Original subtitles

♪ The Simpsons ♪

Christmas. It's said to be the most wonderful time of the year.

But in the city sidewalks of Springfield...

- ...one doesn't see smile after smile.

In the air, there's no feeling of the Christmas spirit,

just the chunky inhale of tire fire and doughnut oil.

Which makes it the perfect town to conduct an experiment.

I'm mentalist and psychological illusionist, Derren Brown.

In this special, I shall use a mixture of hypnosis,

social compliance, British accent,

and psychology in an attempt to change the holiday temperament of an entire town.

This is A Derren Brown Christmas.

Springfield used to be festive at Christmas,

but climate catastrophes, various fascisms, and self-financed JLo movies

have left the town grumpy and Scrooge-like.

But I'm about to change all that.

I arrived with my improbably large team of accomplices posing as a film crew.

Mayor Quimby. Uh, Hark Media.

We're doing a documentary on the award Springfield's just won.

- Award? - You know, the...

Springfield being named the "Christmasiest" Town in America,

winning the holiday makeover of Town Square.

Oh, that award. Uh, yes. We are thrilled

and honored to be...

The award the Mayor is so thrilled about doesn't exist.

We made it up.

Forcing Quimby to awkwardly pretend he knows what we're talking about.

This rattles him, making him easier to manipulate.

Also, he was nervous about other things.

Hey, Joe.

I, uh, just need to bestow upon this constituent the Key to the City.

No. I need the key to the lake house.

And don't block the Andersons' driveway.

You, uh, were saying?

We just wanted to make sure you're okay with us filming

and placing hidden cameras virtually everywhere.

You know, for the documentary about the award

- you totally knew about? - Yes, yes.

Springfield is an open book.

We were in.

The prize of a holiday makeover was all part of our plan

to subliminally make the town feel more cheery.

The response wasn't immediately positive.

They put Christmas decorations up earlier and earlier.

It's mid-December.

Still a good joke.

It's not a joke, it's just a thing everyone says.

'Cause it's hilarious.

Hey, Homer. Earlier and earlier, huh?

- How did you even... - Ah, I always have one loaded.

D-Dental implant special. Two front teeth for Christmas. [chuckles] You know...

Meet Gil Gunderson. Gil has a dead-end job which he is bad at.

Gil is trying to summon the courage

to call his estranged family before Christmas, but he's running out of time.

What Gil needs is a boost of confidence.

A chance to be a hero.

Cue runaway baby carriage.

Help! My baby carriage is slipping out of my hand!

My family doesn't wanna hear from me.

- Are you okay? - I'm fine, but what about your...

Hey, he's okay.

Yes. You saved him.

You're a hero.

I am?

And just like that, Gil felt brave, strong, a man of action.

Would you excuse me?

Bonnie, it's Gill.

It is? It's good to hear your voice too, honey.

Right. No, honey. I, uh...

I would love to spend Christmas with you and the kids.

Sure I can pick up a tree.

Actually, I already have one.

- Not your stupid costume! - No, no. That's not what I was...

I'll-I'll go to the tree lot.

Christmas with the fam.

For Gil, being a colossal failure was the story he'd been telling himself.

And each of us tells ourselves stories. Stories about who we are.

Disco Stu is into free verse poetry also.

Stories that limit who we can be.

I don't have an anger problem.

Anger helps me punch.

Some stories are complicated.

Back then, hockey was played on sand

and the puck was a lightly broiled clam.

The story Homer Simpson keeps telling himself

is that he is bad at choosing gifts.

Which is why he lets his wife, Marge, do all the Christmas shopping.

Well, that was a bust.

Apparently, the Gap is just for tramps now.

I'll watch the bags while you shop.

Oh, but I suck at presents.

I can't do all the shopping.

You have to buy a present for me.

Do you like any of this stuff?

I have enough cuff links.

Told ya I suck.

We followed Homer and soon learned that he did, in fact, suck.

He started with a reasonable choice: a journal.

Then the second guessing began.

Aw, what if Marge doesn't have innermost thoughts?

Lingerie? No, too sexual.

Book of sudokus? Not sexual enough.

Bowling ball? Aw, we already did that.

What concerned me was how savagely Homer berated himself.

Oh, I'm the worst. I make people sad.

I should die

and they should donate my body to a crappy medical school

where they study my brain for why I suck at buying gifts.

I decided to enlist Marge as an accomplice.

And by using psychological tricks, we can manipulate the town

into believing that they're feeling more Christmas-y.

Ooh. Playing with people's minds? That seems kind of irresponsible.

- It's for a TV show. - Oh, then it's fine.

So our Christmas plan for Homer is to make him a better gift giver.

Homer's bad at choosing gifts

because he tells himself that he's bad at choosing gifts.

I think Homer's just bad at choosing gifts.

He once gave Bart a CPR dummy.

Bart hated it. He refused to revive it.

If you sign this form, allowing me to hypnotize your husband,

you'll be surprised by how thoughtful his gift-giving will become.

Hmm. Okay. I feel a little weird signing for Homer.

- You don't feel that way at all. - I don't feel that way at all.

Not my proudest moment, I'll admit.

But I truly believed we could help Homer.

So, in typical Derren Brown fashion, we introduced ourselves.

Ooh, they "Christmas-imafied" my favorite cupcake.

Hey, what's the deal?

Oh, you think that's funny, huh?

You don't eat me, I eat you!

Hmm?

Who are you? And where's my cupcake?

Homer, you're perfectly safe

and your cupcake is right here.

And sleep. There we go.

Right the way down. Right the way deep. Then we'll come and sit over here...

I've hypnotized thousands of subjects, but Homer was different.

Now then, Homer, open your eyes and look at me.

Homer, look at me. Homer, look at me.

Even in a trance state,

Homer refused to look at anything other than his cupcake.

I resorted to an unorthodox way of getting him to focus on me.

Okay. Right. Fine, here.

Homer, I'm going to help you become the person you actually already are.

Someone who is great at giving gifts.

Is that who I really am?

Absolutely. You are a natural gift giver.

You observe people. You pay attention.

- And you see what-- - I see them when they're sleeping.

Well, more so when they're awake, but you know that--

I know when they're awake.

Uh, sure. But more importantly,

you no longer dread the holidays because you know that--

I am Santa.

No, no, no, no, no. Homer, you're not Santa.

You are just a regular person who gives nice gifts.

Oh, right. Just a regular guy.

Wait, wait. Why did you wink knowingly?

Did I?

Okay, I'm stopping this. And wake. Homer?

Yes, "Homer."

Uh-huh.

- He's still winking. - Is he stuck?

You can't get stuck in hypnosis.

- Look, all the hypnosis books say-- - What is he eating?

How did you...

I'm a spritely little elf.

Homer, you are not Santa.

I need you to say you understand that.

Well, if that's what you need.

I understand that!

Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night!

The n-nose thingy concerns me.

We were right to be concerned about the nose thingy

because the very next morning...

Forget it, Simpson, I'm not issuing you a new company ID for Santa.

Good idea. Can't let the muggles know who I am.

Oh, and this is for you.

- A thimble? - Smithers,

you said this bagel would have everything on it,

but it's missing so many things.

Talc. Neon. Laughter.

- Is that for me? - Uh, sure.

When I was a child, this was my favorite toy.

And what happened then?

Well, in Springfield they say

that Burns's small heart grew three sizes that day.

Emergency cardiac reduction, stat!

Thank you, Smithers. Merry Christmas.

Smithers was the first to believe.

The children believed immediately.

Everywhere Homer went, they inundated him with present requests.

One special little boy decided to join Homer in his delusion.

My head-talk "tolded" me I'm your elf.

My tummy-talk "tolded" me you need to get your boss more fries.

And soon everyone believed.

Santa!

Homer's delusion was so complete, he started to change physically.

I used to spend every Christmas with the old, you know, head in the oven.

But now, now I got the actual Santy Claus

drinking my beer and peeing in my bathroom.

It's a Christmas miracle over here.

Homer even appeared on the local news.

Oh, I've always been Santa-like.

My stomach has an innate "jelly-ness."

Well, do you have magical powers?

- A few. I-- - If you pull his finger, his pants cough.

Yes. That and I'm supremely lactose tolerant.

I can drink gallons of milk.

And I can eat any kind of cookie, but my favorite are chocolate chip with N&N's.

You heard it here first, kids.

Christmas spirit was at an all-time high.

But, as is human nature,

the stanning of Santa began to get weird.

The star of Bethlehem is the mother ship

which will leave the naughty and take the nice to the North Pole,

where we will become immortal like Rudolph the Red.

Blessed be his nose.

And not all Springfielders were happy about the Santa worship.

Frankly, I've never liked this emphasis on Santa.

I mean, an imaginary being who decides who's good and who's bad?

When did people get so "gul-diddly-ulible"?

And, of course, Marge was not happy.

I mean, it's great that Homer is so sweet and considerate.

But it's like he belongs to the world now.

Everywhere we go, little kids sit on his lap.

It makes Maggie so jealous.

What about you, Bart? How do you feel about your dad being Santa?

- It must be thrilling. - It's something.

It was indeed something.

By trying to raise the Christmas spirit in Springfield,

I'd inadvertently created a kind of Santa cult.

It was time to come clean.

The Christmas Jubilee was the perfect opportunity.

Hello. I'm Derren Brown.

Um, many of you know me as the dashing chap who's been interviewing you

for a documentary about Springfield.

I have a confession.

I'm actually a hypnotist/magician.

Really well-known in the UK.

Um, sort of the Beyoncé of British mentalists, apparently.

I've never heard of you, and I have a subscription to BritBox.

Charming story.

We came here with a plan to make you feel more Christmas spirit than you actual had.

But you know what? We found that the joy of the season

has been here the whole time with you guys.

Yeah, that's 'cause of Santy over there.

Yeah, that's the thing. Homer is not Santa.

- What? No! - No.

He thought he was, as a side-effect of being hypnotized.

Which is not a thing that happens with hypnotism usually.

Maybe there's a delightful part of Homer that longed to be Santa.

- But Marge needs her Homie back. - Aw.

And you probably all want your friend Homer back too, am I right?

Not really.

Well, too bad. I'm bringing him back anyway.

Homer, join me on stage.

Anything for you, cupcake face.

Up you come. Nice to see you... And sleep.

Right the way down. There we go.

That's good. Now, Homer, look at me.

When I snap my fingers, you are going to remember you are not Santa,

you are Homer Simpson. Loving husband,

father, and nuclear something or other.

Here we go. One. Two. Three. Wake.

Do you still believe you're Santa?

What? No.

Homer's back, everyone!

Now un-hypnotize us.

I didn't hypnotize any of you.

Oh, come on. You made us go nuts for Santy Claus.

No, you went nuts...

...because of the same tricks that make people fall for cults all the time.

You have a charismatic leader...

He's just a character from an old book.

Everywhere you go, you hear songs praising Santa.

I know I've gotten swept away by a hymn.

When everyone around you believes something,

even something preposterous,

like a magic man flying through the sky on a sleigh,

- you go along with it. - That's right.

There's no magic man in the sky.

You don't ask yourself the questions you're afraid to ask.

Like, what if you're in the wrong relationship?

What if the things you value most are an illusion?

- What if there is no God? - Ned.

What if there is no God?

Sweet Jesus on a Triscuit.

There'd be no heaven. There'd be no soul.

Oh, my God. I mean, oh, my nothing!

Okay. Stop it, stop it right there. Yes, I don't know,

the whole "there's no God" bit, it's not very Christmas-y, is it?

Let's cut it and we'll end on me saying, "Homer's back," with some upbeat music.

How about, "Santa Baby"?

No, something public domain.

Like, "Greensleeves" or "Row, Row, Row Your Boat."

Got it. Lunch?

You read my mind. Not really. Obviously, you didn't.

- You know I don't believe in that stuff. - Yeah. I always know.

Oh, my God. I mean, oh, my nothing!

Ned, calm down.

Daddy, if you don't believe in God, Satan will turn our milk sour.

He'll leave us barren.

It's-It's okay, boys. Don't be scared.

I mean, if there's no God, there's no Satan, so...

No one's in charge!

Let's go have a little talk.

Ned, you can't stop believing in God just because of some English guy.

They only seem smarter than us 'cause of the accent and their great baking.

It's not just what happened tonight.

Lately there's been things rattling around in my noodle.

Like what?

Like how could God take two wives from me?

I follow all Ten Commandments.

I even wrote three of my own.

You'd think God would bless someone who tries so hard.

Instead, I got two dead wives and a weird pinky toe.

Jesus wore sandals, but I can't.

Oh, I'm so sorry.

I have to tell you something. Something embarrassing.

Okay.

Every morning I put a Post-it note on the bathroom mirror for Maude.

Well, that's sweet.

Something I always did for Maude.

After she died, I kept doing it, thinking somehow she might see it.

I think she does.

Though I'm not completely sure about ghost rules.

I'd also been texting Edna.

Maude preferred to call or "snail-talk" as the kids would say.

But Edna and I, if we saw something interesting

or had a funny thought, we'd text.

After Edna passed, I kept texting.

It was a habit I just never tried to break.

But last night...

Mmm.

Aw.

"Sorry. Wife's old phone number.

Texting to make sure she got to heaven okay."

Edna?

Oh, it's Nelson.

Haha! Your wife left you for dirt!

In that split second between ha's,

I actually believed that it might have been Edna answering my text.

I felt so stupid. Then this morning...

...I didn't put my Post-it on the mirror.

I knew no one was gonna see it.

Tonight, I asked myself the question I never before dared to ask:

What if this is all there is?

Oh, Ned. Of course that's not all there is.

There's daytime and they're always dipping new things in chocolate.

And you can mix anything with a poodle these days.

Get some rest. Tomorrow you'll feel better.

Poor Ned.

Kids, why don't you play with Rod and Todd today?

- Hard pass. - Sure.

And if you see Mr. Flanders,

just caringly remind him that, you know, God is real

and there's a plan to all this.

But in a fun way.

Lis, can I tell you something?

- Sure. - I'm not feeling Christmas.

- What do you mean? - I don't know.

Usually, when the weather starts to turn cold,

I get a little jolt of excitement in my tummy that says,

"Christmas is coming!"

Ooh. It hasn't happened this year.

When everyone at school was dancing to that Charlie Brown song,

I was faking it.

Lis, what if I'm outgrowing Christmas?

Listen, you don't have to outgrow Christmas.

It just changes. As you get older,

instead of getting stuff, it's more about giving.

How? I don't have any money.

The little drummer boy didn't have money,

so he played his drum for baby Jesus.

I bet that baby hated that.

No, Bart. The drummer boy's gift was the thing he did best.

So do what you do best, but do it for other people.

But what I do best is fill tailpipes with potatoes.

Usually Russet, but I'll go Yukon Gold in a pinch.

We'll figure out the potatoes later.

For now, why don't you come with me to help Rod and Todd have a good Christmas?

Fine. This is gonna be weird.

I know, but I kinda love it.

Hi, Santa. I'm giving you back your french fry house.

Hey, Ralph.

Come in for a second. Sit down.

When I thought I was Santa, it was the greatest feeling.

I knew exactly how to make everyone happy.

I was magical, just because I believed I could be.

I still believe you're Santa.

I appreciate that, but, you know,

you've been working on a four-piece puzzle for a year.

A baby came to my house and fixed it.

I don't believe in myself enough to think I could be Santa to the whole world.

But I believe in me enough to be Santa of Springfield.

Well, most of Springfield.

The people I know.

Do you believe enough to magically make presents?

I believe I can supervise as you make them.

If you're still with me?

I am.

'Cause you can't spell elf...

Oh. You're done. Okay, good, let's get to work.

You didn't say grace.

What if you die before you wake?

Now, kids, if God does exist, well, he's a big boy.

He can handle a little renunciation when a fella needs a break.

Are you guys hoping for any particular toys from Santa?

We don't get toys.

We give toys to the less fortunate.

For Christmas, we get Bible highlighters

and sheet music of our favorite hymns.

I thought you weren't doing that stuff anymore.

Bart's right. We're gonna have a free-wheeling Christmas

where you boys get toys.

I guess we're the unfortunate now.

Yeah, 'cause we don't have a God.

Yay.

That's the Christmas spirit!

We don't wanna be possessed by the Christmas spirit!

Exorcists charge more at Christmas.

I know. You guys should look through the toy catalog.

Whoa.

A noodle for the pool!

I want that.

You don't have a pool.

But that's just the first page. There's more. Look.

A toy wallet?

With toy money and toy receipts.

I want that.

- I want that too. - No, I wanna be the only one who has it.

I rebuke you as my brother!

I'll Cain and Abel you in your sleep!

I'll cut out your heart with the jaw of an ass!

- Wow. - I love it.

Mr. Brown?

- Oh. - I need your help.

Could you and your workers use your magic

to fool Ned Flanders into believing in God again?

Marge, look, there's no shortage of charlatans

willing to use clever tricks to lure Ned back to the church,

but I've-I've spent my entire career exposing those tricks.

And then doing those tricks myself onstage for fame and yachts.

I am sorry, I cannot help you.

Oh, Ned just seems so lost.

Like Guy Fieri without bold flavors.

These charlatans you mentioned, do you have their phone numbers?

I understand how hard this must...

Sleep.

Oh, that sneaky mind-wizard.

You boys built a snowman?

No. That would be a graven image.

How'd that get there?

Oh, it's just one of the neighbor kids.

Well, boys, we're skipping Christmas eve at church,

but we can start a whole new "at home" tradition.

I got pine cones and Googily Eyes. What should we do?

- Secular TV? - Mm-hmm. Mm-hmm.

Sure, I... I guess.

Two Broken Girls!

I wanna watch the show about the air-fryer again.

We can watch 'em both.

Crispy on the outside, juicy on the inside!

The crunch of frying with half the calories.

Clean up is a breeze!

Okay, boys. Time to get ready for bed.

Can I get an at-home henna tattoo kit,

so I can do henna tattoos at home?

Daddy?

It moved.

No, no, it couldn't have.

Satan has come for us!

Because we coveted toys!

- You better watch out! - What is that?

You better not cry!

Who wants to play Bible Bingo?

Why is it so dark?

The Christmas spirit is trying to possess us!

- This is Jesus' worst birthday ever. - What was that?

- Hi, Mom. - Bart!

You told me you needed that headset mic for seminars.

Bart, why'd you scare us?

Just, you know, being the Bartman.

Oh, I get it.

It's not funny, dear.

Okay, good.

Ned, would you and the boys like to have some eggnog at our house

while Bart and I put your house back to normal?

That sounds lovely, Marge.

- Thank you. - Yay.

Bart, why did you do this?

I did it for you.

- For me? - It was a gift.

You were sad that Derren Brown wouldn't punk Flanders

into believing in God again,

so I tried to do it.

Why'd you make it so scary?

It's not that scary.

Are we on a five?

'Cause I could really use a Go-Gurt.

Yes, yes, fine. But not the berry.

Okay, it was a little scary.

But how was that supposed to make him believe in God again?

By making him terrified of Satan.

It's not the same thing.

Ah, tomato, tomato.

Bart. Oh, you heard me.

You got everything wrong, but you listened.

It's the best present ever.

Well, you're welcome. I'm glad you... Ooh.

What?

Christmas is coming!

Yes, it is. Let's get some eggnog.

Hello?

This better not count as screen time.

Okay, we'll start with the biggest chimney in town: Rainier Wolfcastle.

Aw. His gift is on the bottom.

Ah, just grab something off the top.

He'll love this Popsicle-stick-framed picture of Agnes Skinner.

Everything's easy when you don't try.

Put that on my tombstone, kid.

Huh? Huh?

Good idea, Ralph. Start the car.

- Freeze! - Ralph?

Hi. This is your lucky day.

Picture with Santa! No waiting.

Write your names on this naughty list.

Haunting aside, how are you doing, Ned?

Well, okay, I guess.

Christmas loses a lot of its magic when you stop believing in God.

Lisa, when you became a Buddhist, didn't ya miss the miracles?

Buddhists believe in miracles.

Let me tell you a story that was told by the Buddha himself.

Suppose there existed an ocean the size of this world.

On its surface floated an ox yoke.

A yolk? Like an egg yolk?

No! The thing they use to attach a plow to an ox.

I was imagining an ox laying an egg.

Well, don't.

And at the bottom of this vast ocean, there lived a blind sea turtle

who surfaced once every hundred years to take a breath.

How miraculous would it be if that turtle were to take its breath

by raising its head through the middle of that yoke?

This is how miraculous it is that you were even born.

That's beautiful.

This life is a precious opportunity.

Buddhists don't concern themselves with the afterlife,

because there is no existence

except for that which is happening right now.

Aw.

- Mom! - I'm sorry.

I like an afterlife in my religion.

Don't yuck my spiritual yum!

It just doesn't sound as good as the mansion in the sky

that Ned and I are going to get.

Well, I'm going to get.

Sorry, Ned.

- Oh. - Hmm.

Santa needs cocoa!

We gave you cocoa.

Santa needs marshmallows!

Stop, or we'll Mace you.

Santa is immune to--

Ow!

Aw. Now I'm out of Mace.

Did you check your stocking?

You didn't.

Arrested on Christmas eve.

Deserted by my elf.

Wasted my one phone call

calling the radio station to request "Jingle Bell Rock."

It wasn't as rockin' as I remember.

And tomorrow...

...on Christmas morning,

when Bart and Lisa and Maggie

run into our bedroom at the crack of dawn...

...I won't be there to tell them to shut up!

Little monsters.

Give us another hour.

Psst. Hi, Chris Pringle!

Ralph! [sniffles] You came back.

Wow. Your head is all soft spot.

The jinglies from Daddy's belt.

The sleigh is parked outside.

Ralph, new plan.

I'm gonna be Santa, but just for my family.

And you're going to be a helpful elf, but just for your family.

So everything is back to the way it was before we were magic?

Yeah, I'm sorry.

I'm different.

You are different, but you're cute. So that's gonna help.

No, I'm different 'cause the time I "spended" with you.

Aw. I'm different, too.

My hat smells make me hungry.

Okay, new new plan.

We stop by Krusty Burger on the way home.

Hey, Ned.

Heads up! Oh, I missed you.

Ah. Someone must be looking out for you. Glu-hoyvin.

I'm not so sure about that.

I'm having a crisis of faith.

Oh, well, I'm sorry.

Anyway, good night.

You know, I am about to take my...

my super sub for a quick dive, with the pinging and the ear-popping

and the wondrous "Oh, we're floating in the world of water!"

Would you care to join me?

I think it might be good for you.

Hmm. Why not?

It almost looks like outer space.

Well, we actually know more about space than we know about the deep sea.

We know even less about why you can't tickle yourself.

It's actually not funny.

Ah. How do you deal with the emptiness that comes with knowing there is no God?

Well, sir, I know no such thing.

A scientist must always keep an open mind.

Or at least one that is just a little bit ajar.

For example, everything science knew

told us that nothing could survive at this depth.

But there are creatures that thrive here.

They're very weird creatures.

So, do you believe in God?

I think that God is revealed in the orderly harmony of nature. Yes.

I don't think of him as a giant fellow with the floods

and the harps and the voice of Morgan Freeman,

or occasionally that other guy from The Thing.

Yeah. I just wish he would, uh, talk to me.

Could that kind of God exist?

I have learned anything is possible.

Look at the Giant Siphonophore.

It acts like a single creature,

but it is actually a 100-foot conga line of individual organisms.

Unbelievable.

It's an honor to meet all of you.

Oh, it is a rare privilege.

You know more people have been to the moon

than here in the hadal zone?

Wow. That is something. Do you think fish know when...

Wait, did you say the moon?

Yes, we're at a very experimental depth right now.

Experimental?

Oh, yes. This is my first time.

- I am finding it quite pleasant. - What the ****?

Okay. I guess you say that now.

- Bring us up. Bring us up. - All right. Okay.

Don't want any more f-torpedoes.

- What was that? - The sub is not exactly loving

all of the pressure which is trying to...

...uh, crush us.

What should we do?

Um. Pray?

Then quickly head to the surface. Yeah.

What happened?

We're above the crush zone.

We're no longer in danger of imploding.

We'll be at the surface in a few minutes.

Though, with the damage we took, there is of course still a danger of ex--

Professor Frink? Professor Frink?

Oh, thank... thank... ...We made it. Oh.

Oh, my boat is right there. We can paddle to it.

What the heck are you floating on?

Part of your... Part of your submarine.

There was no wood on my sub.

That almost looks like a... What is that?

It's a plow yoke.

That's exactly what it is.

It's a miracle.

It's a "ding-dang-diddly-dong" miracle!

Wow. You are quite the potty-mouth now that there's no God watching you.

No, don't you see? He is watching.

- I know that now. I believe again. - Congratulations. Wonderful.

But we should get to the boat. Can't be in the water for too long.

We're gonna be fine.

I have faith.

Ned, are you okay?

I'm more than okay. Look what saved me.

It's a miracle. I'm a miracle.

You're a miracle. Everything's a miracle.

He's been like this the-the whole ride back.

You believe again?

I sure do.

- Daddy! - Daddy!

So you let Jesus back into your heart?

I sure did. I'm not going to hell, which exists again.

- Yay! - Yay!

I wanna give my toys to the less fortunate.

Well, I'm not sure the less fortunate want a toy hairbrush, but we'll see.

Hello.

- Derren Brown? - What?

British guy from earlier?

Wait, did you...

I may have manipulated Ned's reality this evening.

- How? - He was never in a submarine tonight.

He was in a floating, break-away set.

Most of my crew are scuba-diving puppeteers.

We even brought in Patti LaBelle to set the mood.

And, of course, Professor Frink was in on it.

Yes, I do the occasional fake submarine voyage

just to keep my SAG card active.

What changed your mind about helping Ned?

Look, while I have issues with religion,

I do understand the need to find meaning in life.

And I wanted to show Ned the magic of this human existence.

I wasn't trying to make him believe anything supernatural.

The yoke makes it seem a little supernatural.

The yoke?

Didn't you put a wooden yoke in the water?

- He wasn't there for that story. - I don't know what you mean.

- Shall I ask my crew? - No, don't ask. Let's just believe.

Anyway, merry Christmas, Simpsons.

Speaking of which, because you're on the nice list,

here's a little something for you.

Oh, thank you, Homer.

What? The blue bow tie from my ventriloquist's dummy, Chaucer.

This has been missing for so long.

You're a ventriloquist?

I was. And I... I realize this is hard to believe

but before I got into magic, I was a nerd.

- No! - No!

No!

How could you have known? Unless, you're actually...

Merry Christmas, Santa.

I thought the hair-bow was for Maggie.

I mixed up the boxes.

Oh, it's fine.

Maggie's gonna love this Applebee's gift card.

Shh.