Yes folks, it is that time of year again! It's the Day after Christmas! And y'all should know by now what that means...
No, the the big Boxing Day Test Match betwixt the Poms and the Crims.
No, not the start of the Sydney To Hobart yacht race.
Yes, that time of the year when the Grinch finally WINS! Don't you just hate it that the ole Grinchie always, without fail, wusses out at the end? I expected better of the Grinch in the Jim Carrey version, buuuuut noooooo. He wussed out in that version too.
But he did get the buxom, rich, long-legged babe in the end (of the movie, not the other end you perverts!), Martha May. So perhaps there's hope for all us hairy, middle-aged, beer-gutted, crusty old farts everywhere --don't swoon ladies, I'm human.
Fortunately, I'm not one of them as I already lucked out with Wifey-Poo!
Butt what the movies nor story don't tell is just what happened the day AFTER Christmas. Being down in Oz means that I'm a day ahead of all my "friends" in North America. So therefore I KNOW what happens the day after Christmas while it's still Christmas.
Not being a very talented writer (butt you already knew that), I have, of course, as usual, quite naturally decided, instinctualtively, to let Wifey-Poo tell (type) you all about what happened the day after Christmas so you won't be shocked tomorrow (yours, not mine as it's already tomorrow hear) upon hereing the news from Mount Crumpit.
Remember gentle readers, do not blame me for this as Wifey-Poo wrote it. Blame her. Bring your own pitchforks and torches as I'm fresh out from the last riot I started.
As always, I paste in the previous preamble from previous years gone by.
Yes, it's that time of year again. The time of year when I post my first post after Christmas! Longtime readers and lurkers and stalkers know just what this means. *insert evil grin here*
For not only does the Grinch FINALLY get to win, but you also get a brief glimpse into the mind of Wifey-Poo. You'll all know why I married her after you read the whole post. BTW, it took her all of about 20 minutes to write the verse from scratch --she is a professional writer, dontcha know *wink*.
Sooooooo, here the post I put up a year ago. And the year before that. And the year before that, too, also.
This poem was written by WP two years ago, I take zero credit for it.
This is told with the absolute greatest respect for Dr. Suess, BTW.
But... just what would've happened HAD the Grinch won?
Here's the original post I put up two years ago today:
Some of you may (or may not) have surmised that I am a BIG fan of the Grinch --ok, if you weren't hanging out with me in Squarebanks during the holidays yonks ago then you wouldn't know this, so TOUGH!
Anyways, every time I've watched the original Grinch cartoon (circa 1963) I've always hoped that maybe, just once, the Grinch would WIN. Now, don't get me wrong, I love the holidays and I love getting folks presents that are quite unexpected... But really now! Can't the Grinch win just ONCE????
DISCLAIMER: when Dr Suess passed away, we held a wake for him in our favorite pub in Squarebanks; so there! I'm not a Grinch (shhh, don't tell my dad, he'll be so embarrassed!)
So, like... what would it be like if the Grinch were to actually win?
The following is best read using Boris Karloff's voice in your head:
Oh, wait a sec: if you want to link or re-post this, then you've really, really, really, got to make sure you tell folks where it came from:
This Is An Alaskan Dave Down Under Original Poem! Please accept no substitutes! Ok, I lie... my wife wrote it... (really!)
Now you can turn on your Boris Karloff voice in your head:
The Night after Christmas
Twas the night after Christmas and Whoville was rocking
With the kind of wild party that brings people flocking.
The noise and the booze, all the singing and dancing ...
The racket and rumpus, the shmoozing and prancing ...
Would drive to the point of starting a riot
Any poor fellow who just fancied quiet.
And you already know who was sane by an inch:
Poised on the brink was the poor old green Grinch.
By nine in the morning even Max was vibrating
With the jackhammer jollity; it’s not overstating
That not even Max could endure so much ‘cheer,’
No matter how snockered one became on Who beer.
And by two in the P.M., oh, Maxie was worried,
For the Grinch looked so manic; the beast who’d been buried
Beneath fudge and tinsel, and the charm of a child
Had clawed back to the surface ... and my, he was wild!
All the popping and bopping, the preening and prancing,
The swinging and zinging, and -- oh, the break-dancing!
Were more than the Grinch could guess how to endure ...
And then, all at once, he envisioned a cure,
For there by the Christmas tree, flat on the floor,
Was one lonely present. A forgotten chainsaw.
And the Grinch had no sooner set eyes on that tool
Then he said to himself, “Grinchie, you’ll been such a fool,
To think you could bear all this ruckus and humbug,
This rumpus and dumpus, this scampus and scumbug,
This noise, noise, noise, noise, that these Whofolk call ‘fun,’
While the stores are all closed and you can’t buy a gun --
There isn’t a fowling piece (nor even a pheasant),
But one of these idiots forgot his best present!”
For under the Christmas tree, left on the floor,
Wrapped up in red ribbons lay a brand new chainsaw:
All shiny and sharpy, all toothy and jagged --
Just begging for gasoline! So, out the Grinch swaggered
With a light, empty gascan and a bag full of quarters,
To the gas station downtown, with a brain full of slaughters ...
There wouldn’t be any Who left to make noise!
They’d be peacefully absent, the Who girls and boys.
The Who-guys and ladies would be quiet as the snow --
And Cindy-Lou Who’d be the first one to go.
For the Grinch could envisage the headlines tomorrow,
When no Who in Whoville survived to feel sorrow --
Here was a task to which the Grinch felt quite equal
(And MGM’s already contracted the sequel):
GRINCH II: WHOVILLE CHAINSAW MASSACRE.