out the fake tree stump with the groundhog stuffed in it, these
thousands of people are desperate for something interesting happen.
Actually, considering that they showed up at 5:00 AM for frikkin’
groundhog, they’ve probably been waiting for something interesting to
happen for a lot longer than that. Anyway, the very sight of the town
elders drives the crowd into a frenzy, a rabid clamoring, a knot of
orgiastic tension that can only be released when some old guy in a top
hat whacks a fake tree stump with a hickory cane, opens it up, and
hoists a groundhog up in the air over the crowd like it’s the
newly-born Lion King.
Now, this groundhog, who spends the bulk of
his year as a pampered pet, only to one morning suddenly find himself
rudely stuffed into a fake tree stump for God knows how long and then
hoisted over a crowd of screaming Pennsylvanians, reacts in the only
sensible way a groundhog can: he loses bladder control.
(Seriously, I don’t know why I love the groundhog so much. Maybe it’s that it looks like an obese ferret, or because animals are inherently hilarious, or local civic rituals are inherently hilarious, or something, but everything to do with the groundhog charms me senseless.)