You brought a bag of, uh...
What is it?
Okay, well, last Christmas Eve,
I put out a plate of Cheese Nips for Santa, right?
And the next morning, this what all that was left.
Behold, the magic of Santa!
Excuse me, Carl,
but, um, how do you know
your parents didn't eat the Cheese Nips?
My parents are on a high-fiber, low-Cheese-Nip diet.
Miss Fowl, can we have some clarity on this very nebulous
and highly speculative issue of Santa Claus?
Jimmy, stop being such a Mr. Science-head
and learn to enjoy Christmas.
Maybe I can teach you how using the magic of song.
Huh?
That was fun!
Now, let's do a hot salsa number about Arbor Day.
Excuse me, but you people still haven't answered my question.
Carl, how can a man with 50-inch waistline
fit down a standard 20-inch chimney?
Well, uh...
How could Santa have survived for over 500 years
in an environment of minus 20 degrees Celsius?
Um, uh...
I submit to you that there's only one explanation:
there is, in fact...
no Santa Claus!
N-n-no Santa?
Jimmy, what is your problem?
Nice going, Scrooge-tron.
Don't tell me you all believe in Santa?
That's not the point.
You didn't have to hurt Carl's feelings.
Well, I-I didn't mean to.
I'm just looking for some straight answers here.
I guess I'll just have to look somewhere else.
Why, of course there's a Santa, Jimbo.
He's a jolly old man with a white beard and a lazy eye,
and every year he removes asbestos from the attics
of all the good little boys and girls.
( giggling ): Oh, Hugh, you're thinking of Mr. Hingis,
the housing inspector.
You're right.
Jimmy, darling,
Santa's not something you can prove with science.
He does exist because he's real in our hearts.
Whoa!
And he has pixie dust, and he can fly.
Thanks for coming over, guys.
Say, Jimmy, you're not going to stomp
on Carl's dreams again, are you?
Oh, that's okay, Sheen.
Now that I've had some fudge,
I feel much better.
You look better.
I'm sorry I hurt your feelings, Carl.
I just didn't want you to be disappointed
by impossible wishes like, well, like I was.
What do you mean?
Well, two years ago
I wrote Santa asking for a core sample
from Dwarf Star NG738.
I wanted it more than anything ever.
When I opened my presents on Christmas morning...
no dwarf star.
That was the saddest day of my life.
Sheen, what's so funny?
Isn't it obvious, Jimmy?
You were just naughty that year!
What are you talking about?
Didn't you almost destroy the Earth?
That's not the point.
Jimmy was naughty! Jimmy was naughty!
Ugh!
I didn't want to do this, but you've placed me
in a scientifically untenable position.
Vox, initiate reindeer scenario 8.20-B.
This animatronic model exactly parallels
the aerodynamic potential of the average reindeer.
Observe.
Unable to fulfill the requirements
of Bernoulli's Principle,
it quickly plummets to the Earth—
as would Santa.
But-but Santa's reindeer are magic.
Yeah, he feeds them special kibble
laced with jet fuel.
Look, guys, I've run the numbers.
There is no Santa.
Well, if it's written on the blackboard,
I guess it must be true.
I'm sorry, Carl.
Oh, that's okay, Jimmy.
At least now I won't be hurt like you were.
Ow!
Sorry, Jimmy, I-I sat on your scanner thingy.
I've never seen a pattern like that.
Carl, what's in your back pocket?
Oh, just my bag of Cheese Nips.
Ha!
There's your hard physical proof.
That snack is crawling with Santa's mojo.
Snacks don't have DNA—
although the saliva on them might.
Santa's saliva, yay!
Hold on, hold on— we can't prove that
short of traveling to the North Pole
and scanning for the same pattern,
and we're certainly not...
To the North Pole!
Yay! We're going to see Santa!
Shotgun!
Ugh, I have to work on my communication skills.
I love opening presents early.
I love rewrapping them
and pretending to surprised on Christmas morning.
Oh, hey, what's that?
Looks like another
boneheaded Neutron experiment.
He's bound to do something to embarrass himself.
Hey, let's get it on tape
and get back at him for making Carl cry.
Hmm...
nothing particularly humiliating in here.
What's this thing?
Hey, hey, guys,
what's my hypercube doing on the ground?
You have to be careful.
Infinite space condensed into a finite area
is highly unstable.
Relax.
What could happen?
Well, that's everything.
Climb aboard, boys.
Next stop: the North Pole!
Santa?
Oh, San-ta?
Ah, save your breath, Carl.
There's no life anywhere near here.
No? Then how do you explain this sign?
The pattern's back— and it's stronger than ever!
Come on!
If I have to float here for all of eternity,
I'm going to be really ticked!
There's one chance:
maybe I can shake us loose by blasting
my "Headbangers Christmas" CD.
That's just crazy enough to work!
"The North Pole?"
Am I dressed for it?
No.
Santa's house.
Not necessarily.
It could be a cleverly disguised army outpost.
Made of candy?
Words and bladder control almost fail me!
Sid, this is Lou.
We need a crate of doll heads over on dock 11.
Stat!
Um, excuse me.
We're here to see Santa.
Santa? It's Christmas Eve— he's gearing up for the big run.
So, no Santa...
I thought so!
Guys, this entire set-up is a complete sham.
But-but, Jimmy, what about the factory?
Ha! It's just a gussied up warehouse, Carl.
Parents order gifts here,
then use them as positive reinforcement
for naughty or nice behavior.
How do you explain the elves?
We prefer the term "diminutive helpers."
Short guys with an ear condition.
Now if I could just hone in
on the source of this energy signal.
Ahh!
Ho! Ho!
Ow!
What's that?
His atoms are scrambled?
Production is halted?
Well, I hope you're happy, kid.
Your stupid scanner thing broke Santa.
Broke Santa?
Oh, no!
Fellows, there is no Santa.
More likely, we've blown the lid off their operation
and now they're jumping ship.
Don't try to weasel out this.
Now we've got no one to deliver the toys.
Christmas is canceled,
and it's all your fault!
Got it!
Where'd you come from?
Your infinite space cube thingy.
So, it wasn't enough for you to spoil Carl's Christmas,
you had to go and mess it up for everyone else!
Did you get that, Libs?
Yup— very spontaneous.
Thank you.
Look, everything's under control.
Yeah, right— luckily, I've got a five-point plan.
Go in close on my five-point plan.
Point one:
announce Jimmy's screw-up to the entire world.
Point two: concoct a plan to save Christmas.
Point three: uh...
Say goodnight, ladies.
Neutron!
Sorry. Had to be done.
And as for the Christmas presents,
I'll deliver every one.
Ha! Who do you think you are, Santa himself?
No, that's the point.
I'm just a regular kid,
and if a kid can deliver everybody's Christmas presents
using science,
you'll all be forced to face
the awesome, incredible truth:
there is no Santa Claus!
Okay, but the Easter Bunny's real, right?
I love the smell of spray-on snow on Christmas Eve.
Hugh, Hugh, turn on the TV!
The big story this morning:
Christmas has been canceled.
Oh, no, that's the worse thing that could ever happen.
All because of this boy, Jimmy Neutron.
Except for that.
This dramatic footage, taken inside Santa's workshop,
captures the tragic moment.
Ho! Ho!
Ow!
Local videographers
Cindy Vortex and Libby Fullfax had this comment.
It's important to remember
point one of my five-point plan:
"It's all Jimmy's fault."
Poor Jimmy.
He'll be hated and reviled by everyone.
Well, maybe if folks had something else to celebrate.
Hugh, you can't just invent a new holiday.
Or can I...
That's it!
Everybody likes pie, right?
If we could combine pie and Yule, we'd have, uh...
Pule?
That's it— "Pule"!
Dimple dumpling, you're a genius!
You still here?
I'm just about to test out my Christmas equipment upgrade.
Sheen, begin test of jingle-bell powered sonic propulsion unit.
I've adapted my fuel cells
so they're powered by sonic vibrations.
The faster I jingle, the more powerful our back thrust.
And I used a Christmas light
to install a guided navigational beacon
on my dog's nose.
Wow, Goddard, you'll go down in his-tor-y.
Hey, Carl.
Finished loading the presents?
One billion, 999 million, 999 thousand...
Call it an even two billion!
All right, then, let's head out.
You'll never do it— you only got 12 hours
to deliver presents to every kid on Earth.
No problem.
I've calculated everything down to the last nanosecond.
Goddard, navigational system to power.
Jingle bells to speed.
Ready to move out.
Got to blast!
All systems are go for toy delivery.
First stop: Norway.
Lock onto our first house, Goddard.
And you really think this is a good idea?
Of course it is.
I'm "Croppy, the Pule Duck."
Every Pule Eve I bring the gift of pie to children everywhere.
Yes, it's all here.
Good children get apple or cherry,
and the naughty kids get mince.
Oh, Sweetie, do you really think this will help Jimmy?
Sure— once folks get in that Pule spirit,
they'll forget all about Jimbo.
It's like the song says:
Oh, honey.
This will be the best Pule ever.
Coming up on first target.
Sven Svensen, age four.
Suction-cup Finger Ultralord.
Got it.
Wait, that's a rare collectible.
You can't just give it to some kid.
Sheen, don't— no!
Wait, it's Christmas.
No!
Sheen, get a grip.
We only have 11 hours and 57 minutes left.
Good luck, honey.
Quack, quack, quack.
Merry Pule to all.
Who would have ever dreamed
that people wouldn't want pie
stuffed down their stocking?
Sweetheart, maybe we could try again in the morning.
No, no, no— Pule's a failure.
I guess there'll be no holiday cheer this year.
There's always Presidents' Day.
Mm-hmm, that's the spirit, Sugarbooger.
Everything will be all right on Presidents' Day...
Oh, honey, there, there.
Enjoy your inane blinking contraption, Japanese kid.
My calculations were perfect;
we're finishing up right on schedule.
Good job, Sheen. Nice work, Carl.
Carl? Carl, what's wrong?
Oh, nothing.
I think it's great
that you've delivered all the presents...
and now everyone will realize
that there really... is no such thing as Santa!
Don't cry, Carl.
You're going to be
one of the most famous-ous kids in Retroville.
Retroville?
Holy Heisenberg!
The sun's almost up, and we haven't done Retroville.
There's just one chance...
With a light-speed boost from this warp module
we might make it.
Hang on, everyone.
Can't... maintain... control.
Going... too... fast.
Okay, this is quickly becoming
a really lousy Christmas.
I don't understand—
I had this delivery thing calculated
down to the last decimal point.
Whee-he-he-hee!
What are you so happy about?
Don't you get it?
Jimmy couldn't deliver all the presents, right?
That means only Santa can, right?
And that means Santa's real.
You're right, Carl.
That thought could fill us with the joy of Christmas
as we burn up through the atmosphere.
Ho! Ho! Ho!
Santa!
Holly-jolly tractorbeam— activate.
Santa Claus?
It's true— you are real!
Yep, got my red suit; everything.
So you're Jimmy Neutron.
You've been on my naughty list for some time.
Told you.
Uh, sorry about the whole scrambling your atoms thing.
You're sorry?
I still got protons where my ions should be.
But you boys did a great job tonight.
Can we still bring Christmas to Retroville?
Ho! Ho! Ho! Ho!
No, I'm afraid I've used up
all my reserve energy rescuing you boys.
But you're Santa— you could do anything!
All right! All right!
I bet the Tooth Fairy doesn't have to put up with this.
Just give me a second to think.
Think. Think!
Brain blast!
Jimmy, do you still have your warp module?
I think Goddard has a spare.
Maybe my magic sleigh can take light speed
better than your rocket.
Slap it on this dashboard
and let's see what this baby can do.
Initiate light speed... now.
Ho! Ho! Ho-ho-hooo...
Santa, you did it!
That was amazing.
Ah, that was easy.
I just realigned the quantum overthrax...
To compensate for the hyper-spacial inversion!
Bingo!
Well, Jimmy, maybe I'll see you next year.
Stay away from fried foods,
and have a very merry Christmas.
Ho! Ho! Ho!
Got to blast.
What a cool guy.
Too bad he didn't have enough time
to deliver presents to our house.
Or did he?
My dwarf star.
"Sorry it took so long—
"I had to let it cool for five years.
Love, Santa."
Of course!
I should have realized.
Good morning, Jimmy.
Merry Pule.
Funny, it doesn't look like Pule.
It looks... just... like...
Why...
Why, it looks just like Christmas!
I got peace on Earth.
And a robo-themed orbiting deck
with carnage-inducing plasma cannon.
Cool!
"Thanks for believing in me.
Santa."
Yay!
I've been made an honorary elf.
Elfie, elfie, elfie.
A lump of coal?
Do me a favor—
the next time I suggest we humiliate somebody,
don't listen!
Ooh! A 123-piece hexsagonal carbon-alloy ratchet set.
It's a goose.
Hey, looks like I got a new hobby.
It's all thanks to Santa.
Sweetie, we thought you didn't believe in Santa.
Recent empirical data strongly favors his existence.
Mom, Dad, there is a Santa Claus.
This is so much better than Pule.
And I've got the perfect decoration
for the top of our tree.
Goddard?
Captioning sponsored by THE U.S. DEPARTMENT OF EDUCATION
and NICKELODEON
Captioned by Media Access Group at WGBH access.wgbh.org
Hi, I'm Paul.
Got to blast!