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Tuesday, September 16, 2003

I'm angry. I feel totally used, and as if the powers that be ought to pay for this egregious insult to both my status as a person, as well as my very manhood. I can't even really believe that people would have the sheer audacity, the just unadulterated inconsideration for people that they would hype up the hurricane, only to then inform us that the storm is pussified.

I was promised a cataclysm - a storm of such proportions that the sky itself would seem to be crumbling, as the heavens vented their wrath on a world too long complacent. I wanted biblical weather, where the very hand of God comes and rends the earth, striking fear in to the heart of the wicked. I wanted looting.

But alas - no. The storm has been downgraded to a category three hurricane - a mere 105 mile per hour cyclone. Please. I have a 4 cylinder Volkswagon Jetta - and IT can go 105 miles per hour. Why, just this past weekend, I drove a Chevy Malibu from three years ago over one hundred MPH on the Delaware turnpike. And now this storm, this piddling little raincloud, thinks it is worthy of my attention? When a Chevy is your nemesis for windspeed, you are not, in fact, a disaster. You are a bitch.

The weather channel people say that, as it passes over the warm waters of the gulf stream, it could pick up speed - maybe even make it back to category four status. Cocktease motherfuckers. I predict that there will be some rain on thursday night or Friday morning, but nothing even worth getting the camera out for. This storm is whipped, and the weathermen need to pay getting me excited.

cranked out at 1:59 PM | |

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