A Pre-amble: Um... Merry Christmas? This is a tale that TOTALLY happened and if you tell me I'm wrong I'll totally... Do... Nothing about it.
(Oh and this is the first time I've specifically changed the model of my scripts, using a bastardised version of Kieron Gillen's scripting style shown HERE. Let me know whether this is better or worse (or even close to the model followed!) in the comments!)
Page 1 - X Panels
We open in a dimly lit bedroom, containing a king-sized mattress in a corner (with a television propped at the end of it), a sound system in another and a bedside table with a laptop atop it against one of the walls. Seated in front of it is Max Barnard, our portly protagonist, with his glasses crooked and his hands tugging at his hair in frustration as he fails to type anything on his computer. I'll leave angle and shot placement to your discretion, and will happily provide photo-reference for the elements in the room if needed. Oh and photo-reference of myself, because EVERYONE needs a bit of my face in their lives. ;)
CAPTION: It was the night before Max's script and all through his room
CAPTION: There was nothing of interest but a feeling of DOOM
MAX: OH MY, whatever am I to do?
Perhaps a two-shot for this panel would be best. Next to Max, to his surprise, pops up Santa Claus, clad in his iconic costume, save for one important difference. Instead of the standard BIG BUSHY BEARD normally associated with the man, Santa has the memorable facial hair of Ambrose Burnside.
CAPTION: With a veritable silence, a man had appeared!
SANTA: HO HO HO, LAD!
CAPTION: Why, it was Santa Claus, with a wholly different beard!
Santa Claus is pointing at Max, smiling widely as Max leans away from him, slightly perturbed.
CAPTION: In a booming voice, Santa did say:
SANTA: I hear you're struggling with your Thought Balloons day!
Max is pleading, tears in his eyes and pulling at Santa's jacket.
MAX: Why, Santa, of course, I am but a hack!
Can you help me before I have a panic attack?
Santa punches me in the face, whilst he still smiles madly.
CAPTION: With a swing of his fist, Santa did strike!
SANTA: NO! Frankly your style's a pile of old SH**E!
Santa has disappeared as mysteriously as he appeared, as Max rubs the huge bruise on his face.
CAPTION: So Santa was gone and Max was out of time...
MAX: What the bloody F**K?! That didn't even rhyme!
CAPTION: Merry Christmas, one and all. The end.