Subject: BS: Blind River Slim - Groundhog predicts!!!
From:
Little Hawk
Date: 02 Feb 08 - 06:43 PM
This morning at the crack of dawn in Blind River, Ontario....
*** Blind River Slim ***
The seer of seers, the prognosticator of prognosticators, the veritable Oracle of Canada's Northland emerged warily from his cozy groundhog hole to take a look.
And what did he see?
One hell of a lot of snow! One hell of an ugly little town! One hell of a big crowd of drunken rubes in grundgy snowmobile jackets and hats with things written on them like
"I'm With the Idiot --->"
or "Free Sex - (Talk To The Guy Under The Hat)".
or "Where's the BEER?"
And what did he hear?
A lot of yelling and cheering from the aforesaid crowd of drunken rubes as they chanted, "SLIM! SLIM! SLIM! SLIM! SLIM!"
Did he flinch? Well, yes, a little. Did he shudder? Definitely.
It was clear to Blind River Slim that the horror of February 2nd, Groundhog Day, was upon him once again.
But Blind River Slim is no wimp. He's a professional. He doesn't let little things like 3,000 drunken morons turn him away from the job we was born to do! No sir! So after a brief, barely perceptible shudder, Slim emerged fully from his hole, took a deep breath, shook himself, and had good look around.
He then advanced to the microphone.
"SLIM! SLIM! SLIM!" raved the crowd in a frenzy of alcoholic enthusiasm that could be heard all the way to....ummm...Spanish?
Well, anyways...
Slim gazed down on them all from the raised podium with obvious contempt and waited for them to settle down, which they finally did. He held up a paw, commanding absolute silence, and he got it. You could have heard a fridge fall.
"Awright, you pathetic hosers..." (the spookily nonhuman voice of the large rodent drifted out over the rapt crowd through the ancient sound system that Don McBride had borrowed from the community centre)
"You listening to me, ya flippin' losers? You better listen good! Number one: I SEE my shadow."
At this announcement the crowd burst into sustained cries of, "NOOOOO! NOOOO! FLIP, NOOOO! YOU FlIPPIN' LIAR!!! NOOOOOOOOO!!!!!"
Slim, glowering at them from his beady little eyes in which there lurked a hint of savage amusement, waited for silence. It took some time, but he got it. He then resumed, with apparent relish...
"Not only do I see my shadow, you flipheads. I see COLD flippin' weather ahead! Yeah, you got it. I see weather so flippin' cold that yer dogs are gonna freeze their flippin' little yingyangs to the fire hydrants when they go out fer a whizz! Yer cars are all gonna die! Even yer snowmobiles won't flippin' start up! You will be trapped in your pathetic hovels freezin' yer buns off while I will be toasting my little toes in front of a roaring fire and watching Pamela Anderson videos. I can promise you the worst flippin' weather you have seen in the last hundred years. Snow, snow, and MORE snow! Freezin' rain and sleet! Thunderstorms in the middle of blizzards! The TransCanada snowed over for 30 flippin' days! The beer will freeze, baby, THAT's how bad it's gonna get!"
"In short......" (dramatic pause)"Youse are all FLIPPED!!!"
So saying, Slim turned and scampered giggling back into his hole, followed by a barrage of beer bottles, enraged protests, and catcalls. His little front door slammed shut just as a thrown beer bottle arrived to shatter against it, and he shot the bolt home, leaving behind him a frustrated mob with nowhere to go. Shortly after that someone threw a punch at someone else and the entire gathering turned into a huge riot. Police detachments had to be summoned from as far away as Sudbury to quell the rioting revelers who spilled out into the streets of Blind River, breaking windows, turning over mailboxes, and making suggestive remarks to women, even including the librarian, Mrs Ginch, who is 95 years old and bloody well looks it.
Don McBride was interviewed later by the press from the back of a paddywagon. He said,
"If only my little brother Shane had of been here, this would not of flippin' happened, eh?"
Blind River Slim rested on his comfy couch, 20 feet beneath ground level, where his hole is kept at a constant temperature of 72 degrees Fahrenheit, and toasted his little toes before the fire.
"It's gonna be one hell of a year," he remarked cheerfully.
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sj
