The Grinch

I-Illumination!

Yeah! Illumination!

Whoo! Ha-ha-ha!

- Huh? - Aw, man.

Aw.

Hmm. Whoa.

Past the place that you come from,

far beyond what you've seen,

is a town like your town,

if your town was a dream.

Only it's not a dream

or a hoax or a ruse.

- Morning! - It is Christmas in Who-ville,

- the home of the Whos. - Hey!

Fresh peppermint bread!

- Oh, hey, Marge. - Morning, Fred.

Smells like Christmas.

Whoa! Where are you going?

- Hey, Tom. - Good to see you, Ted.

Wreath Man! Wreath Man!

Here you go, kid. Have a wreath.

- Oh, cool! - Merry Christmas to ya!

Have a great day, dear!

- You, too, hon! See you tonight! - Hey!

Hurry up! Morning.

Yes, Who-ville is great,

that is known far and wide,

and three weeks through December,

this place hits its stride.

Yes, the Whos down in Who-ville

like Christmas a lot.

But the Grinch in his cave, north of Who-ville...

did not.

Hmm?

Max...!

Max...!

Ooh!

Ooh!

I am starving.

Huh?

Max.

What is this depressing bean?

No, no, no, no, no, no.

That's impossible.

We can't be out of food.

Wha...?

Where's my personal reserve of moose juice?

And goose juice?

My emergency stash of Who Hash?

And my secret slew of frozen Beezle-Nut stew?

I specifically bought enough food to last until January.

How much emotional eating have I been doing?

No. I won't. I will not.

I am not going to Who-ville during Ch...

Chri...

Chri...

Christmas! Ugh!

Ugh!

Fine. But I'm going to despise

every second of it.

Come on, Max.

Yes, the Grinch hated Christmas,

the whole Christmas season.

Now, please don't ask why.

No one quite knows the reason.

It could be his head

wasn't screwed on just right.

It could be perhaps that

his shoes were too tight.

But I think the most likely reason of all

may have been that his heart

was two sizes too small.

Now, remember, Max,

this is the time of year when the Whos

are at their most deceptive.

You have my full permission

to attack anyone who so much as says one kind word to us.

Okay, let's go.

- Morning, fellas. - Greetings.

- Ready for Christmas? - Greetings.

Ah, good to see you. How's work?

Oh, could be better, could be worse.

Oh, hi. Merry Christmas.

Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, wait! Hold the bus!

- Wait. Stop. Oh, sor... - Whoa!

- Coming through. - Hey!

Wait! Wait! Sam! Hold the bus!

Oh!

Whoa!

- Whew! Oh! - Sorry, Donna.

That's okay, Sam.

Thanks for stopping.

- Whew! - They still got you on the night shift, huh?

- Sure do. - Oh, by the way,

Cindy-Lou forgot her hockey... stick.

Hmm.

- Mm-hmm. - Oh. Thanks, mister.

Ah-ha.

Hey!

- Hmm. - Huh?

You're a mean one, mister.

It's really such an awful day.

- Hey! Merry Christmas! - Huh?

Happy holidays, Sue.

Good morning, Fred.

Season's greetings, folks.

And Merry Christmas to you...

Ugh.

Huh?

Aah! Aah! Aah!

Aah...!

Aah...!

Oh, hello. Happy holi...

Uh-uh.

Blech!

Ah. What's this?

Excuse me.

Are you getting that?

I need it for my Christmas stuffing.

Mmm... no.

Well, that's not very nice.

Oh, sugarplum!

Oh, no, I can't today. I have a list of errands

a mile long, and the babysitter left the sink backed up.

No, I-I'm not complaining. I'm venting.

There's a difference.

Okay. Uh, talk to you later.

I-I have to get breakfast on the table.

Right after I unclog this drain again.

Ugh! It's like concrete!

- Cindy-Lou, sweetheart, come eat. - Coming!

Oh.

Buster, we've talked about this.

- Huh? - Your brother's head is not breakfast.

Uh?

Blah!

Ah!

Okay.

You all right, Mom?

Me? Oh. Yes. Never better.

Ah. What'd you put down here anyway, a roller skate?

No. Just batter. Me and Ms. Wilbur made cookies.

Oh. That explains it.

- Come have some eggs. - I can't.

I gotta go mail something. But I made the beds

and put away the twins' toys.

Thanks, sweetheart. You didn't have to do that.

I don't mind.

- Something's burning. - Just a second, sweetie.

Bean, don't feed your brother with your feet.

- Mom! The toast! - I got it!

Wait. Where are you going again?

- I told you. To mail a letter. - Okay,

but just come here first.

Mom. I gotta go.

All right.

Mwa!

Okay. Now you can go.

Thanks, Mom. Bye, Buster. Bye, Bean.

Don't do anything I wouldn't do.

Roger that, Mom.

Whoo!

Here goes Cindy-Lou Who as she dashes through the snow

with a very important letter!

Oh, no! I'm gonna miss the mailman!

Shortcut!

Go, go, go, go, go, go, go!

Whoo! Whoa! Whoa!

Whoa!

Whoa! Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa!

Bon appétit!

Whoo-hoo!

Oh, no!

Whoo!

Aah...

Watch out!

Aah! Oh!

No! My letter!

What is wrong with you?

Didn't you see me? I mean, if that...

if that was a sled, I-I... well, I'd be dead.

I'm sorry for bumping into you, but this is really important.

Have you seen my letter?

And that right there, Max, is the true nature

of the Who child: just right to "me, me, me.

- My letter. Me, me, me." - No, you don't understand.

This isn't just a letter. This is the letter.

Oh... really?

Let me guess. Small child, December 20,

rabidly searching for a "really important" lost letter?

Might it be your list of demands to Santa?

They're not demands. It's more like a wish.

And what I'm wishing for is really, really important.

Well, then why send a letter? I mean, if it's really

that important, you should just ask him face-to-face.

Oh, but that's right: no one's ever seen him.

Mmm, my bad.

Come on, Max, let's get out of here.

Bye, doggy.

There he is, Max.