Possum Able

Announcement, confession, statement: I do not like possums.

I generally consider myself a fan of animals. Even animals that others find revolting to the point of making loud declarations of repulsion over, like rats and spiders, I find okay. But possums freak my happy ass out.

I had never seen one as a child or in real life. I had seen comic strip versions of them and had always assumed that they were small creatures, shrew size, maybe getting to the size of your hand.

My move to California was troubling for many reasons, not the least of which was seeing my first real life possum. The fuckers are big, medium sized dog big. And if some mutant dino-rat had survived from some long ago epoch, this was them. This thing shambling along the ice plant on the side of a darkened road seemed like an affront not only to my sensibilities, but to nature, to America.

So today, down at the public market, some middle-aged fuckhead is walking around with a goddamn possum, cat sized this go round, in his arms like a baby.

I’m already not a fan of the novelty pet thing; thinking your striking and original because you have a ferret and not a bourgeois dog. But this guy has taken that juvenile idea and is calling some mutant ugly hell spawn his pet.

Hey dickface, if at forty something you still feel like you need the sort of attention that carrying a possum around a public street as if you were suckling an infant is bound to give you, then you may need to finally get over the fact daddy never understood you. You’re not creative, you’re not eccentrically different, you’re a douche bag.

Sorry, I said from the beginning that I do not like possums. Plus I’m a tad tired from staying out until 4 last night.


Zeptember song of the day: Over The Hills And Far Away