Dear Punxsutawney Phil,
It is with great regret that I write to you today; I've been resisting for awhile, but I simply cannot ignore this issue any longer.
It is 29 degrees outside today, and we had snow flurries! In April! Early spring my ass!
"But Erika," you're wood-chuck-chucking in your little rodenty voice, "you live in Chicago, not in Punxsutawney, so you can't blame me for your weather."
Well, it's only 37 where you are, smart guy, and it's supposed to snow tomorrow. What else you got?
I'm sure you're all comfy in your posh little burrow on Gobbler's Knob (or, if there is justice in the world, some cage in a research lab), but I think you'd better recant your prediction and apologize. Or the next shadow you'll see is an angry mob coming to get you.
Sincerely,
Erika
1 comment:
Phil does, indeed, owe all of us an apology. He's a prognosticator pretender who rests on the laurels of his predecessors. I suggest a stink bomb down his......burrow!
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