No Kings March – theblindwoodchuck.com

The Ant-idote to Fascism

The large flat rock in the meadow was tilted at exactly 12 degrees facing west, so the surface was the ideal spot for an animal to flatten out and catch some rays. The blind woodchuck had been waiting for the first warm day of spring and was delighted to find the stone empty of other creatures, because when she lays around the rock, she lays around the rock. She giggled at the joke at her own expense and then flung herself backwards, as if diving into a pool of cool water.

“Hey!” There was a furious shout and a strangled choking noise as Steve the Iguana materialized halfway buried under her bulky haunch. “Get off me!”

“Steve, I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you there. You were the same color as the rock.” The iguana was her best friend, but the woodchuck was often surprised by his ability to blend into different parts of the meadow. The lizard was still coughing and the woodchuck prepared to Heimlich him, although there was a real possibility she would crush his spine while saving his life. “I’m ok,” gasped Steve; “Some ants went down the wrong way.”

“Steve, you should not be eating ants!” scolded the woodchuck. “They are defenders of democracy.”

“How is that possible?” muttered the iguana, annoyed because his lunch had now scattered.

“You’ve heard of the resistance group antifa, right?” she whispered. “This is them.”

Seeing the look of disbelief on Steve’s face, the blind woodchuck went on to explain that all the organizing and fundraising of the resistance was coming from the inhabitants of the nearby ant farm. “Pretty cool, huh? No one would suspect they were the brains of the group.”

“Do they have brains?” wondered Steve. “How can they make a decision when there are so many of them?”

“I think there’s a queen in each colony that tells them what to do; kind of like me in the meadow.”

There was a soft snort of disbelief from behind the rock; Steve and the woodchuck leaned over to see her cousin Shirley slumped on the ground. “If you’re the queen,” snapped Shirley, “why don’t you make this all this stop? Get rid of the weasel and his minions, tell Treasury Secretary Bessent to release the financials relating to the Epstein files and leave us the hell alone!”

The woodchuck and the iguana were taken aback. Shirley was the most optimistic animal in the meadow; the head organizer and cheerleader for marches and protests. When even the chipmunks were ready to give up, she always had a slogan or a fight song ready to energize the troops.

“You okay, Shirl?” asked the woodchuck softly.

“I AM NOT OKAY! I don’t want to do this anymore. I don’t want to march or make signs—I want to sit in the sun and finish the epic poem I am writing about wolves. It’s 3,182 lines and written in alliterative verse but I can’t focus enough to finish it. I don’t want my every waking thought to be about the weasel. Why do I know who the Secretary of the Treasury is? I am a goddamn groundhog!”

The woodchuck was not very good at comforting others and felt she often made the situation worse by making a joke. Instead, she pushed Steve toward Shirley and muttered, “Say something to make her feel better.”

The iguana thought for a long moment, and then said, “Shirley, did you know I have two penises?”

The woodchuck yelled, “How is that going to make her feel better?”; but her shout was drowned out by Shirley’s surprised bark of laughter.

“I knew about the third eye on your head, but not the hemipenis!” she gasped, rising hysteria shaking her whole body as the woodchuck glared furiously at Steve, who had blushed into a deep pink. Shirley was still snorting and giggling, tears running down either side of her snout as she tried and failed to maintain her composure.

“You don’t have to go to this march; you can sit this one out.” The woodchuck patted her cousin’s knee in solidarity. “Antifa is going and they estimate there are about eleven million of them in this meadow alone, minus the ones Steve ate for lunch. They will cover for you.”

“The ants go marching one by one . . .” Shirley started singing and then cracked herself up again.

“They don’t really use that song anymore; it just goes on forever,” explained the woodchuck. “They have adopted a Dave Matthews song as their theme; it’s only 4:27. But seriously, it’s okay to take a break if you need to.”

Shirley sat up and swiped at the damp fur under her eyes. “I haven’t laughed this hard in months. They’re not going to make me cry uncle—I’m going with the antis!” The woodchuck winced at the very bad pun, as Shirley added: “I’m definitely going to the March, but on one condition—I want to march next to Steve. I have a lot of questions for him.”

• • •

Because it’s important to learn something new everyday, the iguana hemipenis is a real thing, found in over 9000 species of Squamata (the second largest order of vertebrates around the world). They have spikes on them! Here is a picture of the hemipenes to haunt your dreams.

Also, the next No Kings March is March 28—this Saturday. Come join the eleven million ants and people we hope will turn up to show this awful administration we want them all out, including the Secretary of the Treasury.

• • •

Yes, And . . .Or

“Shirley! Shirley! Wake up!” The blind woodchuck shook her cousin as hard as she could until her relative finally sat up and sleepily asked “Is it the Rapture?”

“No, you idiot, I need your password. The mouse streaming service stopped working.”

Shirley yawned hugely and sat up. “I told you I canceled that as a boycott when they took that TV guy off the air. I said you have eleven days to watch whatever you’re in the middle of and then it’s gone.”

“But I had to finish Love is Blind before I could go back to the Star Wars one. I have two episodes left… do they win the rebellion? I need to see what happens! Can’t you get it back?”

“That kind of defeats the idea of a boycott. Speaking of protests, are you ready for this weekend?”

The woodchuck sulked. “I’m not going.”

Shirley was incensed. “You told me if I took that improv class with you, you would come with me! Why are you reneging on your promise?”

“I have my reasons . . .” began the woodchuck when Shirley cut her off.

“Let’s do that thing we learned in the improv class and you can explain them to me: you start.”

“Um, well, for one thing, it’s going rain.”

“Yes, and . . .” Shirley interrupted. “We’ve been in a drought all summer. Rain will feel wonderful. Next?”

“It will be cold if we get wet!”

“Yes, and . . . the last time we did this it was about 100 degrees. Also, you’re wearing a fur coat.”

“What if I get hungry?”

“Yes, and . . . there will be dropped snacks all over.”

“You know I don’t like crowds!”

“Yes, and . . . we don’t have to be in the middle; we’ll stay on the outside of the masses.”

“I don’t have a sign!”

“Yes, and . . . you don’t have to have one; but I have cardboard and markers if you want to make one with your famous bubble letters.”

“Shirley . . .” the woodchuck paused for a long time, and then said in a small voice, “I’m afraid.”

“Oh, honey, Yes, and so am I. But we’ll hold each other’s paws and try to be brave together. Remember, we have friends everywhere, and they will be there with us.”

The woodchuck sighed and realized her cousin was right. For as many excuses as she had for not going to the No Kings March, she knew showing up was the most important thing.

As she uncapped the blue market to make a sign reading Welcome to the Rebelion, she teased Shirley, “Did you really think if there was a Rapture that you would be among the chosen to go?”

Shirley threw the red marker at her and said, “You spelled “rebellion” wrong!”

• • •

Yes, and . . . everyone has reasons why going to the No Kings March this Saturday, October 18 might be inconvenient or scary, but it’s very important. So pull on your inflatable Frog suit or T-Rex costume and join us!

• • •

The woodchuck has a new burrow! You can still hang around here with the other woodland animals, but the iguanas and the platypus have moved over to Substack, where they hope to reach millions of new readers and possibly amass a fortune in cicadas! (The woodchuck doesn’t really expect you to hand over your tasty bugs—she’s just hoping for new eyes to read about her adventures.) Look for her at The Blind Woodchuck on Substack.

L(Ice), L(Ice), baby

The meadow had been tense the last few weeks as deputy weasels roamed the area, slapping together sticks and dragging away animals they didn’t like, which seemed to be everyone. The groundhog had gone deep beneath the meadow, hoping if she stayed quiet, they wouldn’t bother her. She knew she outweighed the skinny little freaks, so that was an advantage.

The blind woodchuck buried her head in some leaves in her burrow and tried to muffle the yelling that was coming from above ground. She had almost fallen back to sleep when the shouting voice was suddenly right in her ear: “Wake up!” her cousin screamed, “they are trying to deport Steve!”

The woodchuck sat up abruptly. This was not her fight—she just wanted to be left alone. She’d been sleeping a lot lately, which was odd in the spring because she should be out looking for a hook up. But Steve was her favorite iguana who had come to live in the meadow just a short time ago. He was the worse card player ever and her best friend.

“Where is he?” she demanded of her cousin. “Is he safe?” Shirley put a single talon to her lips and pointed to a tunnel off to the left. “When we saw the L(Ice) men cometh, I told him to hide in your bathroom,” she whispered. The meadow population had started calling the enforcers L(Ice), because they were covered in tiny bugs. Thinking about them made the woodchuck scratch her haunch furiously. You could see the minute vermin crawling in and out of the fake flak vests they had ordered from that company along the Amazon River.

“Just because they are enjoying their armadillo cosplay doesn’t mean they have any authority!” hissed the woodchuck. “You and I know that,” said Shirley, “but the foxes keep telling everyone the iguanas are criminals, not just bad card players. The animals don’t know who to believe.”

“We need to do something to distract from L(Ice) so that the iguanas have time to escape. You organize a rally to get all the other woodland creatures out marching and yelling and singing protest songs, and I will focus on expanding the tunnels so the lizards can get across the meadow unseen and into the forest where they will blend in with the leaves”.

There were plenty of unknown factors to deal with—could Shirley get the word out to attract a large crowd to march? Could the woodchuck dig quickly enough to expand the tunnel across the entire meadow? Would the heartbroken iguanas ever believe in the promise of freedom they had found in their new home? Except for the part when they froze stiff if the temperature dipped below 40 degrees, they loved living in the meadow.

A crowd had gathered in the woodchuck’s burrow as the news spread. “I’ll get started on flyers right away,” declared one of the beavers. “Maybe I’ll try using that free design service I’ve heard about—I think it’s called Canvas? It’s like a bag of dried-up markers and robots draw pictures for you?”

“No!” exclaimed the woodchuck. “All signs and flyers should be made by hand—it makes us look less corporate. What should we call the March?”

“I think it should be called No Smoking!” shouted out a capybara. “Because smoking is bad and so is the weasel!” There were shouts of “Yes!” and “The weasel is an Ash Hat!” which had the woodchuck sighing and Shirley rolling her eyes. “No one here has cigarettes, let alone a Bic lighter; we’re not calling it that. Anybody else?”

“The No Parking Rally!” cried the chipmunks in unison. The woodchuck glared at them and said pointedly, “Do you have a car? Or cars?” They shook their heads sullenly and blended back into the crowd. They were sure that one was a winner.

“Here, I made a sign!” The hoary marmot thrust a poster into the air that said No Bakings! in large bubble letters. “Because we are not lumps of sourdough starter that the weasel can mold into any shape he wants—we are a free meadow!”

The woodchuck looked at Shirley, who shook her head imperceptibly. The message was spot on, but the bread metaphor seemed a little flaky. Suddenly the woodchuck grabbed the sign and tore it in half. “Hey!” shouted the marmot. “I worked really hard on that!”

Shirley held up the torn poster for everyone to see: It read No Kings! “This is it!” she shouted. “Because the only king of the forest is the lion, and he doesn’t live anywhere around here, which is just how we like it!”

Cheering ensued and the crowd started making signs for the big march. The woodchuck checked on Steve, who was sleeping comfortably in the bathroom. She didn’t care if it was nit picky—she would hide him from L(Ice) as long as it took.

She began digging.

There are No Kings! marches across all fifty meadows on this Saturday, June 14th. Whether your sign reads No Smoking! or No Baking!, just make sure you’re there!