The Grinch/ How the Grinch Stole Christmas/ Milliways
As the sweet sour winds blow over the lake, and the daffy-do-dils come slowly awake, on the peaks past the wood (that's not really too far) a pair of eyes appear glaring down at the bar. They glare and they glare and they glare, glare, glare, glare as the sweet sour wind whips through the chill air. It's a rather cold stare, piercing down through the air and to guess whose it is, I surely won't dare. Though if there are any bar patrons traipsing up the mount's trail as the bunnies all huddle and the sweeping winds wail, I'd advise them to flee 'fore they're caught in a pinch as they wind their way up to the lair of the Grinch.