Ladies and Gentlemen, the bets are in!  The bookies are closed!  It’s time for:

Christmas Villains’ Grudge Match

Bout 2!

The Grinch vs. The Abominable Snow Monster!

Well, here we are again, at the Melted Frosty Memorial Amphitheater in the heart of Whoville for the start of our second bout in order to determine the meanest, nastiest cretin ever to try to put a damper on Christmas since Aunt Louisa came over and gave your three year-old a pair of socks packaged to look like a video game.  Not since the time the dog knocked over the Christmas tree has there been two contenders so intent on throwing a monkey wrench into “the most wonderful day of the year,” as Julie Andrews would be calling it if she hadn’t been so tragically decapitated and flayed in that heinous girlscout cookie incident.  That’s right, two animated legends come to battle for the honor of going against Henry F. Potter, the winner of last week’s bout.

grinch-1We took a few minutes to talk to each of the contenders in their dressing rooms concerning the upcoming slaughter.

Q:  So, Mr. Grinch, they tell me you have spiders in your soul.

A:  Spiders and weevils and insects galore, I’ll wipe Mr. Bumbles’ face on the floor!

Q:  Oh, I see.  You’re gonna’ be talking in rhymes, are you?  Well, to each his own.  As you know, weapons are allowed in this bout.  Do you have anything special up your sleeve to take care of that mighty Bumbles?

A:  The Abominable Snow Monster is no match for me, I’ll use my jigstopper-thantomine-G!

Q:  A Jigstopper-thantomine-G?  And what exactly is that?

A:  Uh… Well, it’s…uh…

Q:  You just made up something that would rhyme, didn’t you?

A:  No, no, you great poombler, you mustuff kenzi, you great noffy nebberhead pentomous kee!

Q:  Could you repeat that?

A:  Go away.

Q:  Excuse me?

A:  I said, go away!  This interview is over!

Q:  Is that the best you can do?  A noffy nebberhead pentomous kee?

A:  You want to hear real words, huh?  Well, let me tell you something you little… [Interview interrupted at this point, to avoid a lawsuit from the FCC and the estate of Theodore Geisel.  For a full transcript of The Grinch’s comments, all 146 pages of it, please log on to

tumblr_mduu68ZFFE1rl0gz1o2_1280Our interview with the Abominable Snow Monster was no less boring.  We found The Grinch’s challenger to be in a rather foul mood when we paid a call on him.

Q:  Abominable Snow Monster… uh… can I call you Bumbles?


Q:  Well, thanks.  So, Bumbles, any ideas on how you’ll fight this bout?  After all, you are taking on a creature who emptied Whoville of all its Christmas paraphernalia in one night.


Q:  Okay, okay, if you want to keep it a secret, I can understand that.  What about strategy?  You are quite aware that The Grinch has a heart that’s two sizes too small.  With the probability that he’ll get winded very early in the match, are you going to overwork him early in the bout?


Q:  I’m sorry, what was that?


Q:  Ah, I see.  Bumbles, uh… may I call you Bumb?


Q:  Alright, Bumbles it is.  Is it alright with you if I ask you a personal question?


Q:  Why did you just eat my photographer?


Q:  Well, that’s no reason, is it?  Uh… why are you looking at me like that?


Although we don’t have the time here to go into how that interview ended, you can read the full account at

Well, that should give a fair account of what we have up against us:  The green evil genius versus the eating machine.  And as the lights fall on the amphitheater, I can see the spotlight pick out The Grinch slinking his way towards the ring in a homemade Santa Claus suit carrying a dreidel in one hand and a sign that reads “Happy Quanza” in the other.  Pretty smart, this boy.  Ready for anything the monster throws at him.  And here comes Bumbles!  His head digging a new skylight in the amphitheater, he strides majestically towards the ring, pausing only to casually scoop up and swallow a few Whos on the way.  Boy, I bet those sports fans are kinda’ wishing they’d swung with a few of the more expensive seats up near the front.  15bThe two contenders are in their corners and tonight’s referee, the Charley-In-The-Box from the “Island Of Misfit Toys”, springs into the stage to give the instructions.

At least that’s what would be happening if Charley hadn’t suddenly gone into a whining tirade about how nobody wants a Charley-In-The-Box.  I’m told that our referee has been returned to the island a total of 496 times, far exceeding the old record set by the “Polly-Puke-On-Your-Feet” doll.  He has been voted the most unwanted box of metal in the history of the world, despite even a name change from Charley to Mortimer.  Things are looking pretty grim for all of us here at the amphitheater.  As Mortimer’s rant continues, I can see all the Whos in section B shoot themselves and fall into a massive bloodied mountain of flesh as the entire balcony prepares to step into midair and into eternity.  I haven’t seen anything like this since Pauly Shore and Adam Sandler formed that nightclub act and Vegas sank into the desert without a trace!  Wow, what The Grinch couldn’t accomplish by stealing all the Whos’ presents is happening in droves right before our very…

Ah, but what’s this?  Bumbles has grabbed Mortimer’s head and has tied the spring into a series of small, tight knots.  A roar of relief rises from the few surviving Whos here as The Mortimer-In-The-Box turns blue, sputters, and falls to the canvass.  Toy medical science tells us that a Mortimer-In-The-Box can live for ten minutes without oxygen; more than enough time for him to officiate this bout as the contenders go to their corners and the bell rings for round one.

Round 1

The Grinch zips out of his corner with his dog-powered sleigh piled high with sacks of stolen Who Christmas knickknacks towards Bumbles, who lumbers along uncertainly.  Max the dog takes one look at what he’s up against, turns, and heads straight for the exit, taking the sleigh with him.  The Grinch looses his grip and ends up sitting squat on the canvass with an old, leftover can of Who Harsh slowly running down his face.  With both the sleigh and Max no longer at his disposal, The Grinch looks like he’s forced to rely on his own wits to get him through this one.  As Bumbles lumbers closer and closer, I see that tell-tale mile-wide smile forming on The Grinch’s face.  He’s getting an idea… an awful idea.

Wow, it was an awful idea!  The Grinch stands up and kicks Bumbles in the shin!  You can’t get much more awful than that!  Mortimer-In-The-Box, now an arresting shade of ultra-violet, deducts a point from The Grinch’s score for “Sheer Stupidity” as Bumbles reaches down, gently plucks up The Grinch by the hairs on his sack (not a sack for carrying stolen Who gifts, mind you, I mean his SACK) and lifts him towards his upturned mouth.  It looks bad for the Grinch!  Bumbles’ hot breath blows like a hurricane across the former terror of Whoville…

Rudolph-Red-Nosed-Reindeer-007But what’s this?  There is a flash of red from the audience.  Bumbles is distracted!  He puts the Grinch down and looks into the crowd.  I don’t believe it!  Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer is in attendance tonight and his nose has, as it has on so many other occasions, caught the Bumbles’ attention.  Bumbles reaches into the audience, picks up Rudolph and… does something to him that makes me glad that the kiddies are tucked snug into their beds already.  Oh dear!  I do hope that the fog patch doesn’t roll in on Christmas Eve this year because Santa’s gonna’ have to rely on the original eight to get that sleigh off the ground.

The Grinch backs into his corner and cowers as the bell rings and Round 1 comes to a close.

Round 2

Both contenders have agreed that round 2 tends to be an anticlimatic series of gesturing and flat-footed legwork with no bearing on anything even remotely interesting, let alone exciting.  Both contenders have agreed to forego the round and all the other boring rounds to follow until something interesting happens.  Mortimer-In-The-Box, now a lovely crimson that just about matches what Rudolph’s nose would look like were it not hanging from the announcer’s microphone, has suggested that round 6 is a traditionally festive round with lots of dramatic turns, not to mention that boxing joe-cocker1history shows us that most fighters who die in the ring tend to breathe their last in the sixth.  All parties agree to reconvene at the sixth round.  Tea is served.  Nobody drinks it.  The brown acid is circulating.  Wavy Gravy is making a speech.  Joe Cocker finishes his set and the rainclouds hover overhead.  No rain!  No rain!  No rain!  No rain!  New York state thruway is closed!  It’s three days of peace and love without the hang-ups up from the MAN!  Hendrix plays as the sun comes up.  Let’s leave the garbage where it lies and th (2)trek across the country to Altamont and watch our hippie ideals die to the tune of “Street Fighting Man”.  Bummer, man.  Got any weed?

Round 6

Well, there certainly seems to be a lot of excitement going on.  I just wish I could report it without being hampered by this acid flashback I seem to be in the middle of at the moment.  I don’t mind telling you that I’m a bit concerned for my sanity right about now.  It all started out as a nice little evening with a small, green guy in a Santa Claus suit trying to beat up a big, ugly snow monster, but now it’s getting weird.  My microphone has turned into Brittany Spears and it’s singing that damn song again!  Airsick leprechauns are hanging from the ceiling and the booth is flooded in green sick!  A little man who lives in my coat pocket is telling me that I’m not a sports announcer, but an underwear salesman from Boise who can’t make a sale because his entire clientele consists of Yak people from the planet Zarquon-4 who all wear boxers.  That’s when the little woman who lives in the little man’s coat pocket tells me not to listen to the little man:  he apparently says that to everybody.

Round 11

Ah, what a relief.  A short nap, a warm spot of herbal tea, and nice, tasty shot of adrenaline to the temple and I’m back in the announcer’s chair just as the bell rings and our two contenders walk to the center of the ring for round 11.  These two look like they’ve been through a war… uh.. well, maybe not an actual war per se.  Uh… a skirmish or maybe a… really, really, harsh exchange of words.  The Grinch’s Santa hat is askew on his head and… he’s not making a move to correct it!  What could be driving this creature to ignore an obvious fashion faux pas?  Could it be that his shoes are too tight?  Could it be that his head’s not screwed on right?  Or could it be…

My goodness!  Or could it be that in The Grinch’s left hand, he carrying a jigstopper-thantomine-G!  Either that, or the acid hasn’t worn off yet.  After pausing briefly to throw a nasty look in my direction, he advances on Bumbles with the Seussian device, the ripping claws snapping at the air molecules just in front of Bumbles’ face, the rotating rabid chipmunks gnashing away at the monster’s fur, the red-hot-off-the-presses issue of People Magazine with the Courtney Love interview flapping before the monster’s eyes!

The monster reacts quickly and harshly!  Shaking back his fur and with a determined look in his eye, he immediately hunkers down and writes out a full apology!  Oh, what a magnificent document it is!  How eloquently he waxes as he writes of his own “complete and utter foolishness in my fantasies to topple you from your rightful position as ‘the one who bitch-slaps me with vigor’”.  All of it, every single whining, kowtowing syllable, is being written on the canvass by a creature that never learned to conjugate the verb “to RRRROOOOOOWWWWWRRRR”.  Bumbles has finished the apology and is about to sign it and signal the end of this bout… when The Grinch knocks the pen out of his hand!  It seems that the Abominable Snow Monster has misspelled the word “butt-licker”, and this doesn’t sit well with The Grinch!  Viciously, quite beyond the bounds of fair play, The Grinch unleashes the Courtney Love interview!  Oh, the humanity!  While discovering why Ms. Love considers herpes just another extension of her artistic persona, the Abominable Snow creature clutches his chest and falls to the canvass, shaking the amphitheater to its foundation.  This could be its undoing, as the rules clearly state that a contender has to be alive in order to compete for the title.  Mortimer-In-The-Box, his face a death-mask as white as pure Christmas snow, drags himself to the center of the ring to make it all official.

“[Gasp]… Winner by knoc… [cough]… knockout… [wheeze]… g-g-g-grinch…”

Well, there’s no stopping it now.  Two Christmas supervillains will meet here next week to decide who’s the nastiest of them all.  Don’t miss our next and final bout in the series with…





About crazycraig524

I am a self published writer of four suspense books, a film-maker and video editor.
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