Twinkling lights were strung from end to end of the burrow, creating an electric grid effect that caused the woodland animals to shriek with joy as they jumped over and climbed through the strings of tiny lasers. In one area, there was a piney-fragrant fur tree that a friendly beaver had gnawed down and then dropped into the tunnel, laughing about how it was “going to be a lot harder to get it out than in!” The sweet voices of young rodents rang out as they joined in perfect harmony to warble A Holly Jolly Christmas for the twenty-ninth time.
The woodchuck woke up screaming, her paws clutched to either side of her face like a furry Macauley Culkin. The burrow was dark and silent. The burned-out Christmas lights she had thrown over some twigs had fallen and become a hazard; she tripped over them every single time she got up to pee.
It had been a nightmare, one so real that the chant of “Hey, Ho, the mistletoe!” ricocheted around her sleep-deprived head and cause her to paw frantically at her ear to get it to stop.
The woodchuck had been in a bad mood for most of her existence, but the past six weeks had been particularly terrible. With the election of the Weasel and the non-election of the Muskrat who seemed to be in charge, every day brought new angst and fear about what they were planning for the forest. Merry, she was not.
She put a paw out to feel her way to the bathroom, when it suddenly sank into the hairy belly of a zombie who screeched in her face, “I AM THE GHOST OF CHRISTMAS PAST!” The woodchuck dropped to her knees in terror, something warm and wet running down her haunch, when the booming voice of her cousin Shirley started laughing hysterically. “I got you!,” she shrieked. “You peed on yourself! Hahahhahaha!”
Shirley had been trying to get the nickname Prankenstein trending around the forest since she had started jumping out at others, but it hadn’t stuck. The squirrels had suggested Prank Zappa, which caused them to giggle hysterically and choke on their nuts. There was one duckbilled platypus who kept pushing for Pranklin Shepherd, Inc. but there weren’t enough Sondheim fans around to appreciate it.
“I hate it when you jump out at me!” sobbed the woodchuck, sitting in the spreading puddle of hibernation pee. “You scared me; you never knock before you sneak in, and you are not funny. Your stupid nickname should be Prank Lloyd Wrong!”
Shirley was immediately contrite and apologized profusely; she then climbed out of the burrow to get some vegetation to sop up the moisture. She was gone for so long that the woodchuck assumed she had pranked off to scare the Dickens out of other animals. She was grateful to be alone again, but still churning with anger at her cousin and all the other animals she felt had wronged her that year. Spreading her Walmart bag quilt over the wet spot, she was about to settle back to sleep when a long stick was suddenly shoved down into her burrow. It was followed by Shirley and the beavers and several other animals, including the weird platypus.
“I’m so sorry,” yelled Shirley, who never seemed to say anything at a normal volume. “I know you’re mad at me, so I brought you a Festivus pole! You can Air Your Grievances at all of us, because nothing makes you happier than complaining.”
The woodchuck tried to find something wrong with that statement, but nothing came to mind. Her cousin knew her well. “I got a lot of problems with you animals . . .” she started.
For twenty glorious minutes, she ranted about the beavers chewing with their mouths open. She shouted at the platypus, “Are you a duck? Are you a beaver? Make up your mind!”
She pointed at Shirley. “And you . . . your jokes are not funny. Stop punking me. You are not Prank Costanza!” She paused for a breath and to appreciate how good her pun had been. She felt lighter than she had in weeks.
Taking advantage of the momentary pause, the crowd cheered and hurriedly moved on; seeing the woodchuck in a good mood was a Festivus miracle. They shared a delicious meal of berries and freeze-dried cicadas, with the squirrels chipping in some pre-chewed acorns. They were happy the rant was over before the woodchuck had got to them.
After too much eating and celebrating, it was time for the Feats of Strengths. The woodchuck and her cousin and all the beavers and squirrels participated, but the duckbilled platypus smoked everyone. Whatever combo it was, it was really strong.
At the end of the evening, the woodchuck waved goodnight to everyone and settled back in her cozy burrow, full of yummy food and the glow of being with good, if flawed, friends. It was time for a nice long sleep, and hopefully when she woke up in the spring, the weasel and the muskrat would have eaten each other and no one would be singing A Holly Jolly Christmas. God, she hated that song.
I hope your holidays are lovely and contain as much complaining as is necessary to get you through the coming weeks. It’s going to be a long, dark winter and we are all going to have to share our nuts to stay sane. Whether you are celebrating Festivus or bringing Prankincense to a manger, I hope it is as warm and cozy as a Walmart bag full of duck feathers!
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