Dear Punxsutawney Groundhog Day Administrators,
Could you please let me know when the ceremony will begin this year so I can put on some pants?
I’d love to avoid repeating the past six years of “incidents” where you pulled me out of my burrow right after I woke up, stark naked and terrified, and presented me to a giant crowd of crazed clapping humans. I don’t mind the surprise or the big crowd, it’s just that you didn’t even give me enough time to put pants on so everyone saw my little wiener and naked butt.
And don’t act like I’m being some kind of diva here. It is called GROUNDHOG day, after all. I’ve never seen one other groundhog in attendance. Only me. Shouldn’t I at least be consulted on the start time so I can get my shit together?
I know what most of you are saying: “But Phil, you’re a groundhog. Groundhogs don’t wear pants. Why do you care if a big crowd of people sees your little ding dong and your tiny ass?”
First of all, my name isn’t Phil, it’s Greg. And I’m from Toledo. I don’t want to pull the veil off this so-called American Institution, but Groundhog Day has been going on since 1887, Punxsutawney Phil has been played by a different ’hog with a different name since 1903. They chose me for how many berries I can fit in my big chubby cheeks and how I remain docile even when held by mayors.
Second of all, I’ve lived exclusively among humans since I was ripped away from my mother-hog six years ago. Being thrust from a sprawling Toledo groundhog farm into a swirling nightmare of fame, unnatural habitats, and human companions made me adopt a few human idiosyncrasies, including awareness and shame of my own nude body.
It’s perfectly natural to develop a similar set of values as those in your community. Like how some dogs are skittish about crapping in front of people. I’m skittish about being held up by a bushy mustached mayor with my little cock and balls hanging out.
**As a quick side note, please don’t confuse my repeated use of the “little” adjective as a sign of insecurity or shame in my dong size. I know I have little junk and I’m fine with it because I’m just a little groundhog. I have SOME self-awareness, people, jeez.**
Honestly, all I need is a heads up. Just a quick “10 minutes to showtime, Greg!” “Thank you 10 minutes!” is what I’ll reply, haha. Then I’ll get up, put on some slacks, and maybe sit with a quick cup of coffee, throw a grasshopper or two down the gullet, and I’ll be ready to go!
It’s literally the LEAST you can do. People think my life is so great, but it’s not. Sure, I’m famous and I have the power to decide when spring will begin and shit. But it’s not like I’m living like the Queen of England over here. My day-to-day life is actually pretty shitty. Everyone thinks Gobbler’s Knob, Punxsutawney Phil’s traditional home, is all fancy and comfortable, but it’s actually a cheaply made plastic burrow covered in AstroTurf and fake dirt. FAKE dirt! I get it, I’m basically a glorified zoo animal but it’s like, why couldn’t they at least get some real dirt? It’s free and it’s everywhere. On the ground, in flower pots, everywhere!
All that combined with showing off my little knob and nut sack for the whole world to see on the ONE DAY where anyone pays attention to your town, it’s almost psychopathic what you Punxsutawney people have come up with.
Anyway, I’m getting off track. I’m fine with being “Punxsutawney Phil” and doing the little song and dance every year. Heck, I’ll admit I get a rush from the power I wield, albeit pants-less, when I choose to stay outside or go back inside in front of thousands of gaping, breathless humans. I’ve sold out, I admit it, so it’s just, whatever, ya know? But this request is reasonable and with just a little more effort on your part we can make this Groundhog Day comfortable for everyone involved.
“Punxsutawney” Toledo Greg “Phil"
P.S. — Are we cool with Bill Murray or not? Was thinking about doing a Spackler voice this year. I don’t know, could be fun…