Every year it’s the same shit. I’m just trying to get a little bit of fresh air, I pop up out of my hole without even grooming my fur first and bam! There are 200 total strangers fucking surrounding me with lights and cameras, screaming and yelling and being generally pretty damn intrusive! Have you people never heard of privacy? I’m a self-respecting groundhog, not some Hollywood paparazzi pimp!
Look, I get it. It’s a tradition. But you know what else is a tradition? A little thing called respecting people’s goddamn personal space! Do you know how hard it is for me to go eat grass with a horde of obsessed strangers staring at me the whole day? I can’t even get five feet away from my fucking hole! Don’t you people have anything better to do?
I hate to break this to you, but I’m just a normal groundhog. Two years ago, some guys in suits and top hats came up to me and asked me if I wanted to be famous. I said “Fuck no, all I want is to hibernate comfortably and eat all the fucking grass I want,” which incidentally are very attainable goals for a mammal of my species. Unfortunately, none of you fuckers speak Groundhog and I got swooped into the celebrity of being the new “Punxsutawney Phil” against my own goddamn will. My name isn’t even Phil! It’s Brian, you assholes! Brian!!
So I swear to god, if you bastards are swarmed around my goddamn hole again this year, I’m gonna be pissed. This isn’t a joke, you guys. All I want. Is to eat. Some goddamn grass. So leave me alone, and stay away from my well-kept underground home. I’m Brian.
