Salem: Ah this beautiful carol takes me back. Mumsy would hum it while she baked gingerbread until she realised that the oven was set too high and then the screaming would start. Oh I love Christmas.
Hilda: Salem, I hate to throw a wet Yule-log on your warm, heart felt Christmas memories but... Zelda and I aren’t getting you an eighteen wheel big rig.
Salem: But it’s all I asked for!
Zelda: Face it, you’re bad with gears.
Salem: Fine, I don’t need your gifts because this year my true-love is sending me the twelve days of Christmas.
Zelda: Who is your true-love?
Salem: Moi! I ordered it from the Other Realm’s online eighty-nine cents store.
Hilda: Oh I love the eighty-nine cents store. Except for that exact change rule.
Salem: It’s a beautiful way for me to tell me I love me.
Hilda: (Reading a note that popped up from the toaster) Oh. Salem, it says here your first twelve days of Christmas present is about to arrive.
Salem: (At seeing the present) Danny Bonaduce! This is the best Partridge in a pear tree I could ask for!
Danny: Happy holidays everyone. Cool, egg-nog. You got any ham?
Salem: Back in the tree Bonaduce!
Danny: I gotta get a better agent.
Zelda: (Handing the phone back to Sabrina) This man says we’re going to Jamaica.
Sabrina: Oh my gosh! Harvey and I are going to have so much fun! And I’m sure there’s old age stuff for you guys to do there too.
Hilda: Sabrina, Zelda won the tickets, she should pick the mortal of her choice. I vote for Antonio Banderas. Oh please!
Zelda: Of course Harvey can come.
Sabrina: Thank you aunt Zelda! You’re the greatest aunt who ever lived. (To Hilda, after hugging Zelda) Don’t worry, second place is nothing to be ashamed of.
Hilda: We’re swamped and we’re short handed. Why do they only loan prisoners out to clean highways?
Zelda: Let’s get some help from the Other Realm. ‘To help us cope with the Christmas rush, send us workers in a hurry. In other words, mush!’
Hilda: You two look like Santa’s elves.
Powell: The uniforms always give us away. I’m Powell, this is Pressburger.
Hilda: (Reading the elves' resumes) It says here, you left Santa’s workshop over creative differences. Please elaborate?
Powell: I don’t wanna slam Santa but... let me put it to you this way. He doesn’t have much of a sense of humor when it comes to ‘fat’ jokes, not even the funny ones.
Pressburger: And that kiss between me and Mrs. Claus. There was mistletoe all over the workshop for crying out loud.
Zelda: (Reading) Tell me about your years at Harvard?
Powell: Complete fabrication.
Hilda: Thank goodness, you’re hired.