Okay, recently (well, not so recently given my timing, but you know what I mean), Groundhog Day was upon us and then it was over again just as suddenly as it arrived. I thought that I would take this opportunity to fill you in on the outcome of the day's festivities in case you were living underneath a rock. Do you want to know what the little varmint had to say? Do you want to really know the verdict? On February 2, 2009, Punxsutawney Phil (who the fuck names their kid Punxsutawney Phil? I don't care what species you are, that name is bullshit) emerged from his little hidey-hole, held up by the scruff of his neck and saw his shadow, which according to the rule of the holiday signifies: WHO GIVES A FUCK?
Holy shit! After all the centuries of development that the human race has gone through, after all the technological marvels we have shit out onto the earth, after all the research, all the study, all the years of diligence, this is how we, as a race are going to try to estimate how much longer winter is going to last? Some smelly ground rat is going to emerge from his feces-laden den to a host of slack-jawed idiots and media types to determine whether or not he can see his own shadow and if he does that means winter is going to last six more weeks? What the fuck? Seriously? Is that how homey rolls? We can shoot a man onto the face of the moon, but damned if we can't figure out this whole weather and changing of seasons business without consulting an animal that is significantly less advanced than we are. Fucking rights!
First of all, why this bunch of arbitrary bullshit? Why groundhogs seeing shadows signifying anything? Why does it have to be six weeks? Who the fuck makes this shit up? I weep for the future if we're going to continue to gather each year outside some ground weasel shit den, salivating because we would probably just as soon eat the little rat as we would ask him for a prediction on the weather.
"Hey Cletus, when y'all think the winters(sic) going to be done for? My's Christmas breeches is wearing thin-like."
"I don't know, Jed, but that earth-pig is looking mighty dee-lish. Fetch me my double-aught and I's gonna shoots us up some dinner! Yee-haw!"
End scene.
Secondly, what the fuck difference does it make if winter lasts six more weeks, four more weeks, two more weeks, or 12 more minutes? What are you going to do about it if you don't like what the little rat-pig has to say about the future? Why not just do as the rest of the functioning world does and just cope with it? Winter will be over when winter is over. That's how it works, folks. It's that simple.
I assure you that no Old Man Winter is hiding in the proverbial ether, waiting with anticipation for the little mule-squirrel-earth-slug to see his shadow before literally, or figuratively since we're talking proverbs here, shitting snow out of his ass for six weeks, dancing around as he does so proclaiming, "Sorry morons, the litte rat-fuck saw his shadow, now you're mine! All mine! HAHAHAHA!" If there's one thing that science has taught us about ground rats it's that they're wrong, we're right, manifest destiny for humanity, tough titty for the rodents. Get used to it. We won. The war is over. Now get back on my spit, I'm going to roast you over an open fire.
So, please, please, pretty please, just leave your tribal superstitious bullshit nonsense on the funny pages. Keep it out of the regular media. I might need to learn something important. I do not give a fuck if some ground-pig woke up and saw his shadow. Six more weeks of winter or an early spring, big fucking deal. I'm not going anywhere. I just abide.
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