You're a mean one, Mr. Grinch. You really are a heel. You're as cuddly as a cactus. You're as charming as an eel. Mr. Grinch, you're a bad banana with a greasy black peel. You're a monster, Mr. Grinch. Your heart's an empty hole. Your brain is full of spiders. You've got garlic in your soul. Mr. Grinch, I wouldn't touch you with a thirty-nine-and-a-half-foot pole. You're a vile one, Mr. Grinch. You have termites in your smile. You have all the tender sweetness of a seasick crocodile. Mr. Grinch, given the choice between the two of you, I'd take the seasick crocodile. You're a foul one, Mr. Grinch. You're a nasty, wasty skunk. Your heart is full of unwashed socks. Your soul is full of gunk. Mr. Grinch, the three words that best describe you are as follows, and I quote, Stink, stank, stunk. You're a rotter, Mr. Grinch. You're the king of sinful sots. Your heart's a dead tomato splotched with moldy purple spots. Mr. Grinch, your soul is an appalling dump heap, overflowing with the most disgraceful assortment of deplorable rubbish imaginable, mangled up in tangled-up knots. You nauseate me, Mr. Grinch, with a nauseous supernose. You're a crooked, jerky jockey, and you drive a crooked horse, Mr. Grinch. You're a three-decker sauerkraut and toadstool sandwich with arsenic sauce.