Groundhogs win.

Spring is coming early, according to weather experts. Not Doppler 4000 or Sam Champion or even Al fucking Roker. I mean, the groundhog, of course.

How shitty is your profession when you're upstaged by a rodent every damn year?  

I'd like to see the data on how many meteorologists overdose on pills, strangle themselves, drive their cars off bridges today to escape the shadow of Punxsutawney Phil, Staten Island Chuck, Atlanta's General Beauregard Lee, and Ontario's Wiarton Willie.

Writing out that list just depressed the shit out of me.

What do we even know about these little animal fuckers? Well I did some research. Get ready to have your tiny mind blown.

“Teenage males are capable of many things,” said Robert S. Voss, a mammal curator at the American Museum of Natural History. 

Tell me about it, Bob. I was a teenage girl once. Oh shit, you meant teenage male groundhogs. 

These little jerks only live about six years. TOTAL. No wonder they're so intent on spoiling shit for other people. Picking on the weather(wo)man seems like a weak play, since those jerks are hardly ever right to begin with. 

Who's really to blame for this full court press on the groundhog? You, of course. Why are you filming this shit? How low on the totem pole do you have to be to get the groundhog day assignment? I say to you, reporters, revolt! Take back the news. Join your beleaguered weather colleagues and shut down this groundhog business. Do your job for once and uncover the facts like I did in 2 seconds:

According to the StormFax Weather Almanac and records kept since 1887, Punxsutawney Phil's weather predictions have been correct 39% of the time.^[108] The National Climatic Data Center has described the forecasts as "on average, inaccurate" and stated that "The groundhog has shown no talent for predicting the arrival of spring, especially in recent years."^[109]

And you know what else?

"They’re known for their aggression..."

Yeah! Groundhogs are totally hulking out all over the place. Aggro little bastards. They don't care who they take down. Live fast, die hard. Pump their burrows full of beta blockers or antipsychotics or any of this crap: Ativan, Haldol, and Thorazine. 

Maybe they're just misunderstood. Like so many of you unwashed masses. It's possible, right? Read the hell out of this next paragraph:

"Yet another challenge facing New York City’s groundhogs: their populations are so small and separated from one another, some probably have trouble finding mates, naturalists say."

I could cry. No wonder they're such animals. They just want to be loved. Don't despair, groundhog. Your soulmate is out there, probably banging another groundhog. (Credit to Will Ferrell for that insight applied to humans.) 

And now I've made the groundhog even more popular. Damn you, woodchuck! You win today, but just remember this. . . tomorrow you'll probably be dead. Six years can really fly. Enjoy it now, gangsta.