Clark Griswold: [reciting 'Twas the Night Before Christmas.] When what to my wondering eyes should appear, but a miniature sleigh, and...and Eddie with a man in his pajamas and a dog chain tied to his wrist and ankles. What the...?
Clark: Worse? How could things get any worse? Take a look around you, Ellen. We're at the threshold of Hell.
Clark: Where do you think you're going? Nobody's leaving. Nobody's walking out on this fun, old-fashioned family Christmas. No, no. We're all in this together. This is a full-blown, four-alarm holiday emergency here. We're gonna press on, and we're gonna have the hap, hap, happiest Christmas since Bing Crosby tap-danced with Danny fucking Kaye. And when Santa squeezes his fat white ass down that chimney tonight, he's gonna find the jolliest bunch of assholes this side of the nuthouse.
Ellen Griswold: What are you looking at?
Clark Griswold: Oh, the silent majesty of a winter's morn. The clean, cool chill of the holiday air. An asshole, in his bathrobe, emptying a chemical toilet into my sewer.
Mr. Shirley: Don't forget that report, Bill.
Clark Griswold: Yes, sir. Thank you, Merry Christmas. [To the executives with Mr. Shirley as they pass by.] Merry Christmas. Merry Christmas. Merry Christmas. Kiss my ass. Kiss his ass. Kiss your ass. Happy Hanukkah.
Clark: Hey. If any of you are looking for any last-minute gift ideas for me, I have one. I'd like Frank Shirley, my boss, right here tonight. I want him brought from his happy holiday slumber over there on Melody Lane with all the other rich people and I want him brought right here, with a big ribbon on his head, and I want to look him straight in the eye and I want to tell him what a cheap, lying, no-good, rotten, four-flushing, low-life, snake-licking, dirt-eating, inbred, overstuffed, ignorant, blood-sucking, dog-kissing, brainless, dickless, hopeless, heartless, fat-ass, bug-eyed, stiff-legged, spotty-lipped, worm-headed sack of monkey shit he is. Hallelujah. Holy shit. Where's the Tylenol?
Clark Griswold: What are you doing up, sweetheart?
Ruby Sue Johnson: Rocky bit my thumb. Him's nervous because Christmas is almost here.
Clark: Nervous or excited?
Ruby Sue: Shittin' bricks.
Clark: You shouldn't use that word.
Ruby Sue: Sorry. Shittin' rocks.
Clark: Oh, I was just smelling - smiling. I was just blouse - browsing. I, uh, heh heh. Well, I guess it just wouldn't... Oh hee hee, it wouldn't be the Christmas shopping season if the stores were any less hooter than they - HOTTER than they are. Whew. It is warm in here, isn't it?
Mary: You have your coat on.
Clark: Yes, oh do I? Yeah, it is a bit nipply out. I mean nippy. What am I saying, nipple?
Clark: When Santa squeezes his fat white ass down that chimney tonight, he's gonna find the jolliest bunch of assholes this side of the nuthouse.
Answer: They didn't go to a Christmas tree farm. He took them to a huge forest to get one most likely because it would be easier to get one free then to pay for one.
They went to a tree farm. After running off the road and jumping the snowbank the wagon crashes through a sign that says "Trees." Clark then says, "We're here...and we made good time too." The humor is Clark forgoes a normal "farmed" tree for the "wild" monster he takes home.
False. They may have run over the tree farm sign, but they absolutely did not harvest a tree from the tree farm.