I’m a little tired of Punxsutawney Phil getting off easy. Each year, they drag his fat carcass from a box, shove him into the spotlight and tell us all that winter will last for six more weeks, or we will have an early spring, depending upon whether it’s overcast that day or sunny. It has nothing to do with Phil. It has to do with clouds. We could drive a stake into the ground, call it Wexford Woody and get the same results. If we see Woody’s shadow, that means he’s predicted six more weeks of winter! The fact that a wooden stake has no functioning brain puts it just a step above a groundhog, whose frontal lobe is the size of a thimble.
Do I sound a little bitter?
Damned right I am. Ever since Bill Clinton told me he did not have sexual relations with that woman, from the day George W. Bush told me there were weapons of mass destruction, I have been a bit wary of our leaders and their loose interpretations of the truth. Using the great Pete Townshend as my guide, I hereby pledge to never “get fooled again”.
I’m starting this pledge with the groundhog.
Each year, we act as though he knows something about the weather, when, in fact, he is nothing more than a nocturnal hole-digger who survives living underground, eating tree roots and the droppings of others. This makes him no more intelligent than the current crop of television meteorologists and just a shade smarter than your Facebook “friends”,
As I asked during the Clinton impeachment and the Bush re-election, I ask again, “I’m supposed to trust this animal?”
The thing that bothers me about the Punxy Phil administration is that it’s a true monarchy. There is no course of action to remove him from office. He’s the Pope. He’s a Supreme Court Justice. He’s a military dentist. No matter how badly he does his job, his contract always gets renewed.
This year, I say to you, citizens of Pennsylvania, let us take the groundhog by the horns and wield the power that was bestowed upon us in the Constitution, the Bill of Rights, the Declaration of Independence, or your automobile lease agreement. I say, let’s hold this varmint to his word this year and show that we are the ones who decide. We are the powerful. We are not living underground, chewing on tree roots and the droppings of others – well, most of us. But that doesn’t mean you sports talk show hosts don’t have a voice as well.
I say we kill the little bastard.
I know it sounds a bit reactionary, but seriously, would anyone notice one less groundhog?
Imagine, if you will, what the publicly televised execution of Punxsutawny Phil would do for weather forecasting. You better believe his successor will put a little more effort into the process than stepping out of a burrow, looking at the ground, and returning to bed for 364 days.
Lie and you die – that’s my new motto. After all, this is not the Presidency we’re talking about, but something much more important. Beware the Ides of March, Phil.
This is Pennsylvania.
We take our weather seriously.
Damn the rodent and pass the hot sauce.