security, so they’re making him work off what he ate as an elf. You should see him. It’s hilarious.

FAST EDDIE:        Well hey hey. No chatting up my girl there Simon. Hands off her gooey donut.

SIMON:                Hey Fast Eddie. How are things?

FAST EDDIE:        Five by five. How’ve you been?

SIMON:                Oh you know…surviving. You guys got any Christmas plans?

FAST EDDIE:        I’m going to get Karen here under the mistletoe and maybe spend some time under the bridge if you know what I mean.

SIMON:                Yeah Eddie I’d have to be blind, deaf and dumb not to. You guys find a steady stream of caps yet?

FAST EDDIE:        Yeah I got us a camp gig lined up as counselors.

SIMON:                Camp? That sounds awful.

KAREN:                 It could be lots of fun.

SIMON:                Hey I need to go check out Moose in an Elf costume. I’ll catch up with you guys later.


SANTATRON:     Ho ho ho! Well my helper elf, who is next in line to see Santa? Ho ho ho!

MOOSE:               These green tights are crushing my nuts dude. They are so tight I think I can taste blood.

SANTATRON:     Ho ho ho! When you are a naughty elf who steals, you have to pay the piper. Ho ho ho!

MOOSE:               Whatever dude. They were just some dry donuts.

SIMON:                Well well well…how the big and dumb have fallen.

MOOSE:               Simon?!

SIMON:                That’s a really impressively festive outfit you got there Moose. Looks super comfy.

MOOSE:               How about I shove this festive candy cane right up your…

SANTATRON:     Finish that sentence and Santatron will have his Handy Helpers turn you into a bonfire. Ho ho ho! Let’s get our next kid up here.

GHOUL KID 2:     Oh boy!

MOOSE:               Up you go you weird little burned kid. Oh you’re skin is all gross!

SANTATRON:     And have you been a good little hopeless irradiated and mutated immortal ghoul?

GHOUL KID 2:     I sure have Santa. I did all my chores at home and went 2 whole weeks without going feral!

MOOSE:               Bro this kid smells like a barn.

SIMON:                You are…the worst elf imaginable.

SANTATRON:     Well you’ve been a very good ghoul this year. My helper Elf here is going to take a picture and give you a special present from me.

MOOSE:               Lame dude. I don’t even know how to take pictures. This camera is ridiculous.

SANTATRON:     Look at the camera. Say Merry Christmas!

GHOUL KID 2:     Merry Christmas!

SANTATRON:     Merry Christmas!


MOOSE:               I think I had this thing backwards. Here’s your picture you little weirdo. Enjoy a picture of my face.

GHOUL KID 2:     Gee…thanks.

MOOSE:               Here’s your present kid. Santa I’m taking 5 to take a whizz. These tights are giving my nuts a moose knuckle.

SIMON:                Merry Christmas Moose.

MOOSE:               Eat a dick Simon.


GHOUL KID 2:     Oh wow…a Mounted Beaver to hang on my wall! It’s what I’ve always wanted.

SIMON:                What kind of dumb gift is that? It’s neither attractive or useful in any way.

SANTATRON:     Beat it. You’re ruining the holiday spirit. Merrryyy Christmasss!

SIMON:                I’m going…I’m going.


MARY ANN:        Well hey there Appalachia! How are you kids doing tonight? My name is Mary Ann Belts and this little instrument here is called a yukelele.

SIMON:                Oh lord…it’s Mary Ann Belts.

MARY ANN:        Speaking of instruments. What is the best Christmas present in the world? A broken drum, you just can't beat it!


INSULT BOT:       These jokes are worse than mine. Why don’t you get off stage you sad weird single woman.

MARY ANN:        Oh come on there Insult Bot, at this festive time of year it’s time we spread a little holiday cheer. If you think you can do better let’s hear a Christmas joke from you.

INSULT BOT:       Challenge accepted. Here’s one: why was Santa’s little helper depressed?

MARY ANN:        Gee, why is that Insult Bot?

INSULT BOT:       Because he had lo--w elf esteem.


SIMON:                Oh brother….

MARY ANN:        Well from the looks of the red noses out there by the beer garden that reminds me of another famous red nose. Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer! But I don’t know that song. So here’s Jingle Bells.

(Singing and play Jingle Bells)


CHIEF VINCE:     …but did you see the number of active silos? How do you intend on securing them all?

OVERSEER:          I don’t know yet Vince. But you’ve done enough. Enjoy your well-earned retirement.

SIMON:                Overseer?

OVERSEER:          Oh…hello Simon.

CHIEF VINCE:     Hey kid. How’s Appalachia treating you?

SIMON:                Well…it’s been interesting so far. Hey, have either of you seen Amata and Jake?

OVERSEER:          No. I don’t recall seeing any of them. Since you all started changing your names to disguise yourselves on the map I don’t know where any of you are anymore. Or what you’ve become…

SIMON:                What do you mean?

OVERSEER:          Don’t mind me. Just rambling. Too much spiked eggnog.

CHIEF VINCE:     Here….have a dinner ticket. I snagged some extra ones to the buffet at the Mothman Museum. They have quite the spread in there. Brahmin Steaks, soups. You look like you haven’t eaten in a while.

SIMON:                Yeah…we weren’t exactly given ample supplies on the way out or anything. It’s funny how we all were separated.

OVERSEER:          Yes. Hilarious.

SIMON:                Well…I’ll see you later no doubt. Thanks for the meal ticket Vince.

CHIEF VINCE:     No problem. Merry Christmas.

SIMON:                And to you.


OVERSEER:          Didn’t take him long did it, Vince?


HIGH PRIEST:     Merrrry Christmas! Bask in the lights of Christmas! A gift from our lord! Feast, rejoice!

SIMON:                Excuse me.

HIGH PRIEST:     Do you have a ticket? Not just anyone is welcome within. The question is…are you believer? Do you speak the name of Ingrid Cold and behold he who flutters angrily at the bulb?

SIMON:                Umm…I have a ticket?

HIGH PRIEST:     Ah…step right inside.

SIMON:                What is this place?

HIGH PRIEST:     This is a temple…nay…a museum to our lord, the iconic, the renowned moth that is a man a man who is a moth.

SIMON:                A mothman?

HIGH PRIEST:     Yes, not all creatures are of the land. Some stalk the skies…and the boogie man who has been seen in this town, the place of his birth is our lord…the Mothman. Beast, Devil, Angel…lover of wool sweaters. Behold! A timeline of his story.

SIMON:                Foretold of the bridge collapse. Hmm…ummm…saved Mary Scarberry and 2 friends of hers from a train and then later ate them. What kind of museum is this?

HIGH PRIEST:     A festive one. Come. Let us descend below, past the men’s room. Our holiday buffet is in the depths of the museum.

SIMON:                That smells delicious.

HIGH PRIEST:     I recommend the puff pastry.

SIMON:                Oh that’s cute…they’re in the shape of moths but you put red and green sprinkles on them. Very traditional and not at all strange and bizarre.

HIGH PRIEST:     Ladies and Gentlemen! May I have your attention please! Our host of the evening now emerges. Lets us behold his ben eficence. The Wise Mothman, Lord of Appalachia!


MOTHMAN:       Lights please!


MOTHMAN:       For behold I bring unto you moth dust and tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people who bring me lamps! For unto Appalachia this day in the city of Point Pleasant that which I covet: 100 watt incandescent bulbs!

SIMON:                Right. Ok ay I’m going to just make myself a plate for the road. Ooooo! Fried Mirelurk legs…



SANTA:                 Okay. I’ve seen enough. This is a complete waste of time. You’ve got this sad sack who just MURDERED someone a few weeks ago for using his workbench. You’ve got some weird and a giant moth who have bastardized both the intention of Christmas and apparently holy scripture, a thieving mongoloid in an elf outfit, Mary Ann Belts, silly robots and a plotting Overseer. The lights are nice…but there is no Christmas spirit here. It’s robots with romanticized fake orgasms of holiday cheer.

JINGLE:                 What about that guy and that little girl earlier?

SANTA:                 Chad and Susie?

JANGLE:               Yeah…he was trying to give her a nice Christmas.

SANTA:                 (sigh) Okay fine.



CHAD:                   Space them out a little bit there sweetie. If you put all your decorations close together like that it’s not as nice.

SUSIE:                   Oh like this?

CHAD:                   That’s right. What are all those?

SUSIE:                   Ella and I drew the faces of all the people we took sparklies from and played with this past year. See their faces look all silly.

ELLA:                     We put X’s for eyes because we straight up murdered them.

CHAD:                   That’s great. I like the crayon colors you got there.

SUSIE:                   This house is so cozy and nice! It’s just the most perfect Christmas we’ve had in a long time!

CHAD:                   It really is.


ELLA:                     Shut up plebe!

CHAD:                   Little bit, why don’t check and see if our cocoa is ready.

SUSIE:                   Yum yum! With extra marshmellows!



CHAD:                   Look dude, we’re crashing here for the night and I suggest you play along. You can be a Christmas tree inside where it’s warm, or the little one can talk you out back and turn you into Dominic the Christmas Donkey. Blink if you get me. There…see no problem. You’ll have your place back tomorrow.

SUSIE:                   Here you go! Here you go!

CHAD:                   Careful! Don’t spill it. Put that down there a second and plug in your lights on this dude tree.

SUSIE:                   Oh boy!


ELLA:                     This guy is festive as fuck!

CHAD:                   There…isn’t that pretty?

SUSIE:                   Cocoa time! Want some Ella?

ELLA:                     Are you batshit crazy? Can you spell house fire?

SUSIE:                   Mmmm! That’s chocolatey! Tell Ella and I a Christmas story!

CHAD:                   A Christmas story? Hmmm…I don’t know a lot of those. My Daddy wasn’t much for Christmas stories. But I think I remember one from school. It’s by a dude called Orgasm Henry or something. The Gift of the Magic Guy.

SUSIE:                   Oh, I love magic!

CHAD:                   Yeah see one Christmas Eve there was this couple, ummm…a woman named Delicious and her husband Dingaling Young. See they weren’t doing so hot because she was a stay at home thot and he was some kind of toothbrush salesman or something who only made $30 a week. Well she’d saved up $1.87 by searching seat cushions at the doctor’s office and laundromat and wanted to buy him a special present. The problem was $1.87 could only buy you a gumball with inflation. But she wanted to go buy him a real special present to make up for the fact that her cooking sucked 365 days of the year. See the two of them only owned a couple of things. Dingaling had a gold ummm watch and Delicious had made a living back in the day smoking poles down at the strip joint and every dude paid extra because she was a blonde bombshell back then with great hair.  Well anyway, she decided to sell her hair to some guy down the street who made female assaultrons for guys with real hair and were kind of thick out back. So that dude gave her $200 and she hauled ass down to the jewelry shop to buy him a chain to hang his watch on so he could strut around like a total pimp. So she went home, all short hair and stuff and waited. Well Jim was late and when he showed up he didn’t look great. She wished him a Merry Christmas anyway and he was kind of shocked that she was going through some kind of short haired feminist phase. But she explained that she did because she loved him and wanted to buy himself something great for Christmas. Well he was kind of shocked, but he presented her a Christmas present. Well she unwrapped it and he’d bought her some brushes. Like really nice brushes, not some crap ones. Of course she didn’t have any hair, which was kind of a bummer. Well she gave him his present and he unwrapped it and was kind of like, “What’s up with this chain? I just sold my pocket watch to buy you these brushes.” Well they kind of looked at each other and then looked at the burnt meatloaf on the table. Then they hugged and said, “What a great Christmas. Isn’t it magical?” (Silence)

SUSIE:                   What happened next?

CHAD:                   That’s it.

SUSIE:                   But that story wasn’t about anything.

CHAD:                   Well I think it’s an example of the story of the 3 dudes who went to see the baby Jesus and brought him some gold and Mrs. Rash Spice Mix. Something about giving is more important than getting.

ELLA:                     That story is stupid. Tee hee!

CHAD:                   Well I dunno. I think you should protect and care for what’s yours. Like you taking a chance to help me and me looking out for you.

SUSIE:                   (Yawns)

CHAD:                   All tuckered out? Did you finish your cocoa?

SUSIE:                   Uh huh.

CHAD:                   Come on…let’s tuck you into bed.

SUSIE:                   Can I sleep out here by the tree and fire? It’s so pretty and warm.

CHAD:                   Sure…here…scooch down. Get your little blanket here. Now close your eyes now and maybe when you wake up there will be a little something for you and Ella underneath that dude tree over there.

SUSIE:                   (Yawns) Okay. Good night.

CHAD:                   Good night little bit. I’ll be in the other room.

ELLA:                     Good night bitch! Tee hee!


SUSIE:                   (Quietly) I love you.

CHAD:                   (Disbelieving) What did you say?

SUSIE:                   (Snoring quietly)

CHAD:                   I…Merry Christmas kid.




JINGLE:                 What is that?

SANTA:                 It…it can’t be…

JANGLE:               That glow!

SANTA:                 It’s impossible. That’s the spirit of Christmas…the magic of Christmas. A cocksman jock, a homicidal little ghoul and a servant of Krampus. That’s NOT POSSIBLE.

JINGLE:                 You don’t get it. Everything, everything is different now. Civilization has collapsed in on itself. War has devastated everything, leaving every human being still breathing in a desperate struggle for survival. There is no black and white and right and wrong is in a spectrum now.

JANGLE:               Amongst all of that, amid all of that…a little girl saved the life of someone who reached out to her. That simple gesture reached him like no other gesture ever had. He’s not your typical father figure, but what frame of reference is there? They care for each other…and whether he’ll ever admit it or not he would do anything for her. If that’s not love…the hope and spirit of Christmas I don’t know what is.

SANTA:                 You’re right. I couldn’t see it.


SANTA:                 Jingle! Jangle! Hitch up the sleigh! Wake Yukon Cornelius and his life partner the Abominable to clear the runway! We’re making a run tonight! Christmas is BACK ON!


SANTA:                 Merrryyyy Christmas Kringle elves!

PISSFLAPS ELF:  But Santa you were going to wear me like a hat.

SANTA:                 It’ll have to wait Mrs. Pissflaps Claus! This sad old ghoulified Christmas man learned a lesson tonight. For the first time in 25 years I’m going to be spreading cheer (whispers) and when I get home it’s YOU I’m going to spread.

PISSFLAPS ELF:  Oh my yuletide ovaries!


JINGLE:                 The sled is re ady Santa! The presents are loaded!

SANTA:                 On Dasher! On Da---ncer! On Prancer and Vixen, On Comet, On Cupid, On Donder and Blitzen! Ho ho hoooo! And to allll a good night!


NARRATOR:        (In a Suess-like sing song way)

On that Christmas Eve or so it is said,

The jolly man in red to Appalachia sped

To a ghoul named Susie, the gift of a knife…that was quite a doozy

To her friend name of Chad, the gift of a randy cheerleader looking for a Daddy

And so he exclaimed as he flew out of sight, Happy Christmas to all and to all a good night!

CODY:                   (PAUSE) He wakes up to a cheerleader looking for a Dad? Really? Santa gives out whores now? What is this? Nothing about this episode is festive or family oriented.

KEN (V.O.):         Well it’s funny because it rhymes and honestly what else would Chad want for Christmas except the gift of poon?

CODY:                   That’s disgusting. Right. I’m out.


CODY:                   Chad apparently is a hero now. I have no idea where we’re going here. Is any of this even if cannon?

KEN (V.O.):         Uh Cody? Cody? Where’d he go?

ALEX (V.O.):       Maybe we should cut to the ending musical number?

KEN (V.O.):         I guess. Can we get everyone in the studio A please.


KEN (V.O.):         Okay gang…we’re still live here. So when you’re ready. Queue track.


KEN:                      And now the players of CHAD: A Fallout 76 Podcast present the 12 days of 76 Christmas.

[Verse 1]

KEVIN:                  On the first day of Christmas some raider sent to me

KEN:                      (Explosion) My camp just got blown to smithereens

[Verse 2]

KEVIN:                  On the second day of Christmas Rose sent to me

CHRISTIAN:         Two radroaches opening doors and

KEN:                      (Explosion) Yeah, my camp got blown up again

[Verse 3]

KEVIN:                  On the third day of Christmas the Overseer sent to me

TAYLOR:               Three Mr. Handy’s

CHRISTIAN:         Two radroaches opening doors

KEN:                      (Explosion) Who the fuck keeps doing that?

[Verse 4]

KEVIN:                  On the fourth day of Christmas the Vendorbots gave to me

PAUL:                    Just 4 caps for 40 tons of junk

TAYLOR:               Three Mr. Handy’s

CHRISTIAN:         Now it’s two ticks opening doors

KEN:                      (Explosion) Is this an exploit? No really? Who is this?

[Verse 5]

KEVIN:                  On the fifth day of Christmas the Chad got himself

ALEX:                     Fiiiiive topless chiiiiics

PAUL:                    Another 4 caps for 2 hours of gameplay

TAYLOR:               Uhm…These three Mr. Handy’s are hostile

CHRISTIAN:         Two cave crickets are trying to get in my bathroom

KEN:                      (Explosion) Yeah no, this is fine. It’s fine. I’m fine.

[Verse 6]

KEVIN:                  On the sixth day of Christmas Arktos sent to me

JESSICA MARIE: Six albino radstags leaping

ALEX:                     Fiiiiive more topless chiiiiics

PAUL:                    Anyone want this white wolf fedora? 4 caps.

TAYLOR:               Three pissed off robots

CHRISTIAN:         Two radroaches are looking at me funny

KEN:                      (Explosion) This doesn’t bother me. You do you buddy. I can just rebuild.

[Verse 7]

KEVIN:                  On the seventh day of Christmas I bought from a player vendor

JESSICA D.           Seven Bobbleheads bobbing!

JESSICA MARIE: Six albino radstags with weird meat

ALEX:                     Fiiiiive sorority sisters. Alright!

PAUL:                    4 caps is what I’m left with.

TAYLOR:               Three Mr. Handy’s making malteds

CHRISTIAN:         Two mirelurk hatchlings moved right in

KEN:                      (Explosion) I might not even rebuild my CAMP. What are you gonna do about that huh?

[Verse 8]

KEVIN:                  On the eighth day of Christmas the Gourmands sent to me

ROBERT:               Eight Acolytes Seeking Lightbulbs

JESSICA D.           Seven Bobbleheads for my camp display!

JESSICA MARIE: Six albino radstags are kicking me in the head.

ALEX:                     Fiiiiive supple coeds know what I mean?

PAUL:                    4 caps? I need to buy a Stimpack…can anyone spot me?

TAYLOR:               Three Mr. Handy’s in combat mode.

CHRISTIAN:         Two molerats now chasing me round the map!

KEN:                      There. I rebuilt it with brick. What are you going to do now? (Explosion) Fuck off fella.

[Verse 9]

KEVIN:                  On the ninth day of Christmas Van Lowe Taxidermy sent to me

MARK:                  Nine Sheepsquatch sleeping…shhhhh…

ROBERT:               Eight 100 wat bulbs for my Moth Lord!

JESSICA D.           Seven Bobbleheads but I’ve hit my CAMP limit??

JESSICA MARIE: Six albino radstags that are pretty pissed off.

ALEX:                     Fiiiiive totalllll tens.

PAUL:                    Look at this point I’ll do anything for 4 caps

TAYLOR:               Three Mr. Handy’s roleplaying commandos.

CHRISTIAN:         Two ticks have given me a disease

KEN:                      (Explosion) Alex is this you?

ALEX:                     Who’s Alex?

[Verse 10]

KEVIN:                  On the 10th day of Christmas my PipBoy sent me to

MARY:                  10 disgusting Supermutants shooting

MARK:                  Nine Sheepsquatch we need to sneak by…

ROBERT:               Eight more bulbs for the Mothman please!

JESSICA D.           Seven Bobbleheads but I can’t figure out which ones I’m missing

JESSICA MARIE: Six albino radstags that are giving rads…and I think feline AIDS

ALEX:                     Fiiiiive gamer girls looking for my bath water

PAUL:                    No really anyone have 4 caps?

TAYLOR:               Three Mr. Handy’s manning Lemonade stands??

CHRISTIAN:         Two molerats mothers lactating. I mean what?

KEN:                      (Explosion) THERE! I BLEW IT UP MY DAMNED SELF! (insane laugh)

[Verse 11]

KEVIN:                  On the 11th day of Christmas some dataminers sent to me

PETER:                  11 tons of junk shoved into a paper bag

MARY:                  10 Vault Dwellers I am VERY disappointed with

MARK:                  Nine Sheepsquatch are waking up! Oh shit! Oh shit!

ROBERT:               Eight eggs bestowed by my Moth Lord

JESSICA D.           Seven Bobbleheads but I can’t figure out which ones I’m missing

JESSICA MARIE: Six albino radstags that are giving rads…and I think feline AIDS

ALEX:                     Fiiiiive gamer girls looking for my bath water

PAUL:                    No really anyone have 4 caps?

TAYLOR:               Three Mr. Handy’s manning Lemonade stands??

CHRISTIAN:         Two molerats mothers lactating. I mean what?

KEN:                      (Explosion) THERE! I BLEW IT UP MY DAMNED SELF! (insane laugh)

[Verse 12]

KEVIN:                  On the 12th day of Christmas Todd Howard sent to me

CLINT:                   12 Scorchbeasts soaring! Oh they look delicious!

PETER:                  11 tons of junk I just sold at a vendorbot for 4 caps.

MARY:                  10 Nukes are inbound. What is wrong with you people?

MARK:                  Nine Sheepsquatch spraying me with urine! Gross!

ROBERT:               Eight Mothmen who shall rule the mountains of man.

JESSICA D.           Seven Bobbleheads, but half of them disappeared from my stash. What the hell?

JESSICA MARIE: Six albino radstags and I still failed the Akrtos event

ALEX:                     Dude…I’ve got 5 STD’s now. Lame.

PAUL:                    I have 4,000 caps now. I’ve seen things….I’ve seen things…

TAYLOR:               Three Mr. Handy’s all yelling good day to you sir…but it’s Ma’am

CHRISTIAN:         Two ticks I animal friended that are chilling with me

KEN:                      (Explosions) Well…looks like I’ll be spending Christmas in the Atomic Shop again. Merry Christmas everyone and good night!