This is a Christmas Classic that should be shared with the entire family.

THE GRINCH WHO SMOKED CHRISTMAS

Author Unknown

Now the Who’s down in Whoville had really good pot
but the Grinch who lived just north of Whoville did not.
He’d scraped out the resin that stuck to his bowl
and re-rolled all the roaches that he could re-roll.

And there with the winter snow freezing his bones
he sat on his mountain-top starting to jones.
His eyes were all bleary his head it was sore
and all he could think of was trying to score.

I can see them all now with their heads all a spinnin’
their eyes are half open; they’re stupidly grinnin’.
They’ve drawn their Who draperies across their Who blinds
they’ve stoked up their Who bongs they’re out of their minds.
They’ve burned out their brain cells with fat sticks of Tai;
and Panama Red; it brings tears to my eyes.

There’s gooey black hash that they’ve burned under glass
and skunky Hawaiian; man this just burns my ass.
They’ve munched out on nachos, on pretzels, on chips;
they’ve dipped them in mustard…they’ve dipped them in dips.

They’ve zoned out on Zappa, Pink Floyd, and Led Zep
and anything else those damn Who’s think is hep.”
His nostrils were filled with a wonderful stink.
And as the snow came down harder he started to think.
He took off his cap and shook out his green dreads
while visions of mayhem swirled ‘round in his head.

There must be a way,” the Grinch started to muse,
“To score some choice bud from those miserable Who’s.”
His hand on his chin stroked three days of green scruff
and then the Grinch giggled in a voice deep and gruff…
I know what I’ll do,” the Grinch smiled as he said,
and he pulled his knit cap tightly over his head.

He chuckled with glee as he turned in his tracks
and there at his heel he spied his dog, Max.
Maxie, old boy,” the Grinch said with a growl,
“I’ve concocted a plan most devious and foul.
I’ve figured it out I know just what to do;
by sunrise that town won’t see one smoking Who.

The first step of my plan,” he continued to gloat,
“Is to tie dye myself a quick Rasta Clause coat…”
So he ran to his closet and got out his dyes
and he worked through the day ‘til the fumes burned his eyes.
Then into the cave where he kept his old van
and on to the next stage of his master plan…

He took out some spray paint and started to work
and as the fumes filled his head he smiled like a jerk.
Florescent yellow, and purple, and black,
and anything else he could find round his shack.
Orange and red, magenta and green,
he turned his van into a Dayglo machine.

Then he filled it with sacks as the sun settled down
and he whistled for Max as he eyeballed the town.
“Maxie old boy the time is at hand;
it’s time to unleash the great plan that I’ve planned.”
Then he climbed in his van and to Max gave a whistle
and he said to himself “I’m positive this’ll
go down in history as the greatest of coups
that ever got pulled on those addle-brained Who’s.”

Then he slammed the door shut and he slipped in the key
and cranked it first one time, then two, and then three.
He stomped on the gas, he cursed and he muttered.
For a while the van sat there…then finally it sputtered.
From out of the tail pipe came clouds of blue smoke
and tears filled his eyes as he started to choke.
He placed a clawed hand on the stick, rammed it down
and with a god-awful screech he was headed for town.

He slipped and he slid, he swerved and he dodged
and a couple of times nearley found himself lodged.
But just like the snow, he came steadily down
and at three in the morning, he pulled into town..
He quick cut the engine and slammed on the break
knowing full well the racket would surely awake
any one of those miserable sniveling Who’s
who had just settled down in a drug induced snooze.

He opened the door and he stepped with a care
out into the chill of the crisp winter air.
Not a sound…not a stir…nothing at all
but the soft, gentle plop of a heavy snowfall.
Maxie jumped out of the Grinch van with glee,
sniffed the ground quickly and started to pee.
As the hot steaming clouds rose up into the air
the Grinch went to the back of the van to prepare.

He took out the sacks, a ladder, some rope
and with Max at his side, he lit out for the dope.
He propped up the ladder against the first house
and up, up he crept keeping quiet as a mouse.
He crossed the cold roof surprisingly nimbley
then dropped a few sacks and himself down the chimney.

He got stuck only once for a moment or two
but he squirmed and he wriggled and he wormed himself through.
He emerged from the fire placecovered with soot
stepped out and felt something on top of his foot.
There in the dark in a deep trance-like snooze
he spied a large pile of stoned crashed out Who’s.
Their mouths hanging open, their eyes at half-mast
The Grinch growled, “I just missed one hell of a blast.”

He drew a deep breath and gave a quick smirk;
then licking his lips, he went straight to his work.
He lifted their boxes, he lifted their clips,
he pinched all their acid and cancelled their trips,
he copped all their papers, he took all their stash,
the prick even took the last bowl of Who hash.

Then back up the chimney he lept with a bound,
and tossed all his booty to Max on the ground.
He lowered himself down the ladder and then
scamper’d off to the next house to do it again.

From Who house to Who house he snuck and he scurried;
to strip the whole town was his goal so he hurried.
He packed everything up in his old dirty sacks
and shoved it all into the van where ol’ Max
faithfully guarded the load for his master
who as the night wore on worked faster and faster.

Weary, he sighed with the work of his theft
and he smiled when he saw there was just one house left.
He climbed to the rooftop all tired and worn
and saw in the east the first hint of morn’.
Then down through the chimney he went with a sigh
as a faint splash of gold illumin’d the sky.

And what he saw then made him doubt his own eyes:
a circular room of gargantuan size.
The room was all filled with over-stuffed pillows
and vases of orchids and long pussy-willows
and daisies, and roses, and poppies galore,
and rising up proudly from the carpeted floor:
a hooka the likes of which he’d never seen
as tall as himself and deep emerald green.
It was covered with bead work, inlaid with small roses,
and sprouted eight wonderful serpentine hoses.
They were capped in pure silver and easy to draw
surely this was the best pipe the Grinch ever saw.
The bowl on the top was as big as his fist
and his eyes clouded over with a ravenous mist.

“Now this is a prize that I must have,” he said
and he stood there in wonder just shaking his head.
Then he cradled the hooka and started to lift
taking care to be sure that his load didn’t shift.
It was heavy and clumsy and hard to control;
he knew getting it out would be no midday stroll.

Then he heard a small sound like the coo of a dove.
What he saw when he turned gave his Grinch heart a shove.
There she stood like a sylph in the fresh morning dew,
little Moonflower Who who’d just turned twenty-two.

She was derssed all in gossamer, her cheeks like a rose
with little round glasses on the end of her nose.
Her hair like spun gold was cascading down
over perfect bare shoulders of soft golden-brown.
She was airy and sprightly, a wanton young elf,
and he sighed when he saw her in spite of himself.

She spoke in a voice that was raspy and deep
and the grinch fought the urge to just stand there and weep.
“Rasta Clause…why…
why are you taking our water-pipe. . why?”

The Grinch shook himself; he was crafty and slick.
He thought up a lie and he thought it up quick.
“Dere be no hassle, girl” the old sour puss lied
“dere’s a hose on dis ting dat won’t draw on one side.
I be takin’ it up to da workshop, my dear.
I ream it out dere; den I bring it back here.”

Then he gave her a drink and he sent her to bed
with a quickly rolled pin-joint to feed her young head.
And when Moonflower Who was in bed with her cup,
he crup to the chimney and stuffed the pipe up.
Not a sound from the town, the snow had stopped falling.
Somewhere in the distance a lone bird was calling.

He packed up the van and locked himself in
and curled back his lips in an evil Grinch grin.
“Well Maxie,” he said with a hint of surprise,
“got it all in one night.” There was fire in his eyes.
Then he took out his keys to start up the van
and he thought to himself, “Ya done good, my man.”

He cranked it six times, then he cranked it six more
and when nothing happened, he spat and he swore.
“Of fuck you, you old rusted-out piece of shit.”
but the Grinch van just sat there, and sputtered, and quit.
When he saw that his efforts would come to no good
he got out of the van and he opened the hood.

The engine was covered with oil and dust;
the battery cables corroded with rust.
The fanbelt was freyed, the head gasket blown,
he slammed the hood down and he let out a groan.
He swore and he cursed and he kicked at the ground,
and from somewhere behind him he heard a strange sound.

There with the snow melting into his shoes,
he turned…and he stood…face to face…with the Whos.
The were dressed in dashikis, in bracelets, and beads,
and they swayed in the wind like a field full of weeds.
The tallest came forward in purple wide wales
he wore sandals and pookas and his skin was quite pale.

“Hey, man,” he said, “there’s no need for this task;
if you wanted some weed, dude, why didn’t you ask?
We’d have set you up right with a good pound or two.
It don’t take that much to fuck up a Who.
But you come down here sneakin’ like a thief in the night,
Rasta Clause. . dude. . that just isn’t right.”

And staring deep into the eyes of the Who
the Grinch knew without doubt that his story was true.
And what happened then, well in Whoville they say,
that the Grinch’s small heart grew three sizes that day.
It was then that the Grinch formed a different plan
and he smiled as he ran to the back of the van.

He opened the doors and he reached for a sack
then he dug out the contents and gave them all back.
He gave back their boxes, he gave back their clips,
he gave back their acid, rescheduled their trips.
He gave back their papers, he gave back all their stash
but the Who’s let him keep the last bowl of Who hash.

Then he bought an old bookstore in Whoville with cash
with plenty of couches and spaces to crash.
Now, the Grinch serves espresso, biscotti, herb tea;
and the Who’s all chill out there and read poetry.

And Moonflower sits by the counter with glee,
and a little green Who baby sits on her knee.
And the Grinch grins a big grinchy grin at his wife
and he thinks to himself, “It’s a wonderful life.”