Cindy, we may be horribly mangled, but there'll be no sad faces on Christmas.
I am the Grinch that stole Christmas... and I'm sorry. Aren't you going to cuff me? Beat me up? Blind me with pepper spray?
Blast this Christmas music. It's joyful and triumphant.
All right, you're a reindeer. Here's your motivation: Your name is Rudolph, you're a freak with a red nose, and no one likes you. Then, one day, Santa picks you and you save Christmas. No, forget that part. We'll improvise... just keep it kind of loosey-goosey. You hate Christmas! You're gonna steal it. Saving Christmas is a lousy ending, way too commercial. Action!
The nerve of those Whos. Inviting me down there - on such short notice! Even if I wanted to go my schedule wouldn't allow it. 4:00, wallow in self pity; 4:30, stare into the abyss; 5:00, solve world hunger, tell no one; 5:30, jazzercize; 6:30, dinner with me - I can't cancel that again; 7:00, wrestle with my self-loathing... I'm booked. Of course, if I bump the loathing to 9, I could still be done in time to lay in bed, stare at the ceiling and slip slowly into madness. But what would I wear?
The avarice never ends! "I want golf clubs. I want diamonds. I want a pony so I can ride it twice, get bored and sell it to make glue." Look, I don't wanna make waves, but this whole Christmas season is stupid, stupid, stupid!
[when a taxicab passes him by]: It's because I'm green isn't it?