Think everyone in Who-Ville was happy to see the Grinch carve the Roast Beast at Christmas dinner? Think again. I recently uncovered this long-lost Op-Ed from the Who-Ville Town Whoover, published the day after Christmas back in 1957. That’s right, the very first Christmas that the Grinch came to Who-Ville.
I have to say… I think the author makes several good points.
WHAT THE WHO JUST HAPPENED?
Commentary – Opinion – December 26th, 1957
by Phineas Finnerman Who, Local Purveyor of Who-Pudding
It’s one day after the strangest Christmas in the history of Who-Ville, and I remain in a state of shock from which I may never fully recover. I’m afraid I say this with no exaggeration whatsoever. It isn’t just the events of the day that continue to gnaw at me, but the reaction of you, my fellow citizens. Am I really the only person that has a problem with what went on here yesterday?
I don’t know how things went in your house on Christmas morning, but when my children raced down the steps to find no presents, our tree gone, and our house robbed, a heartbreaking scene ensued. Everyone was crying, myself included. It took almost a full minute for me to process what had happened. Once the realization sank in, I feared for my family’s safety. For all I knew, a dangerous intruder was still in the house.
Don’t ask me how, but I calmed my children down with a rambling speech about the true meaning of Christmas, and quickly led the family into town for some caroling, the whole time wondering, Dear God what are we going to do? I was trying to buy time more than anything else. Nothing could have prepared me for what happened next. We were halfway through the third verse of “Dah-Who Doray, Fah-Who Foray” when our northern neighbor, the Grinch, descended Mount Krumpit.
He rode into town blowing “Who-Who” on his trumpet, giving away presents like Santa Claus himself—presents he had stolen from us mere hours earlier! And, what did we do? How did we respond? We celebrated this green-skinned monster and welcomed him into our community with open arms. He carved the Roast Beast at our town feast that very night!
I was so disgusted I couldn’t even eat.
Let’s set that aside for a moment, as I want to stay on the subject of stolen Christmas presents. Apparently, I’m the only one who cares to point out Mr. Grinch had no way of knowing whose presents were whose. I gasped as the Jing-Tinglers I bought my daughter landed in the arms of Cindy-Lou Who across the street. Likewise, the Garkinkers I bought my son fell to one of his classmates. Did their parents pause to inform their children that they would have to return this stolen merchandise to its rightful owner? No, they simply accepted the gifts. They thanked this fungus-hued fiend masquerading as Santa Claus! Meanwhile, my children ended up with nothing more than a pair of Slu-Slunkers. I ask you, is that fair? Is that right?
Who gave this Grinch permission to steal my family’s Christmas and redistribute it as he saw fit? I braved the crowds on Black Frupsday, not him. I spent three hours putting together a great big Electro-Who-Cardio-Flux while half in the bag, not him! And, my poor wife… the hours she spent hanging Pantookers on the ceiling and piling Bamboolers on the floor… all so the Grinch could tear them down and be hailed as a hero as he carelessly cast them off his sleigh. Really? This is our response? To encourage this kind of aggression?
Let’s be clear about exactly what happened yesterday: Who-Ville was attacked by a deranged maniac. A sick, twisted individual broke into our homes and we thanked him for it. If I’m the only one capable of understanding that, it’s time for me to kiss Who-Ville goodbye and move the family out to Solla Sollew.