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Phil's Hell before/after If there's one being I currently feel for, its Puxatawney Phil. THE Groundhog. The rodent that the entire mishappen American "holiday" of Groundhog's Day is based. He lives in Pennsylvania, but this doesn't factor into my concern, whereas normally it would. Now this may seem misplaced, but understand there is only one driver of this bus. And the thought occurs at what that dim fucker must make of his life, versus what we know to be true. What we know to be true, is that likely, Phil never has to struggle for a meal in his life. What is also apparent, is that poor fucker has no idea what to make of the pagentry that descends upon him once a year. Once a year, his life hits upheaval. His days whiled away in contentment, normalcy, in the dark, largely left alone, dreaming of mating, Phil lives in relative peace. And then Feb. 2, his world turns upside down. You can see it in his stupid eyes, as he claws frantically at the air, pinned in the grasp of an old fat man in a top hat, his feeble perceptions of what his life was, and what it is now forever changed. "Ahhhhhh.....fuuuuuuuuuck...ahhhhhhhh....fuuuuuuuuck." he thinks, as the flashbulbs pop and the crowd cheers. Utter chaos, a maelstrom of noise and confusion which makes utterly no sense to the bewildered beast. "Ahhhhhhh....shiiiiiiitttty...ahhhhh...shiiiiiitttty....fuckmefuckmefuckme." He does not know the eyes of the nation turn to him for some archaic weather prognostication, he does not know what this is about, this blur of color and sound. He hisses and claws at the air in futility. And then is put back in his dark, safe hole, his world restored. Until next year. "Ahhhhh....fuckFuckFUCK...ahhhhh....shiiiiiitttty...ahhhhh-ahhhhhh...."
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