Groundhog Day!

Groundhog Day! Groundhog Day!
Let's get drunk and stand aroundhog day!
Will you see your shadow? Will you spread a flea?
Will you cast bubonic plague around me?
Will you hear the news and go back down to your bed?
Will you play some Patsy and wish that you were dead?
Will you see the sunshine, and think your hole is sweeter?
Will you be offended by my careless sense of meter?

There should be more jumprope rhymes about groundhogs. And the answer to that last one should be "yes," if you're a groundhog with any decent poetic sensibilities.

Today I stopped at the gas station to get coffee after lunch, and there was this sort of wild-eyed grimy guy getting coffee too. Maybe he's a construction worker, or maybe he's a murderer hobo--we don't really know. But we do know this: man likes him some sugar. He's got a cup of coffee in a go-mug, and he stood there and put about 18 packets of sugar in it, three packets at a time. He'd grab three packets, whap-whap-whap-whap-whap-whap them against his fingers, then dump them into the cup. Then he'd grab another three. I figure he's either trying to get as many free calories as possible into that cup, or else there is going to be some seriously hyper constructing going on around here.


Geez. Reading back over this, it sounds like I'm the one who put 18 packets of sugar in her coffee. Sheesh.