The Grinch hated Christmas!
The whole Christmas season!
Now, please don't ask why. No one quite knows the reason.
It could be that his head wasn't screwed on quite right.
It could be, perhaps, that his shoes were to tight.
But I think that the most likely reason of all
May have been that his heart was two sizes too small.
Whatever the reason,
His heart or his shoes,
He stood there on Christmas Eve, hating the Whos,
Staring down from his cave with a sour, Grinchy frown
At the warm lighted windows below in their town.
For he knew every Who down in Who-ville beneath
Was busy now, hanging a mistleoe wreath.
"And they're hanging their stockings!" he snarled with a sneer.
"Tomorrow is Christmas! It's practically here!"
Then he growled, with his grinch fingers nervously drumming,
"I MUST find a way to keep Christmas from coming!"
For, tomorrow, he knew...
...All the Who girls and boys
Would wake up bright and early. They'd rush for their toys!
And then! Oh, the noise! Oh, the noise! Noise! Noise! Noise!
That's one thing he hated! The NOISE! NOISE! NOISE! NOISE!
Mr. Grinch may eventually have learned to love Christmas, once he'd stolen all the toys and decorations and realized that the residents of Who-ville still felt inspired to celebrate Christmas, but I'd gladly take the Grinch up on a challenge: take the alcohol away from my ass-hat neighbors, and next year if they still feel the spirit of season enough to sing, bellow, and shout obscenities back at the unknown neighbor who called the cops on them (not me, but I certainly appreciate whoever did), then I'll gladly paint my face green, have them all over for supper, and I--yes, I myself--will carve up the roast beast.
You're a mean one, Mr. Grinch.
You really are a heel.
You're as cuddly as a cactus,
You're as charming as an eel.
Cuddly and charming maybe you're not, Mr. Grinch, but in a way, I do admire you.