How the Grinch Lived to Carve the Roast Beast on Christmas

...makes no sense whatsoever.

As one  Facebook commentator noted, he probably
made off with the Who-kah, too.

My first introduction to Coleridge’s concept of the willing suspension of disbelief was at an early age with the Grinch story. I never could suspend my disbelief at the unbelievable great mercy of the Whos—that the residents of Whoville would not lynch the Grinch’s green furry hide for breaking into every house and stealing not only the presents, but the food. (In the middle of winter. Think about that.) Whether the Grinch had had a change of heart or not, his best bet for his continued survival after pulling his mass breaking-and-entering stunt was to flee for a new home, far, far away from the people whose houses he had robbed. He should dye his fur and get a new look, too. The story of a Christmas-jacking Grinch would no doubt spread, and Whos in the surrounding villages would be arming themselves. (“We can’t let this happen again. Think of all the poor Cindy-Lou Whos!”)

Seriously, the Whos of Whoville wake up on Christmas morning to find their houses sacked down to the contents of their very refrigerators, and instead of panic and wailing for the cruel tragedy of it all, they gather calmly in a circle to sing? That’s no Christmas miracle, that’s pathological denial.