First of all, wombats have short muscular legs, so here we are. I am already a wombat.
Second of all, wombats don’t care about fences. Have you ever seen a wombat stopped by a fence? Probably not, because you likely haven’t seen a wombat do much of anything, but I’ll have you know that wombats don’t give a fuck about fences. They are tunneling ass animals and they will tunnel right under your dumb ass fence, or even through it because they have really powerful teeth and claws and what is a fence before the might of wombat claws?
A group of wombats is known as a wisdom or a mob and because these two things are completely at odds, I relate to wombats even more. How else could I also be kind but not nice? (That’s what I am, so you know: kind, but not nice.)
Here’s a really great passage from Wikipedia because you need to read this shit yourself:
“When attacked, wombats dive into a nearby tunnel, using their rumps to block a pursuing attacker. A wombat may allow an intruder to force its head over the wombat's back, and then use its powerful legs to crush the skull of the predator against the roof of the tunnel, or drive it off with two-legged kicks, like those of a donkey.”
Can you believe this shit? I don’t even know where to begin. I relate to wombats, and although I’ve never crushed a predator’s skull with my ass or whatever, it’s giving me ideas. “What’s your Patronus?” Harry’s soul really missed out when it neglected to choose a wombat. Voldemort wouldn’t have stood a chance.
But here’s the thing, people are always underestimating wombats. And this has been a weird year for me (I published a book that, like, no one has heard of, etc.) so I FEEL THAT, wombat. Apparently aboriginal stories depict them as these worthless little vermin that are banished to their holes by the great spirits and sometimes I feel like that, except I’m banishing myself.