You know, one of the most fucked-up things about This Great Land of Ours, with the Fruited Plains and the Shining Grains and whatever, is the whole Holiday situation, in terms of the amount of the days off vs. the actual Holiday-days deal. I mean, like, there are all these Holidays, but where are the days off? There are no laws about any of this shit, or if there are, they stink.

And this is not to be confused with “Vacation,” which is also kinda fucked up when you compare it maybe to, like, what they got for all those Frenchies over there in Eurostinia and stuff, where I think they do this deal called “Holidays” and everybody takes a whole fuckin’ month off or something like that. Fuckin’ Frenchies—those Europolitanicians got it made, man.

Anyway, with these Holidays as we know them, this is February, and look what we got: Super Bowl, Ash Wednesday, Chinese New Year, Lincoln’s Birthday, Valentine’s Day, Presidents’ Day, and Washington’s Birthday. I didn’t get one stinking day off for any of those. Not one goddamn sumbitchin’ mother-effin’ day. People who work in fucking banks and for the Government and stuff get shit like Presidents’ Day off, and it’s all love, really—good for you—but where’s mine?

And where the fuck is Groundhog Day? I don’t even see Groundhog Day on my stupid calendar—what the fuck is up with that? I can’t even remember if Groundhog Day is on the 1st or the 2nd. Jeez, what a crappy calendar. So it’s like, OK, Groundhog Day is basically where they get this animal to come out of its den or living room or whatever, and then they decide, if the ’hog saw its shadow, if there’s gonna be less winter or more spring, and then probably where they invented it I bet everybody gets drunk and then eats roasted groundhogs or something barbaric and exciting like that, even though I don’t think I would wanna eat a groundhog ’cuz it pretty much looks like an obese rat with Chiclets stuffed in its mouth. But hey, I’m not gonna judge anybody on their barbaric rituals since I’m all about Super Bowl, right? Exactly.

This year the groundhog predicted six more weeks of winter, and if you look at a calendar—one that I would hope has fucking Groundhog Day on it—it’s just a li’l bit over six weeks until spring anyway. But I dig the Groundhog Day, because when the fat little bastard says there’s gonna be an early spring, that’s Good Times, right? I mean, even if you think it’s total bullshit, or maybe groundhog shit, believing the groundhog, you’re still gonna think maybe it’s gonna be an early spring. And then if the groundhog harshes everybody’s mellow and declares more winter, then you get angry at the groundhog and look on the calendar—one that has Groundhog Day on it—and count up the days, and then you’re like, “Hey, groundhog, it’s six weeks to spring anyway, dumbass.” Stupid groundhog.

See? Groundhog Day is, like, a day of hope and skepticism and check-that-shit-out-ism based on the Premonition of the Groundhog, and it should be a holiday and I should get the fucking day off, umkay?

And don’t tell me to take a vacation day, because I probably took one the day before on account of Super Bowl. And, look, there’s a lotta people out there who want that day after Super Bowl to be a National Holiday called “Super Bowl Monday,” or “Super Monday,” or something to that effect, and I’m so-ooo totally on that bus, because you can’t show me a more Holiday-type day in this country, seriously. There’s like a katrillion people all watching the same fuckin’ teevee channel on Super Bowl, man, so let’s get real about hookin’ the Entire Country up for a real-deal day of National Unity.

And like all Other Holidays, you don’t gotta believe in it or anything, just take the fucker off, OK? C’mon, I mean, what the fuck do 99.9 percent of the people who get Presidents’ Day off do, right? No offense to anybody who actually Observes the Presidents’ Day or anything like that, but I think more people are involved in Groundhog Day, really.

Anyway, on Presidents’ Day people either sit on their ass at home or else they go out and Consume, which is part of the Circle of Life in this here country, and on Super Bowl, most people do both things, right? They sit on their ass and consume, and that is totally on track with most Good Holidays, like Thanksgiving, where you eat and watch football because you’re lying on the floor like a gorged lion and can’t raise your head to see where the remote is so you could maybe switch it to the Game Show Network to catch a little Match Game ’74, and then you fall asleep anyway and drool on the rug and when you get up you have a rug-weave pattern on half of your face and your arm is asleep, which makes it hard to assemble that turkey-and-stuffing-and-cranberry-sauce-and-mayonnaise-fatass sammich. And then there’s like Fourth of July, where you’re encouraged to eat a lot of hot dogs, or not dogs or whatever, and then go to the beach or look at fireworks or eat a pie or something and there’s beer.

But look, get behind this Groundhog Day and Super Monday shit, OK? We could end up with some serious four-day weekends, and maybe even a five day weekend if you throw in Chinese New Year after the Chinese take over the earth.

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