Let me tell you about the exact moment I realized society had fully surrendered to the raccoons. Not literal raccoons, though Virginia liquor store employees might disagree after one particularly thirsty specimen recently broke in, drained an entire bottle of Hennessy, and passed out face down in a liquor store bathroom looking more relatable than anything I've seen since my 2019 Spotify Wrapped. No, I'm talking about Sarah Sherman's brilliantly unhinged diseased trash mammal character that slithered onto Weekend Update last Saturday night, delivering that rare SNL sketch that actually makes you glad walking petri dishes with grabby little hands exist.

You haven't lived until you've watched a grown woman wearing what appears to be a shag rug pulled from the dumpster behind Petco attempt to seduce Colin Jost while shouting about poop cuisine. The sheer audacity of Sherman's performance existing in the same universe as Jost's golden retriever energy broke the high fructose corn syrup transporter beam of network television programming. Watching him discuss Netflix pricing models seconds before a rabid woodland creature called him her little piggy made me laugh so violently I startled my actual dog, whose confusion felt particularly pointed given the circumstances.

What fascinates me most here isn't just how CTV News reported this raccoon's bender more thoroughly than they cover provincial elections, though that's absolutely part of it. It's how Sherman's ratty alter ego exposes our cultural hypocrisy about viral fame. When human influencers stage public breakdowns for clout, we heap them with derision. When wildlife gets drunk enough to qualify for a Bravo spinoff, we put them on network television. There's some quiet wisdom in our selective appreciation for chaotic alcoholism depending on species. A frat bro climbs a Waffle House sign wearing only tube socks and an eighth grader's disciplinary record. An urban scavenger does literally the same thing. One gets arrested. The other gets an SNL cameo.

This brings me to my first fresh angle, the anthropological lens. We see ourselves in this raccoon precisely because we are all just well groomed mammals looking for validation and looking for snacks. When she snapped about privacy invasion after her drunken bathroom nap went viral, did I feel that? Like the ancient Mesopotamians seeing their reflection in rainfall, absolutely. Her indignation at Bradley Cooper's Rocket Raccoon portrayal being dismissed as not hot enough felt like the first honest conversation about Marvel's anthropomorphization of vermin we've ever had on television. The fact that Jason Sudeikis once played a dirty pigeon dating Jon Hamm on Update makes this raccoon make total historical sense.

And legitimately, how hasn't SNL done drunk animals before? Watching Sherman writhe across the desk dripping faux saliva and flirting like a malfunctioning Roomba, I flashbacked to my college years when my friends and I would binge vintage Dana Carvey sketches while debating whether Jan Hooks' cat lady character was the blueprint for modern millennials. Several of those friends now post Instagram stories documenting their cats' wine bottle investigations with the same enthusiasm Sherman brought to discussing raccoon dining preferences. One sent me a text after the sketch aired reading just her true emotional state echoed in her kitchen lmao, which means she either needs therapy or deserves tenure.

This brings me to personal angle two, Sarah Sherman's glorious weirdo revolution in a cast increasingly filled with precision tooled comedic machines. Remember when she destroyed Update playing Guy Fieri's demon spawn back in 2022? Or battled Pete Davidson in a Mario Kart race across hell? This woman carries the mantle of Gilda Radner's manic unpredictability combined with Will Forte's willingness to become fully feral on camera. She's the spiritual successor to Bill Murray's lounge singer persona, if instead of crooning Star Wars theme songs he showed up caked in dumpster juice demanding DoorDash delivery of composting materials. Her chemistry with Jost evokes Tina Fey and Jimmy Fallon's barely suppressed giggle fits, except now Fallon's off vibing with house bands and Sherman's trying to contract mange through the fourth wall.

Angle three digs into the hopeful symbolism of it all. Right as we plunge into another election cycle promising more toxic sludge than a raccoon autopsy, comedy that honors life's beautiful nonsense becomes revolutionary. Sherman stumbling around shrieking about how humans nickname her kind trash pandas lands differently when our actual political discourse resembles two possums fighting over a moldy tater tot. Her moist little gremlin persona rejects respectability politics, daring us to find joy in cosmic ridiculousness.

We should talk about the flipside too. Beneath all the poop jokes and Jost's masterclass deadpan reactions lie subtle jabs at how monetized desperation has become. Netflix hiking prices fifty million dollars to buy Warner Bros felt like predictive programming hitting too close to home while Sherman's raccoon slurred about dining options. We're all just out here eating metaphorical garbage waiting for algorithms to validate us. Yet here was SNL scripting viral fauna's existential crisis while sending a comedian sprinting directly toward discarded melon rinds like her career depends on it. Which, given today's entertainment economy, maybe it does.

Truthfully, my biggest takeaway from this deranged three minutes? We need more animal chaos. Forget superhero fatigue, give me a Marvel What If Disney+ series where Rocket actually gets Thanos drunk on stolen brandy. Let Pixar rework its entire 2026 slate around this raccoon's spiritual journey. Signal boost the inevitable Off Broadway one woman show Sherman must develop from this. And if real Virginia raccoons start unionizing for residuals every time someone quotes that sketch, I think we know how progress begins.

The viral cycle moves so fast these days that last week's alcoholic trash mammal will soon be replaced by honey badgers enjoying cruises or squirrels committing tax fraud. But in Sherman's possessed furball, we glimpse comedy's sustainable future. Recycled, unapologetic, gnawing through foundations of decency like yesterday's abandoned chicken wing. She didn't just play a raccoon. She gave us a spirit animal.