Grinchy Christmas for the Fish

The Grinch: The avarice never ends! "I want golf clubs. I want diamonds. I want a pony so I can ride it twice, get bored and sell it to make glue." Look, I don't wanna make waves, but this *whole* Christmas season is
[shouts]
The Grinch: stupid, stupid, stupid!

Yes, it's that time of the year again (or it was, I'm a little late, but who cares) the whole peace on Earth and goodwill to our fellow men kind of time... I can't help but bloom into a Grinch as the 25th day of December rolls along, why? Well, it brings too many difficult memories to mind, memories that I prefer would stay buried in their graves, but they love to come back from the dead as Christmas dawns with glittery lights, presents, parties, and the whole shebang. I do feel all maudlin as the season arrives, but I can't help but feel sad as well. I do mourn the loss of my magical Christmas, being a kid just bursting with excitement, waiting for morning to arrive so that I get to unwrap the presents that Santa brought for me. Over the years as logic chipped away what was left of my childish powers of "awe" and "wonder" when it came to the celebrated Christmas visitor, I often wondered "How the heck is Santa going to get into our house? We don't even have a chimney. Does he enter our window?". There was a time when I wanted to catch St. Nick in action, my cousins and I devised a fool-proof plan to stay up, hoping to spy on the Chubby man delivering the presents. Unfortunately, we always fell asleep and come morning time the presents were already under the tree. One Christmas morning I finally managed to figure out that "Santa" had the same penmanship as my mother, mystery solved. That sort of ruined the whole Christmas thing for me just a bit, I know that Christmas is not all about the presents, it's about the birth of Christ, but still it was a major downer - Santa a fake? It was the end of my childish days of fantasy. As of late, my Christmases have become rather grown up. or perhaps I've become so disenchanted by it all that I have morphed into... aghast! The Grinch. I don't anticipate the visits from a merry over weight elf flying around in a sleigh pulled by reindeers, who makes a living by breaking into houses and leaving stuff that fuel the covetous nature of children. I have eschewed from leaving him sweet treats on the table, because come to think of it, if all the kids in the world left him milk and cookies all those years, he'd be a raving diabetic already, so I decided to do him a favor. If a child of 5 or 7 were to read this, I would probably scar them for life, but realistically speaking they will realize that old St. Nick does not exist, and would probably feel the same way I did when I figured it out - hoodwinked. But then growing up has it's advantages, as the focus on Santa waned, I came to realize what really made Christmas so magical. It was the hope it brought to people, it's a time to spread joy, and good will to others. It sometimes compels people to reach out to the one's that they have hurt or neglected, it brings people together. Christmas is a time to forget about yourself and focus on bringing joy to others, it's not about how many presents you get, but about reaching out to others by giving them not just presents, but yourself as well. Time is perhaps the best gift that we can give others, because it is something that we can never take back. Spending time with the people who matter to us makes the holidays more meaningful, and yes, magical.

Lou Lou Who: I'm glad he took our presents. You can't hurt Christmas, Mr. Mayor, beacuse it isn't about the... the gifts or the contest or the fancy lights. That's what Cindy's been trying to tell everyone... and me. I don't need anything more for Christmas than this right here: my family.

So you see, I'm not entirely a full blown Grinch.

The Grinch: The nerve of those Whos. Inviting me down there - and on such short notice. Even if I wanted to go my schedule wouldn't allow it. Four o'clock, wallow in self pity; 4:30, stare into the abyss; 5:00, solve world hunger, tell no one. 5:30, jazzercize. 6:30, dinner with me. I can't cancel that again. 7:00, wrestle with my self-loathing; I'm booked. Of course, if I bump the loathing to 9 I could still be done in time to lay in bed, stare at the ceiling and slip slowly into madness. But what would I wear?

I'm probably a pseudo-Grinch, yapping about how Christmas was ruined for me as a child, but I suppose I'm still a softie... yearning for my perfect Christmas... Hmmm....

Narrator: And what happened then? Well, in Whoville they say that the Grinch's small heart grew three sizes that day. And then the true meaning of Christmas came through, and the Grinch found the strength of ten Grinches plus two.

Damsel In Distress

DAMSEL IN DISTRESS
He fought his way past the thorny briars and slew the ferocious dragon—all without getting a spot on his gleaming armor. He climbed to the highest room in the highest tower, took off his helmet, and woke the sleeping princess with a gentle (but manly) kiss.
She snapped awake. "ARRRRRRRRRRRGH! Can't anyone get any rest around here?!"
"But... but... Weren't you a damsel in distress?"
"A damsel in _STRESS._ Which is why I was resting, until you very rudely came along and woke me up."
"I'm sorry! It's just that I saw a dragon, and dragons usually guard beautiful princesses and..."
"What did you do to my dragon?!" She ran to the window and saw the bloody carcass. "Pookie! You killed Pookie! Don't you know how hard it is to raise dragons? Every time I manage to train one to sit and beg, some dumb oaf comes along and kills it!"
"I'm sorry—I really am—forgive my—"
"And you chopped down my rose garden!"
"I'm really sorry about that, but I had to rescue—"
"I have HAD it with people who ASSUME that princesses need RESCUING more than they need their BEAUTY SLEEP! OUT!" She bashed him with a pillow. "OUT! I don't want to see you ever again!"
"Okay! I'm sorry!" He backed down the flight of stairs, cowering behind his shield as the princess pillow-whacked him all the way to the ground floor.
"AND STAY OUT!" she yelled as he galloped off into the sunset. She bolted the door, trudged upstairs, and started writing a letter.
Source: Sacha Chua (click me)

A friend of mine has decided to dub me with the great honor or lack thereof, of being called “Bella”. Now, this may seem like an adorable compliment to some of the members of my species, by “species” I mean “women” (probably the fatuous members of my species) but for me, it's just a rather abominable insult – however, I choose to tolerate the deplorable moniker for the sake of being wildly polite (my friend does not know any better apparently). BUT Really? Compare me to the depthless, and not to mention, helpless protagonist of the famed Twilight series??? He was comparing me to that dolt of a girl who tripped all over herself, and mangled the very image of what a “strong and resilient woman” should be by being the paragon “Damsel in Distress”. Seriously? It's bad enough that she was a magnet for ever y conceivable disaster to befall any human being, but she just had to throw herself at a vampire to top it all off, a vampire who became her designated protector (he's got his work cut out for him, he has to keep saving her and at the same time, resist the urge to kill her – now, that is a conundrum).
I actually only mildly resent being called Bella, what irks me more is the idea that someone thinks I am just like her – a person who needs saving..

It must be the age-old male notion that women can't fend for themselves, and should always have a handy dandy man around at her beck and call. Women are helpless creatures and would cease to exist were it not for men, were it not for their brute strength and intelligence, women would not be able to do a thing without them. Men can provide women with what they want and need, all a girl has to do in return is sit, look pretty, and perhaps produce enough offspring to perpetuate the world with more strong men and helpless women. This male chauvinistic belief is just downright offensive, women in this day and age can open their own doors, walk on puddles (dare we step on it and risk soiling our shoes), and defend themselves without the aid or hint of a man's presence to go out of his way to open the door, take off his coat to cover a puddle, and punch some other brute's teeth in.
We don't need to be saved thank you very much!
Back to me - I don't know when I ever gave away the impression that I needed someone to save me, if that ever happened, believe me, I was probably having a bad day. I may appear like a shrinking violet, but I have a few tricks up my sleeve. True, I have never put them into good use, perhaps that is why people seem to think I am a fragile creature (cringe) but honestly, I'm as fragile as a caged Tiger, I tend to keep my real strength locked behind bars, I suppose that's why people underestimate me. That is, until I experience one of my sporadic rage blackouts and the cage door happens to swing open... Carnage soon follows.
I'm not Bella! Not even close, Bella may give hope to every clumsy girl out there (the hope is to find a mass murderer or what have you, equivalent to a blood lusting vampire, to fall in love with them). Bella makes me want to throttle her (if only she wasn't a fictional character, I would so love to beat her up till she's black and blue, that is, if Edward won't mind).
I've had enough with all this Bella rubbish, I'm quite glad to be done with her antics really, and she is not someone I would recommend little girls should emulate – she's at the very bottom of the list actually, along with all the fair maidens and helpless damsels waiting in their respective castles and towers to be saved by Prince Charming a.k.a. Chauvinistic Pig Macho Man.
I, on the other hand would be wielding my own sword, ready to hack off the first person who would dare call me a damsel in distress!!!!