“It’s just like, holy shit man, I’m tired,” sighed Punxsutawney Phil, leaning against a brick wall outside of the bar while speaking with a Fed reporter last night. Bringing a cigarette to his snout, Phil shook his head, “I’m just over it. All the pressure, every year, it’s just too much for me.”
Phil has been the groundhog tasked with determining the date of winter’s end each February since 1886. At 140 years old, Phil is on his last legs. He maintains his prophetic abilities, but his physical well-being is deteriorating. “I mean, I got arthritis in my hips, I’m blind in my left eye, and they still have me doing this every goddamn year. And it’s just like, I’ve got other qualities too. I play the violin, I’m fucking incredible at tennis.” Phil let out a laugh.
This year, the Tom Dunkel, the president of the Punxsutawney Groundhog Club Inner Circle, stated that Phil will take part in a new tradition this year, in which he will wear a tiny little top hat with a chin strap, and a pair of satin white slippers, representing Phil’s delicate balanced persona of prestige and innocence.
When our reporter asked Phill about his feelings on the new garb, he shook his head and walked close enough for the reporter to smell the dandelion on his breath. “Now, you listen to me buddy, Dunkel better watch his back tomorrow. I’m one wrong prediction away from inciting a rabies epidemic on Pennsylvania.” Phil put out his cigarette on the reporter’s coat, and burrowed back into the bar.
