We ain’t doing it this year.
You stick your dirty hand in my goddamn hole and I swear to God I will bite that shit off up to your elbow. You wanna fuck around and find out?
Seriously you gonna make me put down my hoagie and climb out of my burrow? In this economy? In a pandemic? In February? In this year of our lord (if he is even listening I swear to Jesus, Mary, and Joseph) 2021?! You are the biggest jagoff I have ever seen.
I might be a lil’ whistlepig that does fortune telling tricks for weather once a year, but nah. I filed for unemployment. This year I’m letting you use science and the weather app on your goddamn pocket-computer to figure out if winter is over. Hint: It ain’t!
Did I stutter, you top hatted, Mr. Monopoly-looking motherfucker? Don’t come at me with your “will there be six more weeks of winter”? My boy, Joe “Son of Scranton” Biden, already told you- we got a long, dark winter ahead of us. Shadows for days, son!
I noticed you ain’t wearing a mask near me. And that’s quite a large group of nose pickers with recording devices you have gathered outside my home. You think a woodchuck could chuck the South African COVID variant? Here’s a limerick that expresses my feelings:
There once was a badass marmot
Papers said look at that varmint.
Put hands in his hole
And they paid the toll
GO FUCK YOURSELF!
Go home, you Bill Murray wannabes. I bit the shit out of that beloved comedy prankster on a good day. Hasn’t everyday already felt like Groundhog Day? Look if you can tell me what day of the week it is without looking, I’ll do this for you. I’ll be a good little fortune telling rat. I’ll wait-
THAT’S WHAT I THOUGHT! But you have the audacity to go “Oh February 2nd! Same as ever! Time to make fun of a land beaver who fears staring into its own shadow because it shows him his mortality”? Short story: don’t put your hand in any of my holes, ya jabroni, ya walking sock full of batteries.
You think I won’t? TRY ME! Son I gave my last fucks getting nasty with the Jersey Devil and a Steelers’ Terrible Towel and that’s how Gritty was born. Where do you think his shaggy ass comes from? I left his ass in the basement of Wells Fargo on my way down the shore. You think I won’t do the same to you?
Hasn’t Pennsylvania done enough for the media this year? We’re no Georgia and Stacey Abrams but we gave you Four Seasons Landscaping, Dancing Mailboxes, my son Gritty fighting fascists, AND John “I bench press scabs for breakfast” Fetterman! And still you come to old Phil for a taste of tradition. Brother you come for king rodent of wintry shit mountain, best not miss.
So ask ya boy Nate Silver what the odds are on me seeing my shadow and sending you to the morgue? Where ya running, son? Now I don’t wanna see yous, yinze, or whatever the fuck you are back in PA again. Ya hear? Run back to your burrow and tell ’em Phil sent ya.