How Vinnie Mac Stole Christmas...

Every Mac Down in Mac-ville Liked Christmas a lot...

But the Vinnie Mac,
Who lived just North of Mac-ville,
Did NOT!

The Vinnie Mac hated Christmas! The whole Christmas season!
Now, please don't ask why. No one quite knows the reason.
It could be that his head wasn't screwed on quite right.
It could be, perhaps, that his shoes were too tight.
But I think that the most likely reason of all May have been that his heart was two sizes too small.

But,
Whatever the reason,
His heart or his shoes,
He stood there on Christmas Eve, hating the Macs,
Staring down from his cave with a sour, Vinncy frown At the warm lighted windows below in their town.
For he knew every Mac down in Mac-ville beneath Was busy now, hanging a mistleoe wreath.

"And they're hanging their stockings!" he snarled with a sneer.
"Tomorrow is Christmas! It's practically here"
Then he growled, with his Mac fingers nervously drumming,
"I MUST find a way to keep Christmas from coming"
For, tomorrow, he knew...

...All the Mac girls and boys Would wake up bright and early. They'd rush for their toys!
And then! Oh, the noise! Oh, the noise! Noise! Noise! Noise!
That's one thing he hated! The NOISE! NOISE! NOISE! NOISE!

Then the Macs, young and old, would sit down to a feast.
And they'd feast! And they'd feast!
And they'd FEAST! FEAST! FEAST! FEAST!
They would start on Mac-pudding, and rare Mac-roast-beast

Which was something the Vinnie Mac couldn't stand in the least!

And THEN They'd do something he liked least of all!
Every Mac down in Mac-ville, the tall and the small,
Would stand close together, with Christmas bells ringing.
They'd stand hand-in-hand. And the Macs would start singing!

They'd sing! And they'd sing!
AND they'd SING! SING! SING! SING!
And the more the Vinnie thought of the Mac-Christmas-Sing

The more the Vinnie thought, "I must stop this whole thing!
"Why for fifty-three years I've put up with it now!
I MUST stop Christmas from coming!
...But HOW?"

Then he got an idea!
An awful idea!
THE Vinnie Mac GOT A WONDERFUL, AWFUL IDEA!

"I know just what to do!" The Vinnie Mac Laughed in his throat.
And he made a quick Santy Claus hat and a coat.
And he chuckled, and clucked, "What a great Vinnie trick!
"With this coat and this hat, I'll look just like Saint Nick!"

"All I need is a reindeer"
The Vinnie Mac looked around.
But since reindeer are scarce, there was none to be found.
Did that stop the old Vinnie Mac?
No! The Vinnie Mac simply said,
"If I can't find a reindeer, I'll make one instead"
So he called his dog Trish. Then he took some red thread And he tied a big horn on top of her head.

THEN He loaded some bags And some old empty sacks On a ramshakle sleigh And he hitched up old Trish.

Then the Vinnie said, "Giddyap"
And the sleigh started down Macs Lay a-snooze in their town.

All their windows were dark. Quiet snow filled the air.
All the Macs were all dreaming sweet dreams without care When he came to the first house in the square.
"This is stop number one," The old Vinnie Claus hissed And he climbed to the roof, empty bags in his fist.

Then he slid down the chimney. A rather tight pinch.
But if Santa could do it, then so could the Vinnie Mac He got stuck only once, for a moment or two.
Then he stuck his head out of the fireplace flue Where the little Mac stockings all hung in a row.
"These stockings," he grinned, "are the first things to go!"

Then he slithered and slunk, with a smile most unpleasant,
Around the whole room, and he took every present!
Pop guns! And bicycles! Roller skates! Drums!
Checkerboards! Tricycles! Popcorn! And plums!
And he stuffed them in bags. Then the Vinnie Mac, very nimbly,
Stuffed all the bags, one by one, up the chimney!

Then he slunk to the icebox. He took the Mac' feast!
He took the Mac-pudding! He took the roast beast!
He cleaned out that icebox as quick as a flash.
Why, that Vinnie Mac even took their last can of Mac-hash!

Then he stuffed all the food up the chimney with glee.
"And NOW!" grinned the Vinnie Mac,"I will stuff up the tree!"

And the Vinnie Mac grabbed the tree, and he started to shove When he heard a small sound like the coo of a dove.
He turned around fast, and he saw a small Mac!
Little Molly-Holly Mac, who was not more than two.

The Vinnie Mac had been caught by this little Mac daughter Who'd got out of bed for a cup of cold water.
She stared at the Vinnie and said, "Santy Claus, why,
"Why are you taking our Christmas tree? WHY?"

But, you know, that old Vinnie Mac was so smart and so slick He thought up a lie, and he thought it up quick!
"Why, my sweet little tot," the fake Santy Claus lied,
"There's a light on this tree that won't light on one side.
"So I'm taking it home to my workshop, my dear.
"I'll fix it up there. Then I'll bring it back here."

And his fib fooled the child. Then he patted her head And he got her a drink and he sent he to bed.
And when Molly-Holly Mac went to bed with her cup,
HE went to the chimney and stuffed the tree up!

Then the last thing he took Was the log for their fire.
Then he went up the chimney himself, the old liar.
On their walls he left nothing but hooks, and some wire.

And the one speck of food The he left in the house Was a crumb that was even too small for a mouse.

Then He did the same thing To the other Macs' houses

Leaving crumbs Much too small For the other Macs' mouses!

It was quarter past dawn.
All the Macs, still a-bed All the Macs, still a-snooze When he packed up his sled,
Packed it up with their presents! The ribbons! The wrappings!
The tags! And the tinsel! The trimmings! The trappings!

Three thousand feet up! Up the side of Mount Crumpit,
He rode to the tiptop to dump it!
"Pooh-pooh to the Macs!" he was grinch-ish-ly humming.
"They're finding out now that no Christmas is coming!
"They're just waking up! I know just what they'll do!
"Their mouths will hang open a minute or two "The all the Macs down in Mac-ville will all cry BOO-HOO!"

"That's a noise," grinned the Vinnie Mac,
"That I simply must hear"
So he paused. And the Vinnie Mac put a hand to his ear.
And he did hear a sound rising over the snow.
It started in low. Then it started to grow...

But the sound wasn't sad!
Why, this sound sounded merry!
It couldn't be so!
But it WAS merry! VERY!

He stared down at Mac-ville!
The Vinnie Macs popped his eyes!
Then he shook!
What he saw was a shocking surprise!

Every Mac down in Mac-ville, the tall and the small,
Was singing! Without any presents at all!
He HADN'T stopped Christmas from coming!
IT CAME!
Somehow or other, it came just the same!

And the Vinnie Mac, with his grinch-feet ice-cold in the snow,
Stood puzzling and puzzling: "How could it be so?
It came without ribbons! It came without tags!
"It came without packages, boxes or bags"
And he puzzled three hours, till his puzzler was sore.
Then the Vinnie Mac thought of something he hadn't before!
"Maybe Christmas," he thought, "doesn't come from a store.
"Maybe Christmas...perhaps...means a little bit more!"

And what happened then?
Well...in Mac-ville they say That the Vinnie Macs small heart Grew three sizes that day!
And the minute his heart didn't feel quite so tight,
He whizzed with his load through the bright morning light And he brought back the toys! And the food for the feast!
And he...

...HE HIMSELF!
The Vinnie Mac carved the roast beast!
Your A Mean One Mr McMahon.

You're a mean one, Mr. McMahon.
You really are a heel.
You're as cuddly as a cactus,
You're as charming as an eel.
Mr. McMahon.

You're a bad banana With a greasy black peel.

You're a monster, Mr. McMahon.
Your heart's an empty hole.
Your brain is full of spiders,
You've got garlic in your soul.
Mr. McMahon.

I wouldn't touch you, with a thirty-nine-and-a-half foot pole.

You're a vile one, Mr. McMahon You have termites in your smile.
You have all the tender sweetness Of a seasick crocodile.
Mr. McMahon.

Given the choice between the two of you I'd take the seasick crockodile.

You're a foul one, Mr McMahon You're a nasty, wasty skunk.
Your heart is full of unwashed socks Your soul is full of gunk.
Mr. McMahon

The three words that best describe you,
are, and I quote: "Stink. Stank. Stunk."

You're a rotter, Mr McMahon You're the king of sinful sots.
Your heart's a dead tomato splot With moldy purple spots,
Mr. McMahon

Your soul is an apalling dump heap overflowing with the most disgraceful assortment of deplorable rubbish imaginable,
Mangled up in tangled up knots.

You nauseate me, Mr McMahon With a nauseaus super-naus.
You're a crooked jerky jockey And you drive a crooked horse.
Mr. McMahon

You're a three decker saurkraut and toadstool sandwich With arsenic sauce.