Joyce: I think we're just about ready for pie.
Xander: And then I'll be pretty much ready for barf.
Buffy: Xander!
Dawn: Gross.
Xander: You know, barf from the eating. 'Cause all was good and too much goodness.
Joyce: I'm taking it as a compliment.
Giles: Yes, everything was delicious.
Anya: Yes. I'm going to barf, too.
Joyce: Everyone's so sweet.
Xander: How you doin' there, Will? Are you in the vomit club, too?
Willow: [groans] I had too much nog.
Tara: Oh, baby. Want me to rub your tummy? She likes it when I... uh, s-stop explaining things.
Dawn: My nog tastes funny. I think I got one with rum in it.
Willow: That's... bad.
Xander: Yeah! Now Santa's gonna pass you right by! Naughty boozehound.
Willow: Santa always passes me by. Something puts him off. Could be the big honkin' menorah.
...
Anya: I mean, it's a myth that it's a myth. There is a Santa Claus.
Xander: The advantage of having a thousand-year-old girlfriend. Inside scoop.
Tara: There's a Santa Claus?
Anya: Mm-hmm. Been around since, like, the 1500s. But he wasn't always called Santa. But with, you know, Christmas night, flying reindeer, coming down the chimney -- all true.
Dawn: All true?
Anya: Well, he doesn't traditionally bring presents so much as, you know, disembowel children. But otherwise...
Tara: The reindeer part was nice.

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