Monday, February 2, 2015

Groundhog day

Damn! I knew I should have gone to Punxsutawney last night and strangled secured a new safe loving home for that groundhog.
But wait. What's this?
In reality, Phil’s prediction is decided ahead of time by the group on Gobbler’s Knob, the tiny hill in the town for which he’s named about 65 miles north-east of Pittsburgh.
They lie? These old men living in who-knows-where Pennsylvania just make it up? Who elects them? Is there an appeals process? I demand more transparency.

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