Peer Pressure

“How much wood could a woodchuck chuck, if a woodchuck could chuck wood?” came the happy refrain around Woodchuck Hollow. He tried to join in, but the sound left him in agony and with no cure for his self-imposed illness.

Poor Harold Woodchuck had gone and done something stupid the night before and was paying for it now with a hangover. His head throbbed, his stomach churned and his body trembled as he fought off the need to throw-up.

And all he could remember of the night before was Cecil Groundhog chanting, “How much wood-grain alcohol can a woodchuck chug?”