Rams vs Groundhogs! Yay!

  I didn't check on  Punxsutawney Phil, Woodstock Willie, or Balzac Billy when I awoke this morning. I'd leave that to those who want to believe in Groundhog Day's 39-45% success rate. Those critters have some crazy names, but even wierder jobs. The cute varmints  are responsible for being the weatherman in large areas. What's worse is that the added stress of the position's live nature gives the groundhogs reason to give in to their agoraphobia.

 For just one take, they have to make the people believe. Not only make them believe that their beady little groundhog eyes are seeing their shadow or not, but in that the results will come true. The belief that the groundhogs do not want humans to have is that they are wise to the whole conspiracy.

                                                     Groundhog Conspiracy                    


On January 30th, 1644 A.D., a shepherd by the name of Shael Brovita, was mating sheep with ram in the mountain village of  Moutoullas, near Cyprus, Greece. He had just finished coupling the final two of his flock, when he fell to his death by tripping into a groundhog hole and smashing his head onto a rock.

 Shael was beloved in his village. His ability to coax those stubborn rams to further the herd surpassed any other efforts by shepherds in nearby villages or anyone else in the herd-husbandry industry. Shael was prized for his innate talent with calming a sheep's tense pre-coital nerves.

 Unfortunately, he had no family. His friends were comprised of just the merchants and shop owners that he dealt with in town. Two of them, Scoffry and Vim, were witness to their mates' ultimate demise. They freaked out. Scoffry picked up Shael's staff and tried his best to wrangle the beasts among the sudden mass hysteria. Vim did not move. The reflection of sheep throwing themselves upon the rocks was all that occupied his ocular orbs. The wet, glassy view of rampaging rams, ramming and digging at the entrance of the groundhog mound bunched, transforming into a distortion of a faint memory of past tranquility.

 Vim had seen Shael and his herd just outside the tavern, just three days past. Shael told him that an emissary from across the Troodos range had interest in his mating services and wanted him to branch out to groundhogs. He said that he had been offered a very hefty sum of drachma. Vim told him to go for it, although he remembered something his grandmother had said when he was young.

 "Don't mess with those groundhogs. Reliance turns to servitude!" Vim hadn't yet recalled that until just now. Now as Shael's very best friends, his herd, were trampling the kingdom of the intercessors, the groundhogs , the meaning of his Grandmother's words rang true..

 Scoffrey shook his friend.  "Leap to, Vimilinous! We've got to see to the end of this!" No answer from his friend. Scoffry was not one to hastily decide anything, so he jammed the staff down into the mud, put his hand on his chin, and thought.

 "What the frick? Why were all of these groundhogs here in the first place? They've never been here before. I'm going to get to the bottom of why my friend was taken from us too early!"

 With a new determination, Scoffrey scooped up a limp Vim and carried him to town. Since he could not regain control of the herd, he claimed a total loss and decided to get his shocked living friend some help within the city. There, Scoffrey stopped off at Shael's abode to see if there might be something that could tie a face to blame for this, the saddest of days.

 Vim died of shock shortly after Scoffrey found Shael's last will and testament. In losing his best friend, Scoffrey decided to never succumb to the feeling of sadness that grief brings. If tears came, he'd heat up to evaporate them. Scoff would now herald this day as his first in a series of righting the wronging books. With the coin that his goat sexing friend had inherited to him, he could amass a fortune with the stories of what he was about to do. He would get who was responsible for this.

 Now he had a name :

 One hundred thousand drachma for the removal and relocation of 499 tribes of groundhog from Scribel to Mountoullas to be paid to XXX.
                                                                                                             
                                                                                                               - Ozvintius Slempher
                                                                                                                          council head

 "OZ!", Scoff shouted so hard that he got into a coughing fit. Only he could have come up with this plan and not have to focus on his breathing.

 Damned Ozvintius! That scoundrel was the slipperiest tongue to ever slither past the range to the other sides of the mountain. Ozvintius himself took much pride in how he was able to manipulate those around him. He did not care much of fame, but he sure enjoyed high drama and hiding in plain sight. His position of stature made sure that he would be the one to profit from Shael's unconventional husbandry job. Past weeks, he had applauded the shepherd on many of his finest points. Complimenting the man on premise of skill, only to gain a foothold for the outcome of maximum willingness and profit. From what Scoffrey had heard, the council was a great feast to celebrate the transfer, with weather being the theme to start the next morn. Ozvintius was to lead the proceedings.

 That's why, on February 2nd, Groundhogs are scared of their shadows. Because that day in the year 1644 they came to see the shadow of one man that threatened the whole four-hundred ninety-nine tribes!.

 His arms did not tire from swinging the new, razor sharp triple blade machetes from each hand. Back and forth, hacking into the thick parts and slicing through the thin, his swings found solid purchase every time. Through the bone and sinew, the spray and spatter of the violence temporarily blinded Scoffrey. He could not see well enough to dodge the council leader's derisive move. The man he had called "leader" had knelt down behind him to stumble into the waiting jaws of the last three tribes of groundhogs.

 Before they could eat them, he shouted a curse.

"You'll never get the seasons right,
 You'll be seen in an asshole-ish light. 


 Those left of the furries can only tell you true.
 If your skies are full of snow, or if they be true blue."

With that, poor Scoffrey Clix passed on to his next existance. His body became a meal for the now blood-thirsty hogs of the ground. They were fed up with staying in Moutoullas and did not wish to go back to Scribel.

 They ended up making a pact (insert conspiracy) with the government. In return for giving them proper transport to the US and Canada, the groundhogs would carry the burden of weatherman and only pass it on to those that go in front of a camera and guess the weather.

 TL:DR; GROUNDHOG DAY IS A PLANNED CONSPIRACY

 P.S.
 I was getting some internet issues today. These drove me nuts and shouldn't have. There are a couple of places that I stay that doesn't have access and I have to make do with offline activities there. The one time I get back to get online, I can't. I don't have access to the router to diagnose and reset, etc., so I just dealt with a walk on groundhog day. Then I wrote this post and shall comment. The wonders of such a life!