Happy Groundhog Day! I Am Going Kill Him.
One of my personal favorite traditions is gathering around with my loved ones to celebrate Groundhog’s Day! Some of my fondest memories as a child were our trips up to Gobbler’s Knob to watch that little devil pop out of his glory hole. With February 2nd swiftly approaching, here are all the ways I plan to show my appreciation to Punxsutawney Phil, “the seer of seers and prognosticator of prognosticators,” for all the joy he brings to countless children around the world as they all sing and hold hands.
I am going to shoot him dead.
Before I elaborate, I need to make sure that you understand all the ways that I would be better than Phil at his job. Here is how I will be able to outplay him in his own game that he invented all the rules to:
He has gotten too comfortable.
I know what weather balloons are. I am 95% certain that Phil would not be able to pick a weather balloon out of a lineup where 4 things are not weather balloons and one very obviously is.
Phil is a notoriously devoted husband to his wife Phylis. I, on the other hand, am single. I have absolutely no loyalty to my earthly connections, whether that be lovers, friends, or even mentors/lovers. I have made a point to devote myself to the weather, and the weather alone. I am willing to give my life for this job, while Phil obviously has too much to live for, as he has arrogantly lived for the last 135 years. I just want to see his lifeless body bleeding out on the ground with his entrails strung out for all to see.
I am great at living in holes.
Last February, when I saw Phil and asked for his autograph, he did not give it to me. This was particularly crushing as February 2 is my birthday. (My birthday is actually February 4, but it is close enough.) I have been practicing and would be willing to give my autograph to any children (and adults who have retained their child-like sense of wonder), regardless of when their birthdays are.
I really don’t think that he showers.
I am a real prophet. He very clearly is not.
I want to see him dead and I want to see his head on a platter à la John the Baptist. First, I will catch him in a butterfly net just to sit and watch him squirm. Next, I will flood out his burrow with cooking oil and beef tallow. Groundhogs are notorious vegetarians, though I suspect that Phil partakes performatively with the sole purpose of achieving a moral high ground. The beef element of my plan should be ethically reprehensible to him, however, if it is not, we will merely be catching him in one of his numerous lies. At the very least, Phylis will die a slow, oil-logged death.
It is on this day, February 2nd, that I will strip his skin from his flesh, for no part of our mortal bodies is truly attached, and I will fashion his hide into a really, really nice hat. Or perhaps, on this day, the perfect medium between the winter solstice and the spring equinox, I will bite Punxsutawney Phil’s, “the seer of seers and prognosticator of prognosticators”, ears off, and they will be hollow like a Hershey’s milk chocolate bunny. How I long to revert back to the true traditions of 1886, of skinning the groundhogs alive, of pouring boiling broth unto their naked bodies, of reveling in their screams before slurping the succulent meat off of their delicate ribs.
Perhaps the true fountain of youth has been Punxsutawney Phil, “the seer of seers and prognosticator of prognosticators,” all along. For who would think to drink the blood of a humble groundhog, but me, God’s true prophet? Groundhogs are projected to live 6-8 years. Phil has lived that 17 times over. Wake up, America!
At the very least, I would put him in an industrial blender (bones and all) and dropship the sludge to goop so that they can microdose upper-middle-class white women with raw groundhog blood and market it as anti-aging.
He is a charlatan, a false holy man, a bronze idol. What happened to the days of burning heathens at the stake? Or stoning them? Beyond that, Phil’s guesses are only right 40% of the time. I do better than that on my nightly Mylab when I just go through and click true for every question. He’s a pretty shit false prophet.
The real question, phil, is will you see my shadow? As I sneak up behind you with a shard of glass? Glass doesn’t have a shadow, phil. And although you may not see my weapon, I’ll be damned if you don’t see me, phil. I’m going to make sure that the malice in my eyes is the last image you ever see. At the sight of my shadow, you’ll be plunged into the depths of an unending winter, phil. I am the Wrath of God.
Prognosticate that, bitch.
Say your prayers and count your fucking days. I hope the god you worship is a merciful one.
Punxsutawney Phil has declined to comment at this time.
