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Not Easy Being Raccoon Posting Date: Jun 1 2008 12:16AM Oh, OK. So my ass is big. So it’s disproportionately large compared to the rest of my body. So what? You think I don’t know? You think I enjoy dragging this thing around? You critics, always with the ass size. Like there’s nothing else for you to sink your teeth into in this world.
You heard of George Bush?
George Bush cocks up half the planet and because his ass is well-proportioned, he gets a free pass. Me? No way. Not gonna happen. I mess up one little garbage can, I lay one or two small turds on the roof of your shed and all of a sudden, it’s like I’m Mr. Beelzebub himself. If my ass were four sizes smaller, you’d care a lot less, I tell you. A little garbage scattered at the end of your driveway doesn’t seem so bad when the ass that does it is shapely.
Watch if Maria Sharapova were to go through your garbage or crap on your shed. You’d take pictures, that’s what you’d do! Post them on the internet and start auctioning the left-overs on eBay! You’d be proud.
A raccoon does it and everybody’s all throwing shoes and making with the insults. I tell you that in this scenario, in the impact on your life, there’s absolutely no difference between the raccoon, rodent champion, and Maria Sharapova, tennis champion. No difference at all that can’t be explained by the view from behind.
And a big ass isn’t my only problem, I can tell you that. Whose bright idea was it anyway to make raccoons nocturnal? You know what happens at night? I’ll tell you, since you don’t know. It gets dark, that’s what happens! When it’s dark, there’s no light and when there’s no light, you can’t see and when you can’t see that’s when you start bumping into things. Oh, I break my nose twice a night, I tell you. Hurts like a son-of-a-bitch, what with the eye-watering and the checking for blood.
But nobody cares. It’s not even like the old days, when a raccoon had a reasonable chance at getting shot or trapped by a hunter and stuffed or made into a hat. At least then, you went out in a blaze of glory, bound for a mantle somewhere or a stylish person’s head. Now? Forget about it.
No one even gets eaten by foxes or wolves anymore. There’s none around. Not a natural predator to be found. Now we raccoons live forever. Old as stink, we get! Our asses get bigger, our eyes get blinder. It’s get so a self-respecting raccoon doesn’t want to go on with the grind. You hear what I’m saying to you? Hell-oooo?
It’s like nowadays, the best you can hope for is a quick one on the highway. And I mean quick! Have you seen the way people are driving these days? I tell the other raccoons, “Just stay off the roads, you boneheads! You wanna get yourself killed?” Killed, I tell you!
I remember my uncle Ira. He used to tell the stories about truck dodging back on old Highway 2. It was a game back then. Into traffic, out of traffic. Kept him on his toes, is what he said.
Then he lost his tail to a Datsun and he changed his tune. Suddenly Mr. Daring is all “Stay in the woods” this and “Hide under the deck” that. Always with the paranoia.
Then as soon as uncle Ira got all careful, the really bad stuff started happening. First, it was the tail. Then, there was that week he got locked in the old man’s garage with nothing to do except poop on the Crown Victoria. After that, he lost a fight to a Lhasa Apso and his confidence was shaken. He started running away from pussy cats and complaining about the weather, and it was pretty much over.
When he went, though, he went the old way. He climbed into a dumpster he knew he couldn’t get out of and he went out surrounded by all the garbage he could eat.
I tell you, being a raccoon isn’t easy, but sometimes, it has its perks. |
