The world is mourning the loss of Punxsutawney Pete, the famed groundhog who predicts the remainder of our winter by seeing or not seeing his shadow every year on February 2nd, after he was found dead from a self inflicted gunshot wound to the face after seeing his shadow, and not liking what he saw. A suicide note was found at the scene, it read:
I just can’t do it anymore. After seeing my shadow, realizing I’m only getting fatter, and enduring another year of being stared at by all
these boring ass white people, I just couldn’t take it anymore. I’ve been doing this since 1840, I’m only suppose to live 6 years, tops and somehow I made it to 180 years old and everything hurts. I just want to sleep, mate when I wake up, and eat some vegetables, but all you fucking people want to do is see if I think the weather is changing soon, well it is, it’s called climate change, the glaciers are melting and we’re all gonna die. I SHOULD’VE DIED 174 YEARS AGO! BUT YOU KEPT ME ALIVE TO LINE YOUR POCKETS!! Please don’t replace me, I can’t rest knowing another one of my people has to endure this life.
Sure it was fun at first, the fame, money, women, but you lose yourself, you start believing the hype. Quite frankly I have no fucking idea if spring is coming early, late, or at all, I’m a FUCKING GROUNDHOG!!! I STAY UNDERGROUND FOR A REASON!!!
You people have apps and 24 hour weather channels with Doppler radar yet you want to bother me when I wake up just to show your ugly ass kids that I’m “predicting the weather.” Fuck you!
To my 137 children, most of which I’ve outlived by over a century, I say until we meet again and don’t let these humans enslave you!
To my wives, who are also all dead, thank you, the sex was amazing. To Hollywood, eat shit. Your portrayal of my people in the movie “Caddyshack” created body image issues about what a Gopher or Groundhog is “suppose” to look like and has made me and millions of others self conscious for decades. Gophers are our brothers and we fight together.
So it is with great pleasure that I end this pain by swallowing the business end of a revolver and drawing attention to the underworld of Hollywood’s treatment of my people. Hopefully your children see the crime scene photos of my splattered brains all over my burrow walls and wake you from your sleep with screams of the nightmares they have because of it.
I bid you all farewell and for me, spring isn’t coming at all!
P.S. Epstein Didn’t Kill Himself, but I did. DEEZ NUUUUUTS!!!
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