I thought I would provide you and your readers with a more flattering portrait.
Ladies-
How kind, how generous, I found your clever little piece of some weeks ago. Hairy duffel bag, falling down a flight of stairs. Too, too cute. If it weren’t for the fact that your species eliminated all the animals that predated upon you, you might know the terror that strikes the heart when you realize you’re out in the open–prey, in the most meaningful sense of the word–when you hear a sound or see something that might be a coyote, a hawk, or some shit-ass kid with a twenty-two and a bad case of the meanness.
I lost my father that way. Not that you could take enough time away from being arch and snarky to give a shit.
Also, for your information, which seems woefully incomplete where groundhogs are concerned, the reason we might appear overweight is that we hibernate. As in, we enter a near-deathlike state for four months out of the year. Which means that we do four extra months worth of eating in the summer and fall. That’s our excuse.
Are you trim and lithe enough to throw stones, ladies? Do you eat only what you need to sustain you for the day, knowing that on the morrow you will wake and nourish yourselves again?
Have you ever gone a day without eating?
In closing, I would like to extend an invitation to come and see how real groundhogs live. Maybe we can learn to better understand one another, outside the parlance of popular culture.
None of us, by the way–none of us–like that sellout Punxsutawney Phil. We all knew him when his name was Gerald and he was blowing squirrels for acorns. Punk motherfucker.
