STAFF EDITORIAL
FROM THE WHO-VILLE
PICAYUNE,
JANUARY, 1958.
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Well, it's that time of year again: the holidays are over, the New Year's leaf has been turned, and we can start thinking seriously about all those resolutions we made. Here at the Who-ville Picayune we take our resolutions seriously, and one in particular stands out.
Put simply: Why has nobody arrested the Grinch, who lives at the top of the giant hill just outside of town? We hate to ring in the New Year with a splash of cold water, but what gives this so-called Grinch the right to come sneaking into town in the middle of the night, steal all our carefully wrapped packages, and threaten to hurl them off a cliff? What kind of crazy sociopath does that kind of thing?
Now, it's true, Whos aren't exactly famous for laying down the law. Ours is a small and friendly village, where anybody is welcome to a cup of hot cocoa or a monkey wrench from the garage (because, let's face it, we haven't used that monkey wrench in years). But neither are we simple pushovers. Remember when that nutty so-and-so wandered into town and tried to get us to butter our toast butter-side-down? We don't take kindly to foreigners trying to tell us how to prepare our breakfasts. No, sir. Not here in Who-ville.
Frankly, the Picayune staff has been appalled by Who-ville's apathetic response to this criminal gesture. Previously, this Grinch fellow had just been ugly and condescending, a thorn in our collective side that was better just ignored. He lived in a cave, he growled and cursed, but Whos gave him space and accepted the fact that some folks are just "that way." We were confident he'd just had an unhappy childhood or was a war veteran or some such thing, and the best thing to do with such people is, of course, to leave them alone. So we did our part.
And what does the Grinch do? He waltzes into town the night before our most revered holiday and steals all our gifts and decorations. Then—and here's the truly disturbing part—he threatens to hurl them into the Mount Crumpit ravine. Childhood trauma is one thing, but this kind of behavior just isn't Who-vian.
Now, we know that a great number of Whos were unperturbed and went ahead with the festivities, holding hands and singing. And we at the Picayune consider ourselves wholesome Christians, willing to turn the other cheek—up to a point. But let's be frank: the Grinch's joke was just tasteless. We're not going to chastise him for refusing to wear pants. We're not going to point out his odd relationship with a small, vulnerable-looking dog. We're just saying that there needs to be some kind of retribution. Not jail, per se. The Who County Jail hasn't seen a culprit more dangerous than Eddy Who after he drank too much eggnog three years ago, and most of us would like to keep our reputation as good, clean people. We're just saying that the Grinch might benefit from some psychiatric help. This fellow is a neighbor of ours, and we have a right to be concerned. And sometimes concerns require straitjackets and a nice, firm voice.
As always, we welcome letters and commentary from you, our readers. And let us all pray that this kind of tomfoolery doesn't happen again for many, many Christmases to come.
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OTHER McSWEENEY'S FEATURES:
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Staff Editorial From the Who-ville Picayune, January, 1958 By Robert Isenberg
Whoops! By Mike Sacks
Jane Eyre Runs for President By Sean Carman
Production Rider for Kate Kershner's Holiday Visit Home Tour By Kate Kershner
Excerpts From My Rejected Script: Alien vs. Predator Save Christmas By Ben Joseph
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