Jules from Pulp Fiction receives some bad news about the Peanuts Christmas Pageant

The truth is you’re the weak. And I’m the tyranny of evil men. But I’m tryin, Ringo. I’m tryin’ real hard to be the shepherd. Yeah, been doing a lot of reading on the history of the profession. Though I don’t have it with me now, I try to carry an authentic oak shepherd’s crook everywhere I go, really getting method. And I spent last summer in New Zealand living amongst a fourth generation shepherd and his family just to try to get the lingo down. So, not to sound arrogant, but I’m feeling pretty good about my chances of landing that prime role in this year’s Christmas Pageant.

*Buzz Buzz*

Sorry Ringo, I gotta take this. Be cool.

Michael baby, give me some good n-

No, no…Don’t go on. I can tell from your voice. Who got the part? Or do I even need to ask… Shermy, yeah, big surprise there. Well, I hope he was as thrilled as I would have been.

Hang on, he said what? “Every Christmas it’s the same: I always end up playing a shepherd”? That cocky motherfucker… Every Christmas Jules is doing the same thing too! Watching the goddamn pageant from the audience while some white boy who got written out of the comic in 1969 tends to his flock!

Now this may sound petty, but I’m just going to put it on the table: I question Charlie Brown’s judgment. Yes, I said it, I’m not sure that he’s fit to direct this pageant. No, I’m not…I’m…I’m not being petty Michael. And I was concerned long before he picked out that sorry ass little tree.

I mean, guy’s got that mouthy broad Lucy in his ear all the time. She’s leadin’ him around on a leash. Makes my man Jimmy’s wife Bonnie look like June Fucking Cleaver.

And then we got what I like to refer to as The Innkeeper Situation. Casting Pig-Pen as the innkeeper? Look, Pig-Pen looks like he sleeps and roots in shit. That’s a filthy kid. I ain’t stay in no inn where the innkeeper ain’t got enough sense to disregard his own feces. And shit, all that dust gonna mess up that bitches naturally curly hair!

Well I am angry Michael! I’m ready to blow! I’m a mushroom cloud layin’ motherfucker, motherfucker! I been snubbed for the shepherd part four years running and I’m starting to wonder if there ain’t ulterior motives behind this casting! I mean, Snoopy’s ears are the blackest thing in this pageant! You seen those kids dance, you know the choreographer ain’t a brother. And pray tell, where the hell is my man Franklin?!

I went to New Zealand, Michael! While Vincent was smoking hash and pontificating about Royales with Cheese, which is a story that, in case you were wondering, does NOT get any more clever the sixth time you hear him tell it, I was up to my ass in shorn Merino wool, trying to pretend I cared while Australia’s rejects explained that they shot something called the “Shelob’s web” scenes right behind that mountain over there!

You know what Michael? There’s this passage I got memorized, sort of fits this occasion: Ezekial 25:Kiss my ass. You’re fired!

God, I’m so stupid…so stupid…

*Waitress enters*

OK, I’ve got a short stack of pancakes for you. And a piping hot shepherd’s pie for…sir? Sir? Sir, why are you sobbing?

I’ll just leave this here…

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