If You Ever See What Looks To Be A Dead Possum On The Ground, Leave That Zombie Possum The Fuck Alone


They say that the best way to make God laugh is to tell Him your plans. I generally agree with this; the universe and His intentions for it are too incomprehensible for mortal understanding. But I do know, with one hundred thousand trillion percent certainty, that God's plan for me does not involve me seeing a dead possum, turning that dead possum over, searching for that dead possum's pussy, cracking open that dead possum's pussy with my finger, and peering into it to see if there are a hatch of possum babies ready to lurch out of the not-actually-dead-at-all possum's pussy.


PETA, apparently, disagrees. As they recently tweeted that you could possibly save a zombie possum's life by doing this.

Yes, you read that correctly. PETA wants actual human beings to run up on a racist-ass MAGA zombie possum (Yes, possums are racist as fuck. When was the last time you saw one at a Black Lives Matter march? Exactly.) and massage its snatch with the hope that a dozen ghastly possum ghouls will burst out and eat you. I've lived 38 years of life without caressing a zombie possum's clitoris with the hope that the contents of the possum's vageen will spring to life and bite me to death, and I fully intend on spending the rest of my days either A) avoiding possibly dead possums that are just playing possum because that's what possums fucking do is play possum or B) seeing a possibly dead possum and saying "There's a dead possum right there" and continuing with the rest of my life; resisting the urge to fingerbang it. Maybe I'll even check my FitBit. Which means I'd have to buy a FitBit. Someone buy me a FitBit so I'll have something to do immediately after hurdling over any zombie possums I happen to see.

Damon Young is the editor-in-chief of VSB, a contributing opinion writer for The New York Times, and the author of What Doesn't Kill You Makes You Blacker (Ecco/HarperCollins)



Side bar but oddly fits this thread of White people fluckshit:

This morning I go to the office refrigerator and the "funk of 20,000 years" hit me. So I grab the latex gloves and start dumping every questionable thing from the fridge with no flucks given. So one of my coworkers decides to help and is dumping stuff out with me when we stumble upon a pyrex bowl with the cure for cancer growing inside of it. Since I am the no flucks savage I open the bag to throw the bowl and the cure for herpes in the trash when my co-worker goes 'Wait!!" we can't throw the bowl away it's expensive!" So I said "Do you know how long that bowl had to be in the fridge for hairy mold in three different colors to grow out of whatever food is in there? They don't care about the bowl and neither do I" Do you know this flucking Caped Crusader got HR involved and now the bowl with the cure for ALS inside it is sitting on the counter in breakroom with a sticky note asking the owner to dump and wash their bowl. GRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!!!!!!!!