Punxsutawney Phil is a fucking liar.

I wish I could hate you to death.

Don’t blog angry.

If you’re not aware, Punxsutawney Phil the weather-predicting groundhog said this weekend that we’re going to have an early spring.  Well, I’ve got a serious god damned bone to pick with that vile  prognosticator of a whistle-pig that dares to make such false declarations.

It's a real fucking place.

Not photoshopped.

That son of a bitch  might think he’s fooling the good folk of Gobbler’s Knob, but I refused to be hoodwinked by that fucking woodchuck.  I’m cold as balls and I nearly crashed three times on Saturday thanks to the sudden snowfall that blanketed the Greater Metropolitan New York Area; the wife and I had gone out to dinner with our respective families to celebrate both her birthday and my mother’s, as they’re both born in February, and while we were staying with her parents in Queens we needed to stop off at my parent’s place in Huntington to pick something up.

Skip the Blooming Onion next time.

Might wanna wait a few.

No problem, I thought.  We’ll just swing by after dinner and head back for the evening.  Well much to my surprise it had begun to snow by the time we stepped out of the Outback Steakhouse (no, not the one I destroyed several months ago – a different one), and it was so god damned cold that it wasn’t sticking to the roads so much that it was piling up in drifts across them as we drove down the Northern Parkway to my parents’ place.  We stayed there for a little over an hour and a half while the snow mounted, and finally figuring it would be a good idea to get back before the roads got even worse, the wife and I set out to make our way back to Queens.

Not even Ben Stein could save me.

MY FUCKING EYES

I knew I was in trouble the second we pirouetted down Wolf Hill Road and nearly rear-ended some poor schmuck waiting at the bottom of the hill.  Our little Honda Civic isn’t exactly the kind of car you want to be driving around in a snowstorm, and while I bravely soldiered on by limping to the westbound Northern Parkway on-ramp, the fact that there was a solid layer of ice resting underneath the still drifting snow meant that I was on the highway for one whole exit before sliding off and slaloming  our way back to my parents’ place to seek refuge for the night.  You ever try to sleep in a pair of contact lenses before?  Neither had I until Saturday evening, considering I didn’t have much of a choice.  When I woke up the next morning it felt like someone had been scouring the insides of my eyelids with 100-grit sandpaper.

But Punxsutawney Phil says that winter is ending early.  Well, to hell with that mendacious marmot.  He can go choke down a bag full of dicks.

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3 thoughts on “Punxsutawney Phil is a fucking liar.

  1. Pingback: There goes the neighborhood. | Amateur Professional

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