A Gingery Christmas — Branded Holiday Short

Jinjae. Sorry, sir. It's just that, well, I'm-- It is. Well, it's Christmas, sir.

Yeah, Humbug. Oh, dear. Sir? What, Jinjae?

Well, since it's Christmas, do you suppose I could have a taste of a cool, gingery Venetian? I so have longed to try one. You're just fallen deaf ears, tin man. Robots don't need ginger ale.

They need oil, and they need gears. Sometimes I wonder if my great-great-grandfather didn't get your wires crossed. Ah, well, this nonsense has made me late. Now I must hasten through this cold and dreary night to the Black Flannel Brewing Company with my new recipe before they close on this blithering holiday.

I want every last one of these bottles packed before tomorrow. And no more talk of this drinking of the profits, boy. Till do you no good. Yes, sir.

Christmas. Aw. Hey, Schmuck. Yeah, you with the hat.

Who calls my name? Puts. You don't recognize your great-uncle Frank? I used to run this soda plant back in the day.

Right after the old man croaked, I must have sold nearly a million cases myself. What do you want with me, spirit? Ah, tall glass of ginger ale, a nice cigar, maybe a couple of dames and a hot steak dinner. Maybe I could help you with that?

Don't be an idiot, kid. Listen, I ain't here on no vacation, OK? I didn't come down here to shoot craps with you. I'm here to maintain my ghost union card.

Ghosts have unions. You bet. Check this out. Ghost union local 138, see?

Yes, it appears to be authentic. What's this got to do with me? I'm in a bit of a rush. Look, I'm here to make sure that my kinfolk are staying abreast to keep it on the good side of things.

You get me? No. See that bucket of bolts in there? My father built that stammer in Doohickey with his own two hands.

He loved that mechanical puppet. He treated him like he was his own son. Used to bring him to baseball games and take him for rides in the countryside. I mean, it was a real cockeyed fairy tale.

Ginger even used to come around to the house for the holidays, every Christmas. He had his own stocking hung up on the chimney with his name on it. And then one day, the old man has a heart attack. Boom, dead.

And Gingy, well, he just stopped working. Seized up like a-- like an old busted bottling machine. What happened? Damned if I know.

Some people say it was a rusty gearbox. Others, broken heart. Weird thing was, nobody could get him working again. I mean, we must have had half a dozen guys come and take a look at him.

Nothing doing. Eventually, we just brought him down to the basement where he sat until-- Till I found him. Till you found him. That's right.

So why don't you show him a little respect, huh? Stop clowning around. Give him a day off once in a while. Maybe you'll feel ginger ale.

Take your blame for me, Spirit. I did not know his fate was so closely tied to mine. Well, now you do. And I get another stamp on my union card.

So thanks, kid. Remember, once a Venetian, always a Venetian. Always a Venetian. Always a Venetian.

Always a Venetian. Oh, my gosh. Did you forget your glasses, sir? You know, Ginger, I've been thinking, why don't you take the rest of the night off?

Tomorrow we can come back and finish off. Oh, sir. This is the most wonderful Christmas ever. One last thing.

Uh-oh. Let's have a drink. Two ounces of black flannel Dutch sauce. One half ounce of lime juice.

Top it off with a Venetian ginger ale. Icy cool, of course. To my most cherished employee and my dear friend. Cheers, Ginger.

My cup runneth over, sir. Cheers. Ooh. Spicy.

God bless us, everyone. Ooh.