Phil, you dirty ‘ole bast*rd

buttercups -

In my neck of the woods, we’re used to snow… and lots of it. We’re used to biting winds and grey skies. We’re used to slippery back roads. We’re used to frozen fingers and frostbitten noses. We’re used to plowing the barnyard with the tractor at 2am and chiseling frozen cow sh*t from the barn floor. We’re used to subzero temperatures. We’re used to snowstorms… and ice storms… and hail storms… and snowstorms with ice and hail… we even love us some rare thundersnow.

But then, winter grinds on and by the time that buck-toothed bast*rd, Punxsutawney Phil, gets ready to pop out of his hole on February 2nd, we’re tired of battling ice jams and snow jams. We’re tired of shoveling and digging and plowing and then shoveling again. We’re don’t even care about thundersnow.

So, year after year after year, we despise him. We loathe him. We resent him. We scorn him. We wish a plague upon his house. Unless…  HE DOESN’T SEE HIS SHADOW!  Then, and only then, does he become an adorable fur-baby that you want to snuggle.

Because, as everyone knows, Phil and only Phil, can convince Mother Nature to send us an early spring.

This year, instead of masterminding ways of making Phil disappear into the dark abyss of groundhog hell, Punxsutawney Phil, Seer of Seers, Sage of Sages, Prognosticator of Prognosticators, and Weather Prophet Extraordinary redeemed himself and did not…

I repeat…


This is only the 19th time, out of 122 predictions, that Phil has forecasted an early spring. And, after being in the cold armpit of the latest Polar Vortex, we’ll take any encouragement we can, even if it is from a groundhog.

Now, where’s my bathing suit…

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