How the Pritz Stole Christmas: A Grinchy Parody

The holidays are here for many Americans, but incompetent and tyrannical state officials have put it upon themselves to make decisions for you. With two weeks before Christmas, we explore one governor’s attempt to steal Christmas from the fine folks still left in Illinois.

How the Pritz Stole Christmas

Every Who Down in Whoville Liked Christmas a lot…

But the Pritz,

planning his trip to Florida,

Did NOT!

The Pritz hates Illinoisans! Cairo to Waukegan!

Somehow he’s in charge here. No one quite knows the reason.

It could be his head wasn’t screwed on just right.

It could be, perhaps, that his suit was too tight.

But I think that the most likely reason of all,

May have been that he just was a tyrant, that’s all.

But

whatever the reason,

His mind or his suits,

He stood at his podium, hating the Whos,

Looking down from the stage with a sour, Pritzy glare,

At the taxpaying people — who still were stuck there.

For he knew every Who down in Whoville beneath,

Was busy now, planning six-plus person feasts.

“And they’re trying to gather!” he snarled with a sneer,

“It soon will be Christmas! It’s practically here!”

Then he growled, with his fat fingers nervously drumming,

“I MUST find some way to stop Christmas from coming!”

For,

on Christmas, he knew,

all the Who boys and girls,

Would gather together. A somewhat free world!

And then he did worry! A Cough! — Cough! Cough! Cough!

Ignoring statistics, he yelled “that’s enough!”

Cus’ the Whos, young and old, might be happy you see.

And they’d talk! And they’d share! They might even feel free!

They would pass dishes left. They would pass dishes right.

“They’re ignoring my edicts? They might take a flight?”

They’ll go out! And they’ll dine! They might even shop small!

And the more the Pritz thought, oh the more he would growl.

The more the Pritz asked, “Can I lockdown it all?”

Chicago’s compliant, Cook County submitted.

But collaring suburbs? Downstate? They’re committed.

“For nearly two years I’ve cut down on their freedom.”

High taxes and looters did little to beat ‘em.

“I need a new plan,” Ol’ Pritz said with a frown.

To sink these small biz folks, to leave them to drown!

With three weeks until Christmas, Pritz furrowed his brow.

Seeking ways to stop Santa before leaving town.

A tax hike amendment? That had failed once before.

“I could ask the police force to bust down their doors.”

The Pritz needed a plan. Needed something to stick.

Cus’ his trip down to Palm Beach was coming up quick.

“These families must suffer, the Whos must have order”

He couldn’t just let them be free while in Florida.

He schemed and he schemed to stop gatherings and presents.

“I MUST find a way to make Christmas unpleasant!”

Then he got an idea! An awful idea!

THE PRITZ GOT A WONDERFUL, AWFUL IDEA!

“I know just what to do!” The Pritz stated smugly.

Add probable cases! Make numbers more ugly!

And he chuckled, and clucked, “What a great Pritzy scheme!”

Use ambiguous standards! Cough once? Quarantine!

The cases were rising. A media sensation!

The Pritz? Ecstatic! Couldn’t hide his elation!

We must have more lockdowns, yes we must have more fear.

Coyly and firmly, Pritzy said with a sneer

“Orange man bad! There’s no Christmas this year.”

Then he called on his pilot. And he scheduled his flight,

A much needed vacation from Illinois’ plight.

Pritz loaded some bags on the Gulfstream. “Let’s go!”

Quite a comfortable sleigh for this new Santa foe.

Then the Pritz said, “Giddap!” And the plane started rising,

“I’ve ruined their Christmas! The Whos will be crying!”

“I’ve shut down their churches, their bars and their schools!

While quietly sneaking away from those fools”

Away from the homes where the lockdowns were present.

To much freer Florida, away from the peasants.

All their windows were dark. What a depressing vision.

Pritz thought to himself, “I’ve accomplished my mission!”

The Who kids were all dreaming sweet dreams without care.

Not knowing that lockdowns mean trees will be bare.

“Approaching the runway,” the old pilot explained,

As Pritz keenly awaited his weekend of play.

He got stuck only once, but was able to fit.

No frills on this Gulfstream for the working man’s Pritz.

So he slithered and slunk, with a smile most uneasy,

To deboard his plane took a whole lot of squeezing.

But nothing could rain on old Pritzy’s parade.

His work canceled Christmas. He’s made in the shade.

The Whos won’t get Pop guns! Or bicycles! Or Drums!

Barren stockings without even popcorn or plums!

He laughed to himself, settling into his feast,

Excited that he got to have his roast beast.

He gorged on his dinner, as quick as a flash.

“Those Illinois yokels need ME for who-hash!”

They won’t see their presents! The ribbons! The wrappings!

The tags! And the tinsel! The trimmings! The trappings!

And then in the sand Pritzy settled his rump.

So thrilled that the media will blame this on Trump.

“PoohPooh to the Whos!” his tyrannical humming.

“They’re finding out now that no Christmas is coming!”

He took away Christmas

While sunbathing in sand

He put you in cages for the gatherings he banned.

“They’re just waking up! I know just what they’ll do!”

“Their mouths will hang open a minute or two,

Then the Whos down in Whoville will all cry BooHoo!”

“That’s a sight,” grinned the Pritz, “yes they’ll be so appalled. “

So he paused. And the Pritz dialed in to his call.

And he did hear a sound rising over the phone.

His public health “experts” how they wailed and they moaned.

The Whos had fought back, they went out and were merry!

It couldn’t be so! But it WAS merry! VERY!

He slammed down his cell phone! The Pritz was so livid!

“Ignoring MY orders? They might catch the COVID!”

Every Who down in Whoville, the tall and the small,

Was fighting the lockdowns, ignoring them all.

He HADN’T stopped Christmas from coming! IT CAME!

Somehow or other, it came just the same!

And THEN They did something He liked least of all!

They handed out the presents they got from the mall!

“Support local business? I thought those were dead!”

Ol’ Poohbear won’t like this, he winced, oh the dread.

And the Pritz, with his fat feet still covered in sand,

Sat wondering “How could they? Ignoring my bans?”

And he puzzled three hours, his puzzler left aching.

Shocked and appalled that the peons weren’t quaking.

“I called for their closures. Demanded compliance…

I named, shamed, and blamed them but still they’re defiant?”

See, freedom’s a virtue! Dinner tables need food!

And small business owners find his lockdowns quite rude.

Though he tried and he tried, the Whos put up a fight.

Refusing to let Pugsley ruin Ol’ Santa’s flight.

And what happened then? Well…the grinch noticed his flaw.

Sadly the Pritz thought his orders were law.

The Grinch learned his lesson, The Pritz hides in Florida.

“Rules for thee not for me,” are the hypocrite’s orders.

A heart growing three times the size, that’s insane!

A big old Pritz tantrum? More sense in his brain.

His rules are misguided, the lockdowns fascistic.

Small business and families were crushed by his edicts.

Pritz shut down your business! He took your kids’ presents!

He’s casually stripping your freedoms! Unpleasant.

A governor by name but a tyrant in practice

His edicts can’t bind you. To hell with this fascist.

So ignore Pugsley’s orders, do just like the Gov.

Stay open, fight lockdowns, share presents and love.

And remember these lockdowns in twenty-four months.

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Steven David Kluber

I write great copy and bad puns | Social Media Marketer | Branding Enthusiast | Content Marketing for many