Contained below are the two ""reconstructed"" texts read on our Christmas 2024 episode.
Cindy Bee Wulf
Hwæt! We the Whos, since days of yore, have been pre-eminent among Christmas celebrators. Oft Shieldy Shoe Who* rode his Fizza-ma-Whizza-ma-Dill into neighboring villages to shame them for having less Christmas cheer than Whoville. That was a good mayor.
*The listener may note that Old English poets and Dr. Seuss share a penchant for alliterative names.
Shieldy Shoe Who, when he departed this Middle-Dust, was laid in a great big electro whocarnio flook with gold and jingtinglers and Christmas lights and mail-coats and flifferbloofs and ornate baubles from far-off lands and various glittery ribbons & bows and his Eight-Nozzled Elephant-Toted Boom Blitz, a more lordly weapon than I have ever heard of elsewhere.
He left his son and heir, Barley Boo Hoo, a man of great honor and tree-decorating skill, who ruled the Whos with strength and wisdom until his fated death, whereupon he was succeeded by Roger Rue Who, to whom was given great success in the baking of traditional Christmas foodstuffs.
Roger Rue Who commanded to be built a great gingerbread hall, the greatest under heaven, its gables adorned with the best of frosting. And he named it Zatzit. There at the great feasts of roast beast, he granted to his retainers rings, expertly wrapped in the finest paper and ribbon. The Whos of Zatzit gathered around fireplaces and feast-tables and Christmas trees, to pass the harp from one poet to another and sing of Dahoo and Dory.*
*Possible link to Hengist and Horsa unconfirmed at this time.
However, just north of Whoville dwelt a fearsome troll called the Grinch, and the joyful songs from the gingerbread hall tormented his ears greatly, for he was a pagan creature and hated Christmas. So the Grinch, the march-stalker, the spider-brained one, crept under the clouded night sky to Zatzit and raided it for its Christmas goods, which he stole back to his mountain home, leaving the Whos without their riches. Roger Rue Who, who was wont to be generous in filling the stockings of his retainers, sat in sorrow as the Whos lamented the loss of their many carefully wrapped packages.
For twelve Christmases the mean one, the shadow-walker, crept into Whoville at night and stole all that he could, his smile full of termites as he threw his plunder into the inaccessible valley below Mt. Crumpet. Many Whos strove to defeat him, but all were foiled because the Grinch — crooked, garlic-souled — only arrived after their bedtime. And so word spread of Whoville’s plight, far and wide.
Then a chariot arrived at the borders of Whoville, having traversed the gnat-road between dust specks, a chariot adorned with great feathery wings and many colorful pennants and bells and gold inlay and fifteen champions within announcing themselves by trumpeting their floofloovers. The guard at the edge of the town spoke, challenging them: “Who are you, festive sweater wearers, wrapped in tinsel, armed with Kickapoos, who approach the boundaries of Whoville?”
The most tiny and adorable of the champions unlocked her word-hoard and spake: “We are of the tribe of the Wulf people; my mother, Mindy Lee Wulf, was well known to the Whos. We have heard that among the Whos is an enemy, a nasty-wasty skunk, who steals Christmas from Whoville each year. I can give aid and counsel to Roger Rue Who on this matter.”
Thus were the hero and her companions escorted to Zatzit to meet with Roger Rue Who. Spake the hero to the mayor, “I am Cindy Bee Wulf, daughter of Mindy Lee Wulf. Word has reached my people that a dark spirit, a bad banana with a greasy black peel, plagues your hall. It is said that he steals all of your gifts, pop-guns, pampoogas, pantookas, and drums. Now that I have come to Whoville, I pray that you do not refuse me the chance to confront this monster. And because it is said that he goes unarmed, I will meet him bare-handed.”
Spake Roger Rue Who, “An honorable speech, Cindy Bee Wulf. I recall your mother, Mindy Lee Wulf, and know of your people. Indeed, the Grinch, eel-charming, likewise steals our checkerboards, bizilbigs, popcorn, and plums. Come, join us for a feast of Who pudding and roast beast.”
Ferthy U. Who, the deputy mayor, spake then. “Cindy Bee Wulf? I heard that Breca E. Wulf defeated you in a game of zoozittacarzay — how can you say you are a hero who will defeat the Grinch, who is cuddly as a cactus?”
Replied Cindy Bee Wulf: “In that fateful match, Breca’s hoohooper was blown astray and struck a tartooka while he was touching the Opposite Pole; at the same time, I inadvertently violated the leg-before-wicket rule while slaying a sea monster with my slooslunka, thus losing Q to 12. It is so that Breca defeated me, but my facility with roller skates and croquet balls is irrelevant to this situation.”
Thus was Ferthy U. Who answered, and the Wulfs joined the Whos for a feast. Over eggnog, Cindy Bee Wulf vowed that not only would she face the Grinch unarmed, but wearing only her pajamas. That evening, the Whos fell asleep, visions of sugar plums dancing in their heads.
Late at night, the Grinch, mountain-dweller, three decker sauerkraut and toadstool sandwich with arsenic sauce, slunk into the gingerbread hall to do his wicked work. All the Whos and the Wulfs were asleep, except for Cindy Bee Wulf, whom fate had awoken to get a glass of water.
Cindy Bee Wulf confronted the Grinch. She had the pathos of thirty children in her eye-stare, more adorable than any living being on this Middle-Dust. “Why do you steal the Christmas tree of Zatzit, so adorned in bingle balls and fuzzle fuzz?” she asked. The Grinch, solitary fiend, stricken by the doe-eyed visage of Cindy Bee Wulf, rushed from the hall, Christmas tree over his shoulder.
At dawn, Ferthy U. Who said to Cindy Bee Wulf, “You have failed, for the Grinch has nevertheless plundered even our last can of Who Hash.”
“No,” said Cindy Bee Wulf, “This is a subtle strategy, for it is more noble and wins us greater honor to redeem the foe. I have placed a seed in his small heart, that it may grow. We must now all show that we remember the true, non-commercial meaning of Christmas by singing loudly of Dahoo and Dory. We must demonstrate to the Grinch and to the Lord of Heaven that Christmas has come without ribbons, without tags, without packages, boxes, or bags.”
“This feels genre-inappropriate,” said Roger Rue Who, “as within the confines of this setting distributing gifts is kind of a whole thing.”
Nevertheless, both the Whos and the Wulfs lifted their voices in song, so that even in the mountains they could be heard clearly. Thus the Measurer chose to enlarge the Grinch’s heart by three sizes, whereby he was redeemed.
Again the Grinch approached Zatzit, he who had fought one against all with the tender sweetness of a seasick crocodile, and he returned the tree and the stockings and the gold rings and the boar-helmets and the snoofs and the fuzzles, the tringlers and trappings. He swore allegiance to Roger Rue Who as one of his thanes, and this vow was sealed over a feast of eggnog and roast beast, ceremonially carved by the Grinch, and of which Cindy Bee Who was allotted the hero’s portion.
How Grendel Stole Heorot
All the Danes down in Denmark liked Heorot a lot
But Grendel, who lived also in Denmark, did not.
Grendel hated Heorot from gable to floor.
Now ask me not why, no one quite has the wherefore.
It could be all their loud Godly songs he abhorred
Because he was a pagan, a foe of the Lord.
Or it could be perhaps there was some ancient feud
That the surviving manuscripts do not include.
But I think that the most likely reason of all
Was that Heorot was built in the wrong place, crossing the liminal space between the domain of human human beings and that of non-human human beings, forgoing the imagined protection provided by the aegis of civilized society and prompting a hostile response from representatives of the wilderness and the Other.
But whether this was due to gods, feuds, or domains
He lurked in darkness each evening, hating the Danes
Glaring out from the moors, hating aeth’ling and thrall
And the warm firelight from the high-gabled hall.
“They’ll start pouring the mead soon,” he said with great spite,
“I must stop them from feasting so loudly each night!”
For in hours, he knew, all the thanes and their lord
Would be at their mead-benches, ‘round trestle and board
And then! Oh, the noise! Oh, the Noise! Noise! Noise! Noise!
That's one thing he hated! The NOISE! NOISE! NOISE! NOISE!
Then the Danes, thane and thrall, would sit down to a feast
And they'd feast! And they'd feast! And they'd FEAST! FEAST! FEAST! FEAST!
What food is unclear, but there’s drinking at least
Of the mead and the wine and drinks one makes with yeast
And then they would do something he liked least of all!
Every Dane down in Heorot, aeth’ling, thane, and thrall
Would pass ‘round the old harp, taking turns on the strings
And, with vigor and vim, sing songs of Danish things
They would sing! And they'd sing! And they'd SING! SING! SING! SING!
And the more Grendel thought of this loud Danish sing,
Then the more Grendel thought, “I must stop this whole thing!”
And then Grendel spoke a most solemn trollish vow,
“I will make this dreadful thing end soon — but how?”
Then he got an idea! An awful idea!
GRENDEL GOT A WONDERFUL, AWFUL IDEA!
“I know just what to do!" Grendel laughed on the moors.
“I’ll KILL THEM!”
So he slunk through the night till he got to the hall
The grim march-stepper plans to fight one against all.
Then he crashed through the hall and he slew thirty thanes
Dragged the bodies back home for his breakfast of Danes.
At dawn King Hrothgar saw that his men went bye-bye
And Danes raised up lament in a great mourning-cry.
Grendel twelve winters carried on this Dane-i-cide
And the word of the slaughter spread far and spread wide.
Grendel, shadow-stalker, slew Danes with great glee,
While unharmed by their swords or by spear of ash tree.
Broke their bone-houses, greedily swallowed the heart;
He snapped shoulder-branches, sprang their sinews apart;
He drank wine of the ravens and crushed marrow-halls;
Grendel bit into bone-locks and poked their eyeballs.
So this death-shade, æglæca, fiend, ogre, and troll
Held the great hall at night — and thus Heorot stole.
Until one night when Grendel came in through the door
And he gobbled a Geat who had slept on the floor.
When he grabbed for one more of these visiting men
The Geat grabbed him right back and then said with a grin:
“Beowulf is my name, and Ecgtheow is my dad;
I came out here to fight and I’ll do it sky-clad!”
He had thirty men’s might in the grip of his hand,
The man strongest that day of this life in this land
So that Grendel, it seemed, could not pull loose his arm
And he stared at this strange warrior with alarm.
The two tussled and tumbled, broke benches and walls
Had the greatest of fights in the greatest of halls
Until Grendel’s arm tore, through the muscle and bone
As the tendons all snapped, it came off with a groan
And so poor Grendel fled bleeding back to the moors
And the Geat hung his arm over Heorot’s doors.
Grendel died of his wounds in his darkened thursmere
Ignominious end to his monstrous career.
And that great hall Heorot eventually burned
In a text long since lost with a story un-learned.
Now this poem would go on about Grendel’s mum
But we’ve already used up our time and then some.
And now if you will take this and teach it in school
All your students will learn the true meaning of Yule.