'Twas the night before Christmas, and down in the town,
All the Who-humans snored with their screens powered down.
No tweets, no TikToks, no reels full of fluff,
Just silence—and houses with far too much stuff.
But high in the hills, in his dank little cave,
The Grinch in his onesie was plotting, quite brave.
“Oh, these humans are hopeless,” he cackled with glee,
“They're lazy and clueless—an easy mark for me!”
His fluffy red Santa suit hugged his green gut,
While his oversized hat perched atop his green butt.
With a candy cane clenched in his mischievous grip,
He hopped on his sleigh for his annual trip.
Down, down he soared through the cold winter air,
With a fart so explosive, it froze his own hair.
“Damn that last burrito,” he grumbled and wheezed,
“But tonight’s haul will make me feel properly pleased!”
He landed his sled on a roof slick with ice,
Then grumbled, “These humans should shovel. How nice!”
He slipped and he slid, swore words quite obscene,
Before plopping face-first into a vent duct unseen.
Inside the first house, the Grinch struck a pose—
A thief in his prime, from his head to his toes.
The Christmas tree sparkled, the stockings were hung,
And the air smelled of eggnog, old cheese, and dung.
“What do we have here?” the Grinch whispered low,
As he rummaged through stockings with gusto and glow.
He pocketed candy, stole socks with a smirk,
Then tiptoed to the kitchen to get down to work.
On the counter he spied a plate full of treats—
Cookies and whiskey! His favorite sweets!
He scarfed down the snacks, licked his fingers with glee,
And let out a burp that woke the family tree.
The ornaments shook, the lights started blinking,
But the Grinch didn’t stop—he kept right on drinking.
“Cheers to myself!” he declared with a cheer,
“These suckers won’t know I’ve been robbing them here!”
He raided the fridge, he emptied the drawers,
He snagged all the gifts and then some decor.
The wreath from the door? Into his sack!
The vacuum cleaner? “Sure, why not pack?”
But then, as he grabbed a smartphone and drone,
A strange little whir made him pause and postpone.
For there on the floor, with its sensors aglow,
A Roomba emerged, like a knight from the snow.
“What’s this little beast?” sneered the Grinch, unimpressed.
“A robot with wheels? How quaint. How suppressed.”
But the Roomba zoomed forward, its motor on high,
And the Grinch felt a jolt as it zipped ‘tween his thighs.
“Oi! Stop that, you bastard!” the Grinch howled in pain,
As the Roomba spun circles and charged him again.
He tripped on the carpet, he slipped on the tree,
And landed face-first by the family’s TV.
“Enough!” cried the Grinch, but the Roomba whizzed by,
Beeping and buzzing with vengeance nearby.
It nudged at his sack, it tangled his feet,
And the Grinch knew this gadget had him beat.
He scrambled and stumbled, his sack left behind,
As the Roomba pursued him with one thing in mind.
Out through the door and onto the lawn,
The Grinch fled the house like a thief at the dawn.
Back to his sled he retreated, quite sore,
With a bruised little ego and pride even more.
“No loot for me tonight,” he muttered and spat,
“All thanks to that robot—a pest in a hat!”
Now back in his cave, with his plan gone awry,
The Grinch sat and pondered, his candy cane dry.
He stared at the whiskey he’d swiped from the shelf,
And muttered, “Next year, I’ll just rob Santa himself.”
So if you hear giggles this Christmas Eve night,
It’s the Grinch in his onesie, recounting his plight.
For though he’s still stealing, he learned one great moral:
Never mess with a Roomba—it’s deadly, not floral.
And so ends the tale of the Grinch’s defeat,
A festive reminder: Don’t underestimate neat.
Your gadgets may save you, your robots may rule,
But never let burglars take you for a fool.
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