On Groundhog Day

Pictured: The object of Bill Murray’s most carnal desires.

For years, modern society has been in an indisputable state of progress.  We’ve gone to the Moon, we’ve connected the world at the click of a button, and we’ve allowed Rob Thomas to launch a moderately successful solo career in spite of his former affiliation with Matchbox 20.  Looking back at past societies, there are literally hundreds of tangible ways in which we can distinguish ourselves as more advanced.

And yet, one thing stands between us and true modernity.  That one thing is a goddamn groundhog named Punxsutawney Phil.

Every February 2nd, a bunch of vacuous morons turn on their TV so they can watch a stupid fucking rodent pop out of his stupid fucking hole and see if he can find his shadow.  And if little Pricksutawney Phil has a shadow, then naturally, spring is going to come six weeks earlier. COOOOOOOOOOOOOOL.

Maybe people are simply forgetting the fact that there’s a discipline these days called “Meteorology.”  In this mystical Meteorology, people who are actually intelligent study weather patterns and scientific things, instead of relying on a piece-of-shit groundhog.  One would think that, in a modern society, we would use our knowledge of science and weather to predict when spring comes.

But no.  Let’s consult the fucking rodent.

Here’s the thing:  In thousands of years, there will be a new civilization walking the planet.  When they look back on our civilization, what will they remember?  Will they remember the great things about our society, like Spike TV James Bond Marathons and Lite-Brites?  No, they will remember us only as the people who were so fucking ignorant that they made a little  furry ball of twatitude dictate our weather.

Guys.  Fuck Groundhog Day.