It was Christmas in Whoville, time for roast beast and cake.
As the sole home insurer, I earned this long break.
Finally, a day without contracts or quotes—
just presents, and wreaths, and big winter coats.
So imagine my shock when my phone started ringing,
with claims pouring in and not holiday singing.
At the first call, I thought, oh my gosh—what a mess.
The Who family was robbed, and on Christmas, no less!
Then the second came in, from the Whos (no relation).
They’d also been robbed and were seeking salvation.
By the third claim, I knew something must be afoot,
if the whole town was hit, my firm was kaput.
There was simply no way I could pay all these Whos,
I’d go bankrupt for sure; I’d just have to refuse.
I pulled out each policy for a loophole, I searched—
any excuse to leave Whos in the lurch.
Does a dwelling contract really cover a robbing?
Apparently so, which left me there sobbing.
This business was built on making me wealthy.
Could that all be undone by a burglar so stealthy?
“No payments will be made,” I’d just have to instruct,
or else I’d simply be totally fucked.
No reimbursements for trees, none for decor.
We won’t cover Who-hash or crumbs left on the floor.
The Whos would revolt, and I’d go down for fraud.
I’d just have to skip town, perhaps travel abroad.
But just when I feared I must burn it all down,
the Grinch in a sleigh rolled right into town.
He returned all the presents he took with no trace,
every last item I would’ve had to replace.
The town celebrated and broke out in applause,
and my Christmas was saved by a Grinch, not a clause.
