General Zod: Greetings, Planet Houston. I am General Zod. And may I wish you all… a Merry Zodmas.
Standard opening graphic.
Let us talk about a character that I have heard much about… Santa Claus.
We dissolve to the words “Santa Claus” in cursive letters, slowly zooming in over CG snowfall. Cut back to Zod.
[look up screen-right] I have heard much about this [back at us] mystical one that you call Claus.
[shakes his head] He does not impress me.
In fact, I pity him.
He needs a reindeer and a sleigh to fly! [does a dramatic gesture with his right hand to show off himself] I fly au naturel!
No reindeer for me, [looks up and off screen both ways] though, Lord knows, I could use a lift occasionally.
Where does he get these reindeer, anyway?
Are they powered [brings up his left hand and clenches it into a fist, staring at it] ALSO by your mighty yellow sun?
If so, how do they fly at night?
I will steal this reindeer technology and make it my own.
[does the pointed left-hand motion] You WILL BOW DOWN before me, Rudolph!
Soon, all of them will have [strokes his beard and his hair] fashionable goatees and slick their antlers back.
Their coats will be made of [tugs at his coat] pure Jet Black.
Not unlike a pack of [brings up his left palm dramatically] twelve tiny stealth bombers flying through the night.
But let us talk more about this Santa fellow.
What gives him the right to judge Planet Houston’s children?
[smacks his chest] That’s MY job!
And what a pathetic punishment to provide little children. Coal? That provides heat and warmth!
My partner, Ursa, [does his thing with his fist again, but slowly this time] whose cruelty even extended to the children of Krypton…
[retracts back to normal] She had a better way to deal with petulant children.
She would stuff their stockings with Kryptonite, which would make them weak.
And make them susceptible to suggestion.
Like stealing their mommy and daddy’s wallets and purses and giving them to Ursa.
But don’t worry. It was all going to a good cause: [pauses] Me.
That is, when Ursa wasn’t skimming off the top to pay for that horrid hairstyle.
But getting back to the Claus at hand.
Why do you Houstonians find such comfort in this horrible little winter pervert?
He is a predator!
If you saw some fat, rotund German stalking your children all year…
Break into your house uninvited, eat your food…
And then, shove small, plastic choking hazards into your clothes…
What would you do? Call the police. Or Dateline’s “To Catch a Predator.”
[shrugs his shoulders] Or, at the very least, declare war on Germany.
[looks off-screen as if someone’s correcting him] What’s that? He lives in the North Pole? [looks back at us] Well, that’s easy. A military conquest of the North Pole would not be difficult.
[as he points off screen-right, in big red letters at screen-bottom, we see:] DEPLOY! [we hear a missile-launching sound effect]
I have a suspicion.
This person apparently lives in the Arctic, can fly, wears red, and spends most of his life helping people. [pauses] CLEARLY, this is the son of Jor-El!
[looks up] Or, at the very least, some giant, flying, [back at us] crimson, mutant polar bear.
Either way, he should be brought down. [does the pointed right-hand motion] TO KNEEEEEEL!!
And if he is a polar bear, I shall skin him and wear him.
If it’s the son of Jor-El, I shall skin him and wear him.
Final sum-up: [graphic appears to the right of him that says:] Santa Claus Has No Place in the Zodonian People’s Republic of Houston.
Nor his freaky Munchkin army.
So, just to reiterate: You better watch out. You better not cry. You better not pout. I’m telling you why.
[does the pointed left-hand motion] KKNNNEEEEEEEEELLL!!! [he finishes with a dramatic look on his face]