This week has been quite wintery to say the least here in Boston, and it’s starting to look as if that con artist known as Punxsutawney Phil lied to all of us about an early spring. I must say that walking out my front door every morning and being greeted by a chilly 10 degree punch to the face is starting to get real old. However, I will admit that nearly getting frostbite every morning does a way better job of waking me up than any amount of coffee or blow ever could, so I guess there’s that. Walking in the freezing wind a few days ago was one of the more miserable winter experiences I can remember in recent memory. I felt as if I was gonna get swept up and carried away to the magical land of Oz, which in retrospect wouldn’t have been that bad because I would have missed work. Plus, Dorothy is a smoke and could fucking get it. Granted that movie came out in 1939 and she would probably be old or dead by now, in which case I would just try to bang Glinda The Good Witch Of The South because her powers probably prevent her from aging. Or do you even age in Oz? I don’t know, but that’s not the point. My point is that winter needs to end ASAP, and I’ve already begun thinking about warm weather. Sun. Day drinking. Sweating my balls off. Honestly, I can’t fucking wait. But then today happened, and it snowed again because Mother Nature is more of a relentless bitch than Hillary Clinton and my elementary school nun Sister Phyllis, who I should add used to hit us with a ruler if we didn’t do our homework, combined. But I don’t even blame Mother Nature for all of this because she’s just doing what she’s been doing for millenniums. Who I do blame for this snow and the false hope of an early spring is an asshole from Pennsylvania named Punxutawney Phil.
If you don’t know who Punxutawney Phil is, consider yourself lucky. Above this paragraph I’ve included a picture of that aforementioned arrogant prima donna, and my blood is boiling just looking at that smug expression on his face. I don’t mean the guy on the left by the way, who is for some reason dressed like he owns a textile mill and is about to board a steam train shortly after the end of the Civil War. I’m talking about the pompous asshole that the probable time traveler is holding in the air like he’s an Academy Award at the end of a longwinded acceptance speech. THAT is Punxutawney Phil. I’ve had beef with Punxutawney Phil for years now, but the snowy commute this morning was the straw that broke the camel’s back. No more can I sit back passively as this prick remains famous and celebrated annually despite being God awful at his one and only job. All this asshole has to do is peak out of his hole and look for his shadow in order to correctly predict if there will be an early spring or not, and year after year he’s wrong. I mean Christ man, have a little pride in your work. Everybody else might keep giving him a free pass, but not me. I don’t have the stats in front of me at the moment, but I’d bet my soul that his batting average has been .000 for years now. He’s as washed up as a dead whale on the beach, and he needs to step away from the game immediately. Seriously, when was the last time this coward didn’t completely swing and miss with his spring prediction? Trick question, because he’s been consistently swinging and missing worse than Manny Machado at the end of the last World Series since this stupid tradition started back in 1886.
Some of you might be thinking to yourself, “Well Drunk White Kid, Wikipedia says groundhogs only live on average for 6 years. Are you seriously suggesting this has been the same groundhog the whole time, and he is now 133 years old?”. Yes smart ass, that’s exactly what I’m saying. First of all, didn’t your teachers ever teach you not to trust Wikipedia? Obviously this has been the same groundhog, and he clearly has some type of magical powers that have allowed him to exist (Much to my dismay) for over a century. And even if it somehow hasn’t been the same Punxutawney Phil the whole time (It has, trust me), then fuck his entire ancestral bloodline. That embarrassment of a family tree couldn’t predict when spring is coming if their lives depended on it. Kurt Cobain famously said in his suicide note the Neil Young lyric, “It’s better to burn out than to fade away”. So please do us all a favor Phil, and make out with a shotgun barrel just like Kurt did (Allegedly). Looking at you Courtney Love (Although I rather wouldn’t)
So am I saying I could do a better job than Punxutawney Phil of predicting when spring will come by using my own shadow? Yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying. I’d be like Nostradamus when it comes to this shit, and if that has been named Phil has a problem with that, I wouldn’t even hesitate to square up with that midget of a mammal. Take a look at the food chain Phillip, and stay in your fucking lane before I take a road trip to smack the taste out of your mouth and make PETA have a heart attack.
If you want a job done right, sometimes you have to do it yourself, so don’t be surprised if you see me emerging from a hole and looking for my shadow come Groundhog Day next January. Yeah it’s tough work, but somebody has to do it, and it sure as shit won’t be Phil. You’re welcome everybody, and please, for the love of God, can spring pick up the pace and get here already? Thanks in advance.