It was a cold and windy night, but what did I care? As is my custom I was dressed for the occasion. Not surprisingly I was the only one on The Balcony, when what to my wondering eyes did appear but two figures coming out of the doors to The Balcony. One was dressed in 19th-century clothing, the finest of finery. The other was fuzzy bright green from head to toe. A stranger pair I had never seen. I immediately recognized Ebenezer Scrooge and the Grinch, the two most anti-Christmas beings to ever exist. They took seats on opposite sides of The Balcony and glared at each other like Superman with his X-ray vision. They paid me no mind, which was fine with me.
In unison they growled, “What the hell are you doing here? This is MY territory!”
Grinch: Territory schmerritory! I’m here every year, absconding the spirit of Christmas!
Scrooge: Ah, but do you do that 365 days a year, year in and year out as I?
Of course not. I’m too strategic for that. Intermittent reinforcement is more powerful than a daily dose of downandoutamy. Children wait all year for Christmas with hopes of being showered with gifts, only to have them whisked away on Christmas Eve while visions of sugar plums dance in their heads!
Bah! Humbug! I take away hope entirely by never allowing it to take root, rather the sober solemnity of, as William Cullen Bryant wrote, “the quarry-slave at night, scourged to his dungeon . . .” Unwatched, unwept, uncared for . . . Darkness is cheap, and I love it!
Bah. Ham bone yourself! What’s the meaning of Christmas anyway? It’s revenge! Sweet, sweet revenge! Your toxic sludge is my potpourri! Every Christmas morning I hear the crescendo of my odious opus. You called down the thunder. Now get ready FOR THE BOOM! Gaze into the face of fear!
You’re a mean one, Mr. Grinch.
It’s because I’m green, isn’t it? It ain’t easy, being green!
Thou art a horse of a different color with a heart of black, but not as black as mine.
And just how do you measure blackness?
I take money from the poorest of the poor and leave them and their families more destitute than a rotting corpse in its grave.
A real Robbing Hood. Ha! I ruin the most holy of holidays by stealing the joy of innocent little children. Thusly I steal the rest of the family’s joy to boot.
Beware this man (pointing to himself), Mr. Grinch, for on his brow I see that written which is Doom! This man builds workhouses. This man builds jails. Just as Aristotle said, “Meanness is incurable; it cannot be cured by old age or anything else.” Ergo, my legacy is immortal!
Leggo my ergo you old fart! By that standard so is mine!
Suddenly a dazzling light from the brightest of stars beamed down upon us and an obese angel with the worst comb over imaginable appeared and proclaimed:
“Bah! Humbug to you both! On this very night you have been weighed in the balance and found lacking. There is one much meaner than you two amateurs and I am he. But your despicable hearts are not of your own doing. Like all things wrong in this world, it is the fault of Sleepy Joe Biden! Gotta go now. I’m overseeing the construction of a ballroom in Heaven. (singing to the tune of “Stairway to Heaven”) ‘Oh, I’m building a ballroom in Heaven.’” With that the angel skedaddled.
For a minute or so the Grinch and Ebenezer Scrooge sat in stupefied silence. Then they looked at each other, shrugged their shoulders, and said, “Who knew? There really is one who is crueler than we!” Ebenezer and the Grinch high fived and, with the evilest of grins and hyena-esque laughter, shouted in unison, “This is most certainly the worst Christmas ever!” Amen.
…and that’s the View from The Balcony.
Randy Weeks is a Licensed Professional Counselor, a Certified Shamanic Life Coach, an ordained minister, singer-songwriter, actor, writer, and a former triathlete. He may be reached at: randallsweeks@gmail.com.
(Most of the conversation between Ebenezer Scrooge and the Grinch was based on their actual words in their literary and cinematic portrayals. Sadly, the obese angel with the ghastly comb over is real. Merry Christmas anyway.)
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