Bad Santa

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Bad Santa is a 2003 film about a miserable con man and his partner who pose as Santa and his Little Helper to rob department stores on Christmas Eve. But they run into problems when the conman befriends a troubled kid, and the security boss discovers the plot.

Directed by Terry Zwigoff. Written by Glenn Ficarra and John Requa.
He's very naughty . . . and not very nice. (taglines)


  • Hey, can I get another drink down here? I've been to prison once, I've been married twice. I was once drafted by Lyndon Johnson and had to live in shit-ass Mexico for 2 1/2 years for no reason. I've had my eye socket punched in, a kidney taken out, and I got a bone-chip in my ankle that's never gonna heal. I've seen some pretty shitty situations in my life, but nothing has ever sucked more ass than this! If I'd known I was gonna have to put up with screaming brats pissing on my lap for days out of the year, I would have killed myself a long time ago. Come to think of it, I still might.
  • I said, "Next," goddamn it! This is not the DMV!
  • [while having sex] Yeah, baby! Yeah, baby! You ain't gonna shit right for a WEEK!
  • [to Thurman] Jesus, kid. When I was your age, I didn't need no fucking gorilla. And I wasn't as big as one of your legs. Four kids beat me up one time and I went crying home to my daddy. You know what he did?....He kicked my ass. You know why?...It's because he was a mean, drunk, son of a bitch. And when he wasn't busy busting my ass, he was putting cigarettes out on my neck. The world ain't fair. You've gotta take what you need when you can get it. You've gotta learn to stand up for yourself. You gonna have to quit being a pussy and kick these kids in the balls or something...Or don't. Shit. I don't care. Just leave me the hell out of it.
  • Wish in one hand, shit in the other and see which one fills up first.
  • [to Thurman] Thank you for giving that letter to the cops. I forgot I asked you to do it, but it's a good thing you did, or 'Santa's Little Helper' would have plugged his ass. And now the cops know I wrote it, which is gonna keep my ass out of jail. That, plus everyone agreeing that the Phoenix police department shooting an unarmed Santa was even more fucked up than Rodney King. Cops are treating me like fucking royalty, which is new in my experience. They're making me a sensitivity counselor so that tragedies like this would never again embarrass the department. Meanwhile, I told the cops that you had no one to take the fuck care of you. So they set it up with Mrs. Santa's sister until your dad gets out in 1 year and three months. They made her a guardian pro-temp
  • [To Thurman] As for my little helper, I'm sorry to tell you that he and his prune faced, mail order wife are going to be exploring mountains with your dad. I just hope your dad doesn't go sucking shit from them like I did.


  • [to Willie] You're an emotional fucking cripple. Your soul is dog shit. Every single fucking thing about you is ugly.
  • Jesus Christ! Can you maybe at least keep it together for just 10 minutes?


Milwaukee Kid: I saw you at another mall.
Willie:[Sarcastically] Well I'm very happy for you.
Milwaukee Kid: You're not Santa. If you are Santa, you could do magic.
Willie: You want magic kid, let's see you disappear.
[He forces the kid off his leg.]

[Chipeska is seen arguing with a man who had been the Chamberlain mall's Santa for years.]
Bob Chipeska: Harrison, will you listen please? Financially.....
Fired Santa: Well you get what you paid for, Chipeska. Five Christmases I've been here and now you flip me for some stranger who'll do it for peanuts and happens to work with a real midget. Well let me tell you something though: Nobody cares! Nobody comes for the elf, Santa's the main attraction. I do Burl Ives' songs. Does this schmoe even play guitar?
Bob Chipeska: Look Harrison, it's not about the money or the midget. Believe me if it was.... I don't think they like the term midget, I think you're supposed to call them....
Fired Santa: Oh forget it. [Walks away as Willie and Marcus enters the store] Hacks!

Bob Chipeska: Hi. Bob Chipeska. Welcome. Great photo and resume by the way.
Marcus: Thanks. You know, we've been at this for a long time and all, so we like to think we do a good job.
Bob Chipeska: I'm so glad you two can come at such a short notice. You two are perfect for this job, truly.
[Willie drones out the conversation between Bob and Marcus, eyeing a pretty woman and her friends shopping]
Bob Chipeska: So, I don't want his unpleasantness affect your performance in any way.
Marcus: Oh no. We...
Willie: Performance?
Bob Chipeska: Yes. Your performance. You know, the...
Willie: Performance as in mean sexual?
[Bob looks up at Willie in confusion]
Bob Chipeska: Excuse me?
Willie: Are you saying there's something wrong with my gear? Is that what you're saying to me?
Bob Chipeska: I'm sorry, your gear?
Marcus: Willie...
Willie: My fuck stick!
[Bob makes a disgusted look, Marcus quickly saves the situation by pushing Willie to the closest chair.]
Marcus: Willie, take a seat. You know how your blood sugar is.
Bob Chipeska: He's not going to say fuck stick in front of the children, is he?
Marcus: No! It was just a joke. An adult joke. For us, adults. It's a joke. Just a joke.

Gin:[smoking a cigarette in his office] Fuck Stick!
Bob Chipeska: Yeah I know it's odd, but as our security manager, I want you to be well aware of this. His little friend promised he won't say it in front of the children which is fine. There is an adult's world and a child's world and that's ok. I'm no censor

Marcus: It won't happen again. I can promise you that. Willie here has low blood sugar. That's all.
Willie: That's right. I forgot to take my pill.
Bob Chipeska: It's not just the swearing. Forgive me for prying, but did one of you, um, fornicate...
Willie: Fornicate?
Bob Chipeska: Yes. With a heavy-set woman in the big-and-tall dressing room?
Willie: Look, I've boned a lot of fat chicks in my time, sure. But, as far back as I can remember, I've never fornicated anybody.
Bob Chipeska: Yes... Well, even still, I think it's best for all parties considered if we...
Marcus: If we what?
Bob Chipeska: Well, I have somebody else interested in the position.
Willie: Before you do something stupid you might want to think about this shit.
Bob Chipeska: What are you talking about?
Willie: I'm talking about firing a little black midget. A small, colored, African-American small person. That's what I'm talking about. I'm talking about your face all over goddamn USA Today, that's what I'm talking about. I'm talking about 150 of these little motherfuckers all over the sidewalk out there. Holding picket signs and using bullhorns and shit like that. Screaming and hollering your name out. Unfair practices, get me?
Bob Chipeska: Oh no, this is not a handicapped thing. I have nothing against you people.
Willie: You people? Did you hear that Marcus? He said 'You People.'
Marcus: Who the hell is us people?
Bob Chipeska: No... He said... But... what... No no. Um, I think it's best if we just forget we had this conversation.
Willie: Good thinking. And don't worry about us. We'll be fine. Let's get the hell out of here Marcus.
[Willie and Marcus get up to leave as Willie turns back to Bob]
Willie: You're pathetic.

Marcus: Willie, this has been a long time coming. Every year, you're worse. Every year, you're less reliable. More booze, more bullshit, more butt-fucking.
Willie: Sure, and the 3 B's.

Sue: You're pretty regular for a Santa.
Willie: It's not that much of a big fucking deal. It's just a job, you know what I mean? I'm just an eating, drinking, shitting, fucking Santy Claus.
Sue: Prove it.
[cut to Willie and Sue having casual sex in car]
Sue: Fuck me, Santa. Fuck me, Santa. Fuck me Santa. Fuck me, Santa. Fuck me, Santa, Fuck me, Santa. Fuck me, Santa. Fuck me, Santa!
Willy: Can't I at least take this hat off?
Sue: No. I love the hat!
Willy: Okay.
Sue: Whoo! I've always had a thing for Santa Claus. In case you didn't notice. It's like some deep-seated childhood thing.
Willie: So is my thing for tits.
Sue: I like you. Don't mothball that suit.

Woman in Food Court: Look who's here, Jimmy! It's Santa! Let's tell him what you want for Christmas.
Willie: [yelling] I'M ON MY FUCKING LUNCH BREAK, OK?!
Woman in Food Court: Are you insane?! The manager's going to hear about this.
Willie: What, you think that's a threat? If you really think you can make my fucking life any worse, you go right ahead, be my fucking guest, take a shot.

[Willie has just passed out]
Gin: Look here, get him outta here and I'll go smooth things over with Chipeska, tell him it was food poisoning or something.
Marcus: What do you mean, get him outta here?
Gin: Take him to the car.
Marcus: In case you didn't notice I'm a motherfucking dwarf, so unless you got a forklift handy, maybe you should lend a hand, hmm?
Gin: That figures. You want all kind of set-asides. Special treatment 'cause you're handicapped. You're all the same.
Marcus: Special treatment? I'm 3-foot fucking tall, you asshole! It's a matter of physics. Draw me a sketch of how I get him to the car, huh?
Gin: Bitch, Bitch, Bitch!
Marcus: Sketch it up, you fucking moron. Fucking Leonardo da Vinci.
Gin: What'd you call me thigh-high?
Marcus: I called you a fucking guinea homo from the 15th-fucking-century, you dickhead!
Gin: I could stick you up my pants, small fry.
Marcus: Yeah? You sure it ain't too sore from last night?
Gin: You got some lip on you, mister.
Marcus: Yeah? Well these lips were on your wife's pussy last night. Why don't you dust that thing off once in a while, asshole!

Willie: You know, I think I've turned a corner.
Marcus: Yeah? You fucking petites now?
Willie: No, I'm not talking about that. I beat the shit out of some kids today. But it was for a purpose. It made me feel good about myself. It was like I did something constructive with my life or something, I dunno, like I accomplished something.
Marcus: You need many years of therapy. Many, many fuckin' years of therapy.


  • He's very naughty . . . and not very nice.
  • He doesn't care if you're naughty or nice.
  • Get Naughty this Holiday Season.


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