It's almost Jebbah Flossum Day!!!!!

Hurray!

I hear ya - "Who the hell is Jebbah Flossum?" you ask.

Jebbah Flossum Day is celebrated on February 6th of every year - it's a 'Possum holiday so most humans know nothing about it.

Jebbah Flossum was a 'Possum that lived in 1807 in or near Fairbanks, Kansas., and, like most possums, even back in 1807 - was run over - by a wagon carrying a pioneer family to California.

The only catch - THIS TIME the WAGON wrecked - sending the entire pioneer family to their DEATHS! All of them too - there was a Mother, a Father, a dog, and 2 little girls! The wagon was passing through a very treacherous and high pass at the time - when the wheel hit Jebbah the wagon tipped and all onboard it were tossed a hundred feet down into a rocky creekbed and were instantly killed.

Yep - a 'Possum actually killed humans!

We celebrate this on February 6th because that's supposedly when this historic event took place.

We sing the Jebbah Flossum song:

"Ohhhhhhhhhh Jebbah Flossum, one hell of a possum"
They ran over his head, but now they're all dead!
You wanna fuck with a possum, fuck with Jebbah Flossum
You wanna fuck with a possum, fuck with Jebbah Flossum
(repeat x3)
"Ohhhhhhhhhh Jebbah Flossum, one hell of a possum"
They ran over his head, but now they're all dead!
(Everyone claps 3 times here)

We eat special Jebbah Flossum cake and the little 'possums act out the event in a play.

Last night:

Linda Cartman - I-95 Southbound lanes - 1984 Dodge Lancer. Linda and I actually dated a few months back. Her favorite spot was the Hardee's parking lot on 19th avenue and I'd take her there.

Tammy Hodgson - I-95 Southbound lanes - Dodge Ram pickup.

3 unidentified 'possum babies - names unknown - appear to have been flattened by a Lincoln Towncar. No mothers have come forward.

Are Linda, Tammy and these three babies better off DEAD and mutilated than they are living? Can death ever be better than life!?

If you ask me - hell yeah! Life is dodging cars and trucks, scampering around scared out of your wits every night, scrounging through dumpsters and garbage cans every night. But death is......no more. No more suffering, no more fear, no more tears and no more pain.

Even though I don't believe in the Great Possum and his "good book" - I still look forward to death, like a human might look forward to the end of a day and going to sleep.

But I know my death will be horribly violent also - I don't kid myself - I only hope it's as painless as possible - and quick - please don't let me lay writhing in pain in a ditch somewhere by I-95 - please let it be very fast and painless.

But my biggest hope about my death is that the car/truck that takes me out loses control, runs off the highway, rolls over a few times, bursts into flames and the human within is literally burned alive. And I'll lay there in my ditch and listen to the crackling of the car fire and hope the human within the burning wreckage dies slowly and that I die before he/she does.

I was standing one day with my possum friend Roger Alberts. We were eating at the KFC dumpster over off of 19th street.
"Did you hear that Pauline got it last night?" I asked him as I gnawed on a bone.
"Yep - a 2002 Ford Explorer on I-95 - I didn't see it but heard it was VERY bad." says Albert.
"Dude" I say "It was one of the worst I've ever seen - her back legs were about 30 feet from her head, which was about 40 feet from her tail - parts of her never did show up it was so bad."
"I guess the Great Possum called her to be with him" said Albert.
"Wait a minute! You BELIEVE THAT!? You believe in the Great Possum!?" I asked.
Albert looked shocked. "Of course I do - YOU don't!?"
"Fuck that fairy tale stuff" I said, chewing on a KFC Coleslaw container, "you want me to believe there's some mysterious Great Possum in the sky that 'called' Pauline and other possums to be with him?"
"Exactly" said Albert.
"And THAT'S how he 'calls' his people? By having their head and limbs painfully ripped from their young bodies - by leaving homeless possums back home to die? What kind of Great Possum is THAT!? Sounds like an asshole to me!" I answered, now annoyed and no longer enjoying the coleslaw.
"WHOA!!" said Albert "That's not cool, fool. Don't talk like that about the Great Possum. The Great Possum works in ways we can't understand - Pauline now sits with the Great Possum and is whole again"
"Well" I said "The Great Possum can kiss my great white possum ass"
Albert pretended he didn't hear me as he pawed through some old fries. "These are possum-bly the best stale KDC fries I'ver ever had" he said, skipping the uncomfortable subject. (Yes we possums say "possumbly" instead of possibly)
But I continued anyway; "Every DAY Albert you and I both see mass destruction of our kind, we see other possums mutilated on I-95, and they speak of the Great Possum being compassionate and loving - that's not love - that's sick and evil - don't ever speak to me about any 'Great Possum" again. The Great Possum is a fantasy fairy tale, invented and passed on to give us Possums hope when there is no hope. Our lives are so miserable that some freak long ago started this Great Possum balony just to try and help us get through each night. I don't buy it."
Albert stopped munching on an Original Recipe KFC thigh bone long enough to speak "Where do you want to go when you die though? Don't you WANT to believe in an afterlife for Possumkind? Don't you want to believe we go to a better world, a world where there are no highways and roads?"
"No" I said, "I don't. When I die I want it to be the end - no more"

(Albert was found dead on I-95 two days after this dumpster talk. He had been ran over by a 1999 Dodge Caravan. Albert left behind a wife and 12 children)

I'm still ticking.

So I'm crossing I-95 last night - I hear this faint music coming - it sounds like Hank Williams Jr. - and it gets louder and louder and my poor little legs are moving faster and faster as it gets louder.
Sure enough, a redneck fucker in a 2003 Red F-150 blasting Hank Jr. damn-near kills me. I could feel the front left tire on my fur that's how close he was.
I'm tired of this stinking fucking possum life. It sucks. Is it my fault I travel and LIVE at night? No - it's not.
Sometimes when crossing I-95, it's crossed my mind to just STOP
And SIT...
And WAIT...
And DIE under the wheels of a vehicle.
Why not? What the fuck do I have to live for? Almost every family member I've ever had has been brutally slain on a road - every morning there's new death - I've lost cousins, uncles, I've lost brothers, sisters - every time I meet a nice piece of possum-tail she gets killed - I'm lucky to get my little possum tool out of 'em before they're killed.
Why haven't *I* been killed!? Why did the redneck F-150 not kill me last night? There's more possums dead I think than living - what's different about ME!?
My cousin's neighbor says it's because I'm "special" - that I can write - that I can blog - and that I'm supposed to live - to tell the story - I'm the "spokespossum" for all possums is what he says.
Okay here - since I'm a spokespossum - let's report on last night's fun - this is ALL on I-95 - I'm not even looking at other highways (I call them "dieways"):

RIP:
Louis Carson
Jack AND HIS SISTER Thelma Peterson
Paul Kristensen
Linda and Leslie Tuborg

What's this life shit anyway? Did I ASK to be born? Is life a "gift" of some sort - fuck no - it's a joke. It's one disappointment after another - topped off with death and destruction. Fuck life - I may just stop in I-95 tonight if I even bother crossing it. Life sucks. You suck.

During the night I heard a noise towards I-95
First the sound of car brakes (Sounded like a newer model Ford of some sort - I'd guess about a 2003)
Then a thud.
I'm sure it was one of us - but MAYBE - just MAYBE it was a skunk.
Will investigate later.
This life sucks.

It was 7:43AM this morning and I had just (successfully obvisously) crossed the northbound exit 348 on I-95 and had been over dumpster-diving at an old shitty Burger King when I smelled that smell; the smell of warm, fresh death mixed with the smell of rotting Burger King Whoppers.
Over by the bushes I found her - this is my sister's best friend - Jean - I'm not sure of her last name. (I think it might be Jenkins but I'm not sure - seems my sister had said some called her "JJ" so maybe it is Jenkins - if I get her last name I'll update with it later.)
Recognize her?:

I rolled her over and checked her pouch for babies - there were none thankfully.
I'm told Jean frequented this shitty Burger King's dumpster on the weekends - I think she was hit at the northbound exit 348 and from what I can tell some dickhead human tossed her body behind the dumpster.
From the damage to her body and investigation I'm guessing it was a white Volvo Station Wagon that nailed her.
We 'possums are nocturnal - we run around at night - you human dickheads are the opposite - humans are "diurnal":
di·ur·nal  Pronunciation Key  (d-ûrnl) adj. Occurring or active during the daytime rather than at night
So you're OUR world when you drive around at night you bastards.