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[i_got_vision]

You know what Butch Cassidy is up to this fine afternoon?

Absolutely, gloriously nothing.

Well, the sort of nothing that involves being slouched in a comfortable chair and watching the goings-on around him with a lazy smile over a bottle of Old Taylor. But that's a good kind of nothing.

Feel free to give him something more than nothing to do.

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[guppy_sandhu]

Nearby is Guppy, and his young toddler son. They are currently in debate whilst writing a letter to Father Christmas.

"I'm sorry Fry, you can't have a real live penguin for Christmas. We don't have anywhere to put it." he says to the little boy, who looks somewhat disappointed.

[i_got_vision]

Butch isn't really around kids much, not these days.

Well, his gang sure don't have any, and neither do the girls he knows, and he doesn't know a lot of respectable people with families.

But as the oldest of thirteen, well... you get used to having them around.

"Almost Christmas?" he asks, with a smile.

[guppy_sandhu]

Guppy looks up and grins.

"Yep. Not for another month and a half."

[i_got_vision]

"Oh, that's a long time yet," Butch says. "It's still spring for us, at home. We've got even longer."

His last Christmas, he'd spent on the trail somewhere in Texas. It hadn't been much fun, but then, it's one of those things that's better when you're a kid.

"You're lucky," he says to Fry.