Fan Fiction ❯ I, Grinch ❯ I, Grinch ( One-Shot )

I, Grinch

My favorite part of Christmas used to be unwrapping presents. Then it was wrapping presents. Then it was the shopping for presents. Then it was Christmas music.

Slowly, over time, my favorite part of Christmas became the soft thudding sound made by an overzealous shopper who, pushing through the crowd thoughtlessly in a rush towards the mall food court, discovered that my shoulder was the immovable object to his quite stoppable force.

This holiday season, when you are flat on your ass in a puddle of sloppy mall-floor mud, your precious beanie babies and tinsel strewn all around you, please take a moment to reflect on the importance of walking politely through crowds with some regard for your fellow humans.

Gosh I love Christmas.

Christmas, according some books that may or may not be called The Bible, is in some small way (probably the name) a celebration of the birth of Jesus Christ. In case you haven't heard of this Christ fellow, let me fill you in on some interesting trivia.

* He was the only child of Joe and Marianne Christ.

* He invented sandals.

* JC from N'Sync was named after him.

One day he was walking home and some ruffians nailed him up on a big cross and left him to die. Then he came back to life. Then he disappeared. Some say to California.

Let's just suppose for a minute that Christianity is based completely on a truthful account of events. Suppose Jesus were to come back again. He's the son of God, so he could probably get his folks to spring for the airfare. He comes back, and what does he see? Crosses. Everywhere. On churches, on necklaces, on jackets, on bibles, on bumper stickers, and of course all over the giant "Welcome Back Jesus!" banner that the Pope is waving at him.

I'm going to hazard a guess that a damn cross is not something the Christ-meister would want to ever see again. Ever. He'd probably think that the descendants of the lynch mob who did him in put all of the crosses up. And then he'd turn mostly everyone into rabbits and spend a whole thousand years walking around punting rabbits with his mighty foot. This mighty foot is not well documented in the bible, but it would probably make the sequel.

Now to recap what we've discussed. It's Christmas time. Jesus is back. Most of the world is rabbits. You still aren't done your gift shopping. You're anxious about money, terrorists, the cold weather, having to spend the holidays with your family, and whether or not you bought enough ribbon. Trust me, you didn't.

Still, you finish up by squeezing one good gift idea out of your jingle-riddled mind, buy one of it for every person on your list, and then arrive home just in time to wrap everything and go to sleep. As you drift off, your thoughts go back to the days of yesteryear, when you were a tiny tyke and Christmas Eve was the most exciting time of the year.

We start our capitalists young in hopes that they'll grow up and be slimy club-handed investment bankers. It's our only defense against communism, after all.

Presents, presents, presents. Brought to us by a magical fat man who somehow gets into each of our homes, leaves electronics in exchange for cookies and milk, and then goes happily on his way.

To give equal time, let's suppose that Santa is based entirely in truth. What sort of a jackass loves cookies so much that he'd create an elaborate economy to support his habit for one night out of the entire year? I like cookies. Sure. More than the average person, I'd say. And I'll tell you straight out, if I had a slave-labor factory at the North Pole, those elves would be making cookies all year long instead of toys. And I wouldn't share.

But Santa loves children, you say? Well so do clowns. And I'll wager that if you thought for a second that on December 24th there would be a clown sneaking into your house to leave presents, you'd wait up all night with a shotgun.