The Monopoly Man has hit rock bottom. As if it wasn’t bad enough that he was wheeling and dealing for fictional property, the Robber Barons swooped in at the end of the game, snatched up his property, and repossessed his top hat.

Seeing as his Xmas Fund has not yet matured, Uncle Pennybags has been forced into a new, humiliating job: being a Mall Santa. As if this wasn’t bad enough, he has to put up with rich matrons with joystick shaped hats dragging their cats into the mall and sitting on the poor man’s lap.

Monopoly Man: You’ve got to be kidding me! I’ve been the owner of Park Place! Boardwalk! Marvin Gardens! Now? Now I’m listening to gift requests from a housecat!

Heathcliff: Meow.

Monopoly Man: I hate Mondays.

So what else is there for an ex-pimp to do but lay down the harshest punishment a Mall Santa can level? None. Heathcliff might be a bit pissed off about it, but in all honesty, he knows it doesn’t matter. When those gifts are open and he sees what’s out, the only thing Heathcliff needs to do is bring out the claws, then it’ll all be his?

Monopoly Man? All he’ll have…maybe…is a bottle of Scotch and a bunch of unused “naughty” balloons. They’ll find him dead the next day in the slums of Baltic Avenue with fifteen or sixteen balloons worth of latex lodged in his throat.

End of an era…end of an era.