Original subtitles

Goldie: Up the chimney! Down the chimney!

Up the chimney! Down the chimney!

Up on the rooftop. Jesus, Candy, slow down.

Never! I'll be named

Successor or die trying!

Santa has to see

I'm not just a powerhouse

of ideas and efficiency.

I'm a jacked-up beast

who can toss a 100-pound bag

of toys over my shoulder, like this!

-(grunts) -(cracks)

(grunting)

Cuthbert Ng: Holiday News Network breaking news.

Live from Easter Island.

Easter is cracking like a motherfucking egg.

Sources inside Easter Enterprises

tell us that Petunia Rabbit,

daughter of the very religious Peter Rabbit,

is out as the company C.E.O. after it was revealed

that she's had thousands of abortions.

Oh shit! There's Petunia now!

Petunia! Petunia!

Do you have any comments

about being fired by your own father?

Oh, yeah, my dad's a fuckin' freak.

I mean, he's a hypocrite hiding behind religion.

Who cares about my personal life?

What about the millions of hard-boiled, pastel-dyed

abortions hidden in kids' yards every Easter?

Just stop following me!

(joyful music playing)

Good news: You're a 75-year-old man

with the body of a 75-year-old lady.

Because of your womanly hips... get it?

Why am I having another physical so soon after Christmas Eve?

The Board is so paranoid.

I'm not gonna keel over before I pick a Successor.

How about me as the next Santa?

I am a doctor, and I deliver

bad news to patients, like presents. Get it?

Of course I get it. It's not subtle at all.

Yep, I could be the next Santa. My one stipulation?

I don't work on Christmas. Get it?

And, oh, sorry, I don't make house calls. Get it?

The hell, man? Why is my own doctor makin' me sick?

Which is actually a good joke. Take notes.

Just toss me some‘zans, and get lost.

(phone chimes)

Fuck! The board just announced your date

for choosing a Successor is moved up to Thanksgiving.

Why the fuck are we always on Thanksgiving's time schedule?

The whole holiday is based on an imperialist lie.

Not to mention, the turkey is always dry.

Everyone, relax. This is my legacy.

I don't want people dissin' my ass when I'm dead.

I'm okay being fondled when I'm dead.

If it makes some necrophiliac happy, go for it.

-Life is for the living. -I thought I figured it out with Candy,

and the whole, like, woman thing,

and then, she just fuckin' blew it with the Board.

I mean, yes, she has ideas,

but can she really be the face of Christmas?

Oh no!

Unrelated, I used to model in my 20s, hmm?

To be clear, I am saying,

I would make a very photogenic Successor,

so keep me in mind. First gay Santa!

Except for Nick the Ninth, that closeted fuck.

(knock on window)

No! Wash the fuckin' windows!

Do you see what's happening here?

-I'm under siege. -Hey!

Get me out of here!

Look at that. You wanna be Santa, too. Don't you, little man?

Adorable, but also, you're stressing me the fuck out.

Literally getting pressure from every direction.

Ah! Ow! Ow! Ooh!

(intense music plays)

Hey! I have a rape whistle!

Ahh, this is my consensual sex whistle.

Fuck, where's my rape one? Rape. Rape, rape, rape...

Fear not sexual assault, Candy Smalls.

It is time to reveal my true identity.

Candy: The tooth fairy? Wait, no, President Nixon?

Oh, just a bunny?

I had some hard-hitting questions for Nixon.

I am not just some bunny.

I happen to be the emissary for Peter Rabbit.

He'd like to interview you at his home for C.E.O.

of Easter Enterprises.

Thanks, but I'm not interested.

Santa Inc. is my home, and, I'll be honest,

a company that denies a woman her bodily autonomy,

even for religious reasons,

is not for me.

Oh, that's the story Petunia spread

to hide the real reason she was fired,

her mental instability.

Peter is heartbroken about what has happened with his little girl.

Oh my god.

This is the interview of a lifetime, Miss Smalls.

Think about it.

Osama Bun Laden.

Candy: Oh my god, Santa would freak if he knew

I went to a job interview,

and he's been weird to me

ever since the State of the Workshop speech.

And Easter? Ham? Barf.

I'm not eating trafe unless it's shrimp cocktail,

or, like, really good sushi...

or, I guess, like, anything from a raw bar.

You should do it! Nothin' makes a man

appreciate you more than seeing how bad

some other fool wants you.

-Play the game. -I already got a game.

-Being a mad-pimp at my job, bitches! -(bell rings)

Jingle Jim (on speaker): Lunch hour over. Back to work.

Only 289 more days until Christmas Eve.

(yawns) I'm taking a nap.

Larson gave us an extra hour for lunch

while the VIPs do their private tasting.

What?! I'm a VIP!

Why didn't you mention this earlier?

Because I have a busy fucking life

that doesn't include keeping your schedule.

I am so tired! It's like I can barely--

(snoring)

Ahh!

The gummy snakes are much more realistic this year, Larson.

I thought I was getting attacked by snakes just now.

Thank you, thank you.

My ladies, they work hard.

Wazzup, dudes?!

Yeah, just found out the candy tasting was today,

which is bonkers, considering I am

-Stocking Stuffer Safety Czar. -You were invited.

Did the email go to your junk folder? The subject line was,

"Do You Want a Bigger Penis?" Get it? Junk folder?

I save my junk folder for Friday night reading.

Last week, I found out my cousin, Gerhardt, has lupus.

Will you just make sure to mention the taffy valve flow,

and the gummy-shaper protocol?

Any lapse can cause a messy spill.

(sarcastically): A messy spill? Oh no. Sounds so important.

Nurse, get us a moist towelette, stat.

-Not a messy spill. -(group laughing)

Ugh! I am out.

And just so you know, the women of the North Pole

make fun of one of your dicks.

Have fun wondering whose it is.

Well, it's not me. I have a beautiful penis.

As I've been told by my wife and my doctor.

Jeremy: If I'm not a millionaire by the time I'm 30,

I am killing myself, and that's a promise.

Hey! Is, uh, Candy around?

I feel kinda shitty about yesterday.

Wanted to take her to lunch.

Ugh, I gotta go.

Some fat guy just barged into my office.

Oh, she's not here,

and I can't tell you why

because I'm not a blabbermouth...

buuut...

this goss is way too hot to keep to myself!

Candy went to interview with Peter Rabbit

to become C.E.O. of Easter Enterprises!

She what?!

(light music playing)

Oh.

-La, la, la. -(laughing)

(grunting)

Welcome to Easter Enterprises!

Embrace the pastel. Inhale the fake grass.

Behold the basket. Enjoy the mango--

Ahh! (grunts)

Don't shoot! That's... my mother.

(whispers): How did you know I was here?

Your assistant told me,

but I am not missing my chance

to snag the Peter Rabbit.

I've been masturbating to his picture for years.

I don't even know what the back of his head looks like.

I wish I could be mad, but I'm just so impressed

you hung to the bottom of a plane for three hours.

Now please stay out of my way while we're here.

(horse whinnies)

Oh, but those teeth, and those legs.

Aye, aye, aye!

Candy Smalls...

Thank you for coming to meet with me.

I am quite an admirer.

I read your op-ed in "The North Atlantic."

It made me feel, and it made me think.

That was exactly what I was going for!

And who is this enchanting beauty?

Your much younger half-sister from your father's third marriage?

Oh, I'm her mom. You're so handsome,

just like I imagined you'd be when I mastur--

mastered the art of... touching myself.

-Jingle Jim: Ahh! -(cat yelps)

How about another round before work?

We can christen a new bottle of poppers.

Fuck yeah. Bust that shit out.

(grunting) Oh god! Shit! Ah.

-Gnarly! -Oh.

Girl, just jerk off and sleep.

Good luck!

(phone ringing)

Good morning, Santa.

I can't come in today. F-- Uh, food poisoning.

Love you.

Dammit. Of all the days for Jim to be sick.

Everyone is turning on me.

First Brent, now Candy.

It feels terrible.

I'm not good at comforting.

You've never even said one nice thing to me.

Easter Island? Easter fuckin' Island of all fuckin' places.

Candy fucking backstabbing asshole.

Your Jolly-ness, I, I am Devin,

intern to Candy, uh, Duchess of Smalls.

Cut that shit out. Can I get some food?

Gettin' low blood sug. It's makin' me cranks-y.

-Oh, ya think? -(clears throat) If I may,

uh, allow me to suggest a meatball submarine, sir?

-Uh, there's a place nearby-- -Yes, I'll drive.

♪ ♪

This place is incredible.

Delivering eggs makes you a lotta money.

Peter, is there somewhere I can, uh...

how do you say this ladylike,

scrub the travel dust off my beaver?

Put a comb through my pubes.

Mom, the man runs Easter!

He doesn't wanna hear about

your filthy fucking genitals!

I apologize, sir.

Bathroom at the top of the stairs, my dear.

Let's get right to it.

Easter Enterprise has always had

a simple ethos, community.

I do the White House Easter Egg Roll,

but my sons deliver the baskets,

all of which are handmade with organic

and sustainable material, of course.

Communally run, and environmentally responsible?

Wow, this is spank bank material for me.

As C.E.O., you'll be number one,

and I don't know what I'll do if you turn me down.

You're the only candidate.

Only me? Well, I'm all ears! Literally.

Well, we both are.

(both laughing)

-Candy: Oh! -Candy, meet my oldest son, my heir, Peter the Third.

P3. He's a bit of a Candy Smalls fanboy,

or more than a bit. He's obsessed.

Don't pay any attention to him, Candy. I'm not a stalker.

I mean, I, I love your work, but I, I, I don't, like,

follow everything that you do. I mean, I-I'm up to date

on some of the thin-- I'm-- I just-- I'm a fan.

No, no, no! Be a stalker if you want.

You're cute. I could do worse. I should be so lucky.

-(P3 chuckles) -Well, that's for sure.

P42 just grew out his man bun.

Son, why don't you give our guest the grand tour?

And I'll show her mom around.

(snoring)

Cookie, I just saw you dozing off.

-Can I do anything to help? -Well, you could give me

what most industrialized nations provide,

health insurance with maternity leave.

It sickens my heart that we don't provide that,

-but what can you do? -Revise the system?

Prioritize empathy and compassion?

Ha! You and me both. Okay, keep going, girls.

Love your work ethic!

(softly): So sexy.

Eww.

-(snoring) -(intense music plays)

(high-pitched whirl)

Devin: We call them subs 'cause the shape

is like a submarine of bread.

I used to love these subs when I was in school,

and they're still good.

So, uh... how's the internship goin'?

Candy is so cool. She's a maverick, ahead of her time--

Candy?! Devin, you know I chose the first Black Successor.

That was a big deal. Everyone was like,

"This is crazy! You can't do this."

And I was like, "No, it's time.

"You know what? It's fuckin' past time.

It was time a long time ago, and now, it's long overdue."

And everyone's like, "He's Black. He can't do it."

And I'm like, "Fuck that! I know that,

even though he's Black... he can do it."

Well, you made history.

Holy shit! I can't believe I'm bolstering

Santa's seemingly fragile ego!

Now, I'm basically back to the drawing board, though.

All I hear all day,

(mockingly): "Who's the new Successor?"

"Please, make me the new Successor." (groans)

Take today off. Chill with me and my frat bros.

-What house you in? -Igma Loo.

Dude, I was Igma Loo!

God bless Igma Loo!

-Everyone else is a pile of poo! -...is a pile of poo!

-Nice! -Yeah, that's why I chose it because you're my hero.

I bought some of your beard hair on the internet.

-Look what I had it made into. -It looks real. Jesus.

Who in my house is doing this?

You know what? You're right. I need a break.

Let's go visit the old house.

If we hurry, we can catch the snowball fight.

Oh, I used to love those.

Shovin' snow down the bros' backs. Wild times.

-Devin: Knock his ass out! -Frat Guy 1: Woo! Yeah!

Frat Guy 2: Turn him into water!

Drink that fucker for breakfast!

-Make him bleed his own blood. -Holy shit, things have changed.

Yo, that fool Devin brought Santa!

Two mutha-fuckin' kings among us!

Frat Guys (chanting): Kings! Kings! Kings!

-(work horn blows) -Ugh, I slept an hour.

The baby went crazy, and ate our guest room.

We were in the ER all night. I feel like shit.

-Yeah, you do look really bad. -Fuck you!

Get your roots done, and then we'll talk.

(gasps): Shit!

-Taffy spill! Evacuate! -(all screaming)

Where is Larson?!

I love your lady brain as much as your body.

I love women.

Cookie, we gotta go!

If Larson is gone, I'm the shift leader!

I need to make sure everyone's out safe!

Even if it means I can't go home for days or months.

(siren wailing)

This is where my brothers and I train every year.

Oh, look! There are 400 of 'em over there.

Hey, guys! P240, P15,

-love what you're doin'! -Candy: Whew...

I can feel the burn in my glutes already.

-(camera clicks) -Oh, that was for my trainer.

She'll be impressed I got a workout in.

P3: A trainer? You're in perfect shape.

Oh, sorry. That was inappropriate.

I mean... what's "perfect" shape anyway?

I-- It's all subjective.

I mean, you're my perfect shape. For me.

I mean, for a girl that I'd be attracted to. I mean--

Oh no, anytime you wanna compliment my body, I consent.

(chuckles) And, you know, I feel,

I feel like being a leader requires

mental and physical strength,

so I push myself... hard.

You know, I'm talking quads,

delts, trips, septets,

hambones, all of‘em. The whole thing.

I envy your career.

I mean, resurrection, it's bullshit, right?

We only have one life to live. We gotta give it all we got.

Candy: What are your dreams?

Uh, to blow up this island,

and boil two-thirds of my family in a stew?

-(laughs) -Not you P83!

You're great!

(both laughing)

My quarters, which brings us to the end of the tour,

-and our time together. -No! I don't want it to end.

Well, maybe it doesn't have to if you can convince

your daughter to take the job.

Wouldn't that be wonderful?

All of us... together.

Oh, if I can't convince Candy on merit,

I'm happy to roofie her. I've done it before.

It's so hot when you joke about

committing crimes against your daughter.

Where does that old saying come from,

"Fuck like rabbits"?

(laughs) I mean, it's never "Fuck like llamas,"

or pigeons, but "fuck like rabbits."

Care to explain that to me?

Let me show you instead.

-(grunting) -(giggling)

Big Candy: I like the size of that carrot.

-(rock music playing) -(Frat Guys cheering)

This is way better than being at work.

(laughs) Come here!

-Yeah! -(Frat Guys cheering)

Ho-ho-ho-ho-ho-ho.

P3: I have to show you something.

You know when I said I wasn't passionate

about anything in my life?

That wasn't true.

Wow, look at all these tapestries.

I, I never thought yarn could give me the chills.

The pathos you get out of this, it's--

Really? Oh my god.

Wow, I'm so happy you like them.

Uh, no one knows about this place,

but you made me brave enough to speak my truth.

Actually, to scream it.

(shouts): I hate the corporate world,

and I love weaving tapestries!

Yes! Oh my god! I feel alive!

-Yes! -(both laughing)

You have beautiful ears.

So perky and big.

-May I touch them? -Sure.

I mean, they're nothing compared to your long, furry ones.

(moans)

(moans)

(sensual music playing)

(moans)

-(phone ringing) -Fuck. It's the office.

Hey, Jer. Everything okay?

Jeremy (on phone, crying): No, I'm at the candy factory.

It's a mess, and everyone in charge of shit is M.I.A.!

Candy: It's because those assholes didn't take the proper safety

measures during that tasting. Is anyone hurt?

Jeremy: One lady worker is stuck.

She looks dead, but she's snoring,

so I think she's sleeping.

Mmm, sweet relief.

Calm down. I'll be back soon.

Aw, I need to leave, but...

I've decided to accept your father's offer.

(Santa groaning)

Thank you for today. For real, I feel so unstressed

for the first time in weeks.

-You really helped me. -Are you kidding me?

You helped me out.

I brought Santa to a party!

I've got serious street cred

for the first time with my bros.

Mmm, I know it looks like I'm just another Igma Loo,

but the bros can be mean,

they make fun of my hair, my clothes, that I'm dyslexic--

Dude, I'm dyslexic as fuck, too.

-You are? -Santa: Yeah!

How did you pull it together?

I mean... look at you. You're Santa.

Well, uh, I became the class clown, and then, I got fat,

which made me even more hilarious.

Fat men are very funny, but fat women are disgusting.

I get it. People laugh so hard when I push my fat gut

around my belly button, and call it a "hair bagel."

Let's maybe change out that shirt.

-I think we're the same size. -Really?

I mean, I'm just eyeballin' it here,

but I feel like you might be a little fatter than me.

Fatter than Santa?

Thank you!

So, Candy's going back,

but then, she's quitting.

(laughs) We did it, son.

Santa Incorporated is going down.

Suck on this, Nick!

We can't do this, Papa.

Shut it! Listen to me.

That piece of jolly shit has destroyed Easter.

Do we have a Black Friday? No!

Are kids worried they won't get a basket of shitty candy

and cheap-ass stuffed animals? No!

Easter used to be the biggest holiday out there.

Then Santa fucked us. But no more!

Once we get all the secrets of Santa Inc. out of Candy,

I will rule the holiday world!

Christmas will be as important as one of those dog-shit Jewish holidays.

And Easter will happen every month of the year.

Fuck the resurrection. Peter Rabbit will be the new Jesus.

Watch out world!

(evil laughter)

But, Papa, this seems too big for--

This was a simple seduce and destroy mission, and now you're backing out?

You'll basically be Jesus' son, which makes you--

Oh, I don't fuckin' know the guy's name, but you'll be huge!

We all will be.

Do you even care about this company?

I am not a company man!

To be honest, I'm more of a crafts... man?

I make tapestries. That's my passion.

(chuckling) Tapestries?

You're a rabbit, not a pussy.

Just shut up with that shit, stick to the plan,

and soon enough, Santa Inc., Santa,

and Candy Smalls will be screwed.

You sick son-of-a-bitch.

That's my daughter!

(grunting)

We need to find Candy. Here, put on my sweatshirt.

Mom, your vagina's out!

Alarming and sexy, my go-to style.

Anyway, we need to scram.

Peter only wants you here to settle a grudge with Santa.

But he loved my article about global warming.

That was just a scam, Candy.

My father's hatred of Santa has turned his heart evil.

We have to go before he calls his guards!

-(intense music plays) -(zombie rabbits growling)

(grunting)

Ah!

-(P3 grunts) -Ah!

Sorry, brother, but it's biblical,

and you suck.

(Candy grunts)

-(fighting) -(P3 grunting)

♪ ♪

(growling)

We don't have much time.

They'll go through those carrots in a minute.

(grunts)

Petunia: Over here!

The only female rabbit without children is here to save the day.

-Wait! -Come on!

I'm sorry. I can't go.

My dad might kill me, yes,

but I have to try and save my home.

There's a resistance forming. We will make Easter good again.

But I love you, Candy Smalls.

I love you, too.

♪ ♪

Petunia: Behind you, brother!

Feral freaks at 6:00!

(growling)

Hop over this, bitch!

♪ ♪

Take care of her, sister!

Precious cargo!

Candy: Thanks for kicking that freak's ass.

I know you've been masturbating to him for years,

so... means a lot.

Of course. Listen...

I know I haven't been the best mom.

I belittle you, forge your checks, steal from your 401k.

Once I sold your kidney on the open market--

Yeah, I know all of this. I get audited every year because of you.

Wow, you were one step ahead of me the whole time?

You are a smarty-pants, like your father.

You remind me so much of him.

Sometimes when I see you, it makes me so sad.

Then I get mad that he's gone,

and I lash out at you.

-And I'm sorry, honey. -Oh.

Your dad was sweet, just like you,

but it did not get him far in his career in the coal mines.

I don't want you to make the same mistake.

See the snakes in the grass, Candy,

then you become a snake yourself.

(tires screeching)

I gotta get to the candy factory.

Petunia, thank you, and good luck to you.

“My body, my choice!”

Amen, woman!

(snoring)

-Boss, wake up. -Oh, will you stop screaming?

We have to get to the candy factory fast.

While I was, uh, out sick,

we had a Chernobyl-level taffy event.

The press is all over it. Wha--

What exactly would you call what you're wearing right now?

Best years of my life, dude.

Stir in the peanut butter, stat!

The oil will loosen up the taffy. Come on, people!

This is Safety Czar 101 shit.

And see? Okay, it's working. Cookie, you're free!

No, wait! Please let me stay.

I've only made a dent in my sleep deprivation.

I'm here with Candy Smalls, Number Two at Santa Inc.

Looks like the spill is safely under control,

but it makes us think:

With the pressures of choosing a Successor,

has Santa started to lose it?

The Successor will be with us for a generation,

and Santa is wise to take his time.

The only newsworthy story here is that Santa Inc.

is running as smoothly ever!

You didn't have to cover for me,

but thank you. I'm glad you did.

It's good to have you back. That is, if you are back.

If I haven't, in fact, lost you to Peter Rabbit.

Oh my god. Peter Rabbit's fucking insane.

I mean, his offer was fucking insane... the offer.

It was just so much. So many benefits, so much freedom.

But, you know, I realized, whether you make me Successor or not,

I would rather be a team player here at Santa Inc.

than running the whole show there.

That's massive... What a character revealer.

Like, I feel like I know you like, like so much more now.

And you know what? I, may-be, perhaps judged

your speech to the Board a little too harshly.

-Welcome home, Candy. -Thanks, Santa. It's good to be back.

I'm coming to you live from the insurrection at Easter Isle.

Warning: You will never look at a rabbit the same way again.

-(fighting) -(laughing)

Happy Easter, muthafucka.

Yolks on you, bitch.

(light music playing)

♪ Na, na, na, na ♪

♪ Na, na, na, na ♪

♪ Na, na, na, na, na, na, na ♪

♪ Na, na, na, na ♪

♪ Na, na, na ♪

♪ ♪

♪ Na, na ♪ ♪ Na, na ♪