Father Christmas is too outraged to listen any more. "You're blaming ME for the ozone hole?" he shouts. "Mother Christmas mended that hole the moment I got home! Look!" He pulls off his hat, pointing to a neatly darned hole. "I don't have a million computers demanding air conditioning! I don't use CFC's to manufacture chips. I run a nice, clean operation and if I need to keep something cool, I just put it outdoors."
"Now, dear," Mother Christmas chides. "I'm not sure everyone under the sleigh when you're flying would agree with that. You nice young people were very kind to help us in this emergency. Why don't you help yourself at the refreshment table backstage?"
Aladdin, still tugging at the wooden camel's trappings, falls flat on his back as the leader of the SGS's leads the charge to the cookies, and stick camels are abandoned all over the stage. Stage hands rush in to readjust the set, and the Master of Ceremonies looks toward the gobbling noises coming from the back of the stage. "Let us continue," he says shakily, as the rest of the cast wonder if there will be any cookies left for them.