(Full Choir singing Winter Wonderland; Charlie pulls up in Humvee and mows them down with .45)
Charlie: Hi folks, welcome to Charlie Bronson's Magical Christmas. I'm Charles Bronson, and any punk who says otherwise better know what's coming to him. Now I'd like to start with a song, White Chrsitmas
(launches into a horribly off-key version of White Christmas)
Charlie: Well folks, it's frigging cold out here, if you don't mind I'll step inside for a nice cup of coco.
(walks into ornately decorated house. Wife and children sit by the fire holding presents)
Wife and Kids: Hey daddie!
Charlie: Who the Hell are you?
Director (off camera whisper): They're your 'family'.
Charlie: Oh yeah, right....what are they doing in my friggin' house?
Wife (to camera): We're here to share the holidays with you (music starts for "Silver Bells) Silver bells...silver be..
Charlie (slapping "wife"): Cut that out, I do the singing around here.....okay, what have we got here? Boxs covered in paper?
Son: They're presents, daddy!
Charlie: I know what they are, kid (slaps kid; he runs off crying) Damn sissie.
Daughter: Open my present first, daddy!
Charlie: Okay (starts to unwrap; stops) Wait a second, are you working for the Mob?
Daughter (perplexed): No, daddie....
Charlie (grabbing girl's arm): You're lying to me! Tell me the friggin' truth (pulls out .45)
Director (running onstage): No, Charlie! Don't!
Charlie: Wise guy, huh? How can I know you're not in on it...
(hastily fade to commercial....return to show Charlie alone, no signs of "family")
Charlie (struggling with wrapping paper):Oh, hello again folks (throws down package) My family had to go caroling, and I taught that wiseass director a lesson (show director tied to chair with duc tape on mouth) You won't be mouthing off to me anymore will ya? (director nods fursiously)
(Doorbell rings)
Charlie: What the hell?...That must be my first guest (turns back to director) i'll deal with you later, punk.
(Charlie walks towards door, then stops and picks up package that he was struggling with)
Charlie: No-good punk (shoots package, then walks to the door and opens it)
David Bowie(outfit same as in Bing Crosby's Christmas Special): Hello, I'm terribly sorry to bother you but I seem to be lost...
Charlie: Yeah, you do, freak. Where do you get off, knocking on people's doors on Christmas Eve?
David (taken aback): Well Charlie, I....
Charlie (grabs Bowie's collar and draws his gun): How'd you know my name, punk?
David: It is your Christmas special, isn't it? Oh dear, do i have the wrong house again.
Charlie (relaxes): No, no, you got the right special. That fruity guy over there is supposed to be directing it instead of sitting on his ass.
David: May I come in?
Charlie: Sure, the little girl's room is the first door on the right....
David: No, Charlie, i came to duet with you.
Charlie: Oh yeah, right. Look wierdo, either use the can or get out, I ain't doing no queer duet.
David: But it's in my contract.....
Charlie: It's in MY contract to blow perps like you away on the screen, but you don't see me doing it in real life....
David: But..."White Christmas", Charlie....
Charlie: I'm giving you til the count of 3 (pulls out gun)
David (inching towards door): Okay, calm down. i'm going now...
Charlie: Too late, freak (shoots Bowie; he is seen falling through window and heard crashing on the porch) No-good punk. What's the next fruity thing I gotta do? Jeez (opens bottle of Scotch)
(Fade to commercial; cue back to Charlie, now thorughly drunk. he is sitting on sofa next to tied-up director)
Charlie: And then I did "Telefon", where I played a Russkie. You like Russkies?
Director (unsure about appropriate reaction, nods no)
Charlie (incensed): What's wrong with Russkies?
Director (panics, looking around for help)
Charlie: They got just as much right to be killed as any other lousy punks (loud belch) You're lucky I'm in a good mood, dirtbag
(Doorbell rings)
Charlie: that better not be another fruity friend of yours....(gets up to open door; pulls it back to reveal Lee Marvin)
Lee (very drunk): How are ya, (belch) Charlie?
Charlie: Lee! I thought you were dead.
Lee: No, just in retirement. Damn Chuck Norris (belch) wanted creative (louder belch) control of (earthshattering belch) Delta Force movies, so I faked my own death to screw the fruitty dirtbag.
Charlie: Come in, you're the first non-dirtbag I've had on the show (Lee sits on couch next to director; Charlie takes a seat opposite) Lee, you feel like singing?
Lee: Not (belch) really...
Charlie: Well, the dirtbag over there says the networks paid for me to sing a duet, and I just blew away the fruit who wanted to sing with me...
Lee: Probably wanted to (belch) feel you up...
Charlie: Don't interrupt me again...anyways, I gotta do a fruity duet, wanna help me?
Lee: Sure (belch) thing, Char(belch)lie.
(Charlie and Lee lauch into White Christmas. Charlie sounds off-key, while Lee belches lyrics like a fog-horn)
Charlie: Damn, Lee, good song....what's that outside? (sound of choir singing "Silver Bells")
Second-unit director (whispers): Those are carolers!
Lee: Carolers my (belch) ass. Sounds more like (belch) Nazis.
Charlie: Seems like they never got over "The Dirty Dozen".
Lee (pulling AK 47 from coat): Let's get those bastards! (belch)
Charlie (breaking open gun closet; pulls out Tommy Gun): I thought I taught those punks a lesson when I pulled up!
(Both Charlie and Lee rush to the door. Cut to carolers peacefully singing outside. lee and Charlie burst into the porch)
Charlie: This one's for Jim Brown, you dirtbags!
(Both open fire on the carolers, who try to flee. Credits roll as Lee and Charlie continue shooting)
Announcer (sounding happy despite what's onscreen): Charles Bronson's Christmas was brought to you by Springfield Rifle Company, The Veterans of Foreign Wars, and the NRA.
Lee: Quiet, Dirtbag! (fires up into sky; sound of announcer being shot and falling from booth over stage)
(Fade out as Charlie kicks body of Bowie off porch)
:violent2:
