I guess we boomers are supposed to have our nostalgia bone tickled by the sight of John Travolta (who may or may not be wearing fake padding under that coat) strutting around town to the Bee Gees while using a particular credit card to buy stuff because we are simultaneously supposed to believe it's Santa Claus AND Santa Claus is generating revenue despite giving away toys and never- according to all the canon we've ever been handed- actually handles money.
(I mean, seriously- what is Santa's credit score, and how did he acquire it? When did Santa buy a car or apply for a mortgage?)
In case the music and strutting didn't do it for us, well, we'll just have Travolta/Santa strut back to 1978 and walk into a disco that is not only inexplicably still operating, but is filled with customers, including a very sad looking Donna Pescow, who looks like she's been told what her paycheck for this appearance is compared to Travolta's- either that, or she's just wearing the same face she's had on since she found out that Angie wasn't going to be renewed for a third season. What's in your wallet, Donna? My guess is, not much.
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