Somewhere in Québec, with boots full of sass, The Grinch stomped around with her impeccable ass. She’d stolen new toys (as a Grinch often can…) Then the loot bag wiggled — “Oh fuck… that’s a man!” She nudged it. Then kicked it. Three kicks, just to check. She tore the sack open and shrieked with dismay— “GOOD GRIEF! NOT AGAIN! A MAN in my sleigh?!” A reasonable reaction. Completely fair. “You saw my face, spikey man ... ... hey, aren't you SaintPierre?! Well, I can’t send you back — so you’re staying right there.”