The Eighth Page

Grinch: “If the stocking don’t fit, you must acquit”

As I’m sure you all know, I’ve developed somewhat of a nasty rep through the years. Back in my wee school days, I would just get picked on for my appearance. Rumors would be whispered, rumors saying that I was half cat, half Oscar the Grouch and half werewolf. In 6th grade someone wrote in my yearbook, “You have turned down fur–what?!?? What does that even mean?” Still, nothing compares to my most recent bout of bad publicity: that I stole Christmas. I would like to start my defense by asking whether anyone has considered the fact that it is physically impossible to steal Christmas. Anyone? Has not a single person realized that Christmas is an ideological social construct with no definitive form? Even if I wanted to “steal” Christmas (which I’m not saying I do), I wouldn’t know where to start.**see below** The worst part about this whole ordeal is that nobody asked for my story, which is why I would just like to thank The Phillipian for finally giving me a chance. I was kind of confused why they were printing it in Features at first, but I’m sure they just ran out of space in the News section or something. At least Features is the most popular section, right? Enough dawdling, here’s my story. I would like to clarify that I did not “steal” Christmas, I only borrowed some after I, uh, temporarily misplaced mine. And then I kinda temporarily misplaced that one too. But hey, I repaid my loan; losing stuff doesn’t make me a bad guy, just a lil’ messy. Heck, I feel like I’m even losing touch with reality sometimes! You see, it all started because my in-laws were coming to spend the holidays with me and the missus. The day before they arrived, I was cleaning up the place when I discovered to my horror that I couldn’t find my Christmas anywhere. I checked under the bed, in my pockets–I even scoured my dog’s fur for some hidden holiday, but it was nowhere to be found! Now normally I would have just explained the situation to Mr. and Mrs. Lorax, but we’ve been on rocky terms since I tried to light the menorah and caused a forest fire back on Thanksgiving. But that’s all in the past, more or less. They definitely tried to sneak in some snide “dimwit, dimlit” insults, but they are easy enough to ignore. An hour before the Loraxes’ arrival, I desperately rushed down my quaint little Crumpit Mountain to Whoville and explained my dire situation to my dear friends. Of course, after showing them my credit score on, my good-natured comrades immediately agreed to lend me some of their Christmas. Content with their loan, I gathered my bushel and returned to my cave to prepare for the Loraxes. Little did I know that as I was baking some Christmas goodies, I was being made a pawn in the sadistic plot of one six year old girl by the name of Cindy Lou Who. You see, that trickster Cindy was plotting to steal the entire village Christmas! She wasn’t satisfied with her healthy serving of Christmas–she just wanted to have ALL of Christmas, doused in gravy and eggnog, too. So as I was innocently eating dinner, it was Cindy who put on a fake beard and tied antlers on a dog, not me! And she’s the one who slid down my chimney on Christmas Eve and made off with all of the town’s Christmas. I’m sure you can imagine my confusion when the Whoville police came knocking on my door and interrupted my dinner with the Loraxes. I swear, I could feel my heart drop. At first I was absolutely bewildered, and then my defense fell flat because they seemed to think that my alibi (the Loraxes) were fictional! What kind of a “justice” system is this anyways? **If you have information on this, please contact the Grinch within the next two weeks**