Maybe Christmas, he thought, doesn’t come from a store. Maybe Christmas, perhaps, means a little bit more.
The Grinch hated Christmas! The whole Christmas season! Now, please don’t ask why. No one quite knows the reason.
It came without ribbons. It came without tags. It came without packages, boxes or bags. And he puzzled and puzzled ’till his puzzler was sore. Then the Grinch thought of something he hadn’t before. What if Christmas, he thought, doesn’t come from a store. What if Christmas, perhaps, means a little bit more.
Stink, stank, stunk!
And what happened, then? Well, in Whoville they say – that the Grinch’s small heart grew three sizes that day.
I must stop this whole thing! Why, for fifty-three years I’ve put up with it now. I must stop this Christmas from coming. But how?
Alone in the darkness he smirks with a grin, planning to steal all the Christmas joy within.
The Grinch hated Christmas, so he devised a plan, to steal it from Whoville, with a grin that’s not grand.
He slithered and slunk, with a smile quite devilish. For the Grinch had a plan – to make Christmas a mess!
He chuckled and clucked, ‘What a great Grinchy trick! With this coat and this hat, I’ll look just like Saint Nick!’
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, Mr. Grinch.
I wouldn’t touch you with a thirty-nine-and-a-half-foot pole!
The three words that best describe you are as follows, and I quote: stink, stank, stunk!
You
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