So after spending yesterday in a state of oestrus such as the world has never seen (I'm reasonably certain I fantasized about two-thirds of all the male friends/associates presently attached to my person in, as I explained to my best friend, compromising situations that are illegal in 27 countries and capital offenses in 10--so if you're a buddy of mine and possess a dick, I'm terribly, terribly sorry), today I woke up with cramps and a headache, and no more lovely tingly warmth to offset the pain.
Ho-ho-fucking-ho.
Until a few hours ago, we were SUPPOSED to get 1-2 inches of snow. Now? Rain/snow. And. AND! I just heard THUNDER outside. Thunder! It's 40 damn degrees and there is ICE in the forecast.
I think Lewis Black said it best when he said--
Wait.
...(15 minutes later)
--Well. So THAT got interrupted by the dog, who is NOT a fan of thunder, and who somehow managed to escape from her babygated confines downstairs to come UPstairs and pee in my sister's room (no one is home but my brother and me, so she'd been sitting downstairs by herself for a few hours, and I didn't even think to look in on her when it thundered, though I should have). Then she woofed to let me know she was scared and bored and lonely and pissed and would I please come and do something about it? Which led to me cleaning up what she'd done, and scolding her, and then comforting her, and bringing her up to lie on my bed with some peanut butter smeared inside the bone she likes to chew on, because that keeps her frantic border collie brain good and occupied.
Right.
Lewis Black.
"I knew that the weather in this country was completely out of control and that something was wrong ten years ago. I was in Boston, Massachusetts in February. Okay? Normally, in February, in Boston and in most of the country, the weather is gray, rainy gray, sleet-gray, rain-gray sleet, snow gray; every day it just gets grayer and grayer and grayer. You wake up one day and you go, 'I'm not coming to work!' The boss goes, 'Why not, you sick?'
'No, it's too gray!'
"I don't know if it's dawn or dusk, I don't even know why the sun bothers to come out. And then you wake up and it's the grayest day you ever seen, and the next day it's even grayer! And that's usually Valentine's Day and that's the day you look at your wrists and go 'Hey! Maybe I should slit them to see color.'
"But in that February in Boston, in four days I experienced five seasons. It was 30, it was 60, it was 90, it was 12! And the last day, it was thunder, lightning and snow . . . together. And I hadn't done drugs. 'Cause when you're lying in bed, okay, and you hear thunder outside, and you get up to look, you have an expectation. And it's not snow with LIGHTNING behind it. That's not right! They don't even write about that kind of weather in the Bible! And I imagine that if a prophet had seen that kind of weather, after he wiped the poop out of his pants, he would have told us about it.
"I was supposed to work that night, I said, I'm not coming in, I'm scared to death. 'Cause I know what the next season's going to be. Locusts. And there will come a time--mark my words--where there will be a season of just great big giant frogs who fall from the sky. Oh, yeah, look at me like I'm nuts; you'll see Willard Scott--Willard Scott, he smiles so much I don't think he has a central nervous system--Willard Scott will be standing in front of the Washington Monument dressed in a chipmunk outfit and frogs will be bouncing off his head. And he'll be going, 'Giant frogs, giant frogs, what can I say, back to you.'"
And I think that pretty much sums it up.
Back to you, Jon.
*stab*
Ho-ho-fucking-ho.
Until a few hours ago, we were SUPPOSED to get 1-2 inches of snow. Now? Rain/snow. And. AND! I just heard THUNDER outside. Thunder! It's 40 damn degrees and there is ICE in the forecast.
I think Lewis Black said it best when he said--
Wait.
...(15 minutes later)
--Well. So THAT got interrupted by the dog, who is NOT a fan of thunder, and who somehow managed to escape from her babygated confines downstairs to come UPstairs and pee in my sister's room (no one is home but my brother and me, so she'd been sitting downstairs by herself for a few hours, and I didn't even think to look in on her when it thundered, though I should have). Then she woofed to let me know she was scared and bored and lonely and pissed and would I please come and do something about it? Which led to me cleaning up what she'd done, and scolding her, and then comforting her, and bringing her up to lie on my bed with some peanut butter smeared inside the bone she likes to chew on, because that keeps her frantic border collie brain good and occupied.
Right.
Lewis Black.
"I knew that the weather in this country was completely out of control and that something was wrong ten years ago. I was in Boston, Massachusetts in February. Okay? Normally, in February, in Boston and in most of the country, the weather is gray, rainy gray, sleet-gray, rain-gray sleet, snow gray; every day it just gets grayer and grayer and grayer. You wake up one day and you go, 'I'm not coming to work!' The boss goes, 'Why not, you sick?'
'No, it's too gray!'
"I don't know if it's dawn or dusk, I don't even know why the sun bothers to come out. And then you wake up and it's the grayest day you ever seen, and the next day it's even grayer! And that's usually Valentine's Day and that's the day you look at your wrists and go 'Hey! Maybe I should slit them to see color.'
"But in that February in Boston, in four days I experienced five seasons. It was 30, it was 60, it was 90, it was 12! And the last day, it was thunder, lightning and snow . . . together. And I hadn't done drugs. 'Cause when you're lying in bed, okay, and you hear thunder outside, and you get up to look, you have an expectation. And it's not snow with LIGHTNING behind it. That's not right! They don't even write about that kind of weather in the Bible! And I imagine that if a prophet had seen that kind of weather, after he wiped the poop out of his pants, he would have told us about it.
"I was supposed to work that night, I said, I'm not coming in, I'm scared to death. 'Cause I know what the next season's going to be. Locusts. And there will come a time--mark my words--where there will be a season of just great big giant frogs who fall from the sky. Oh, yeah, look at me like I'm nuts; you'll see Willard Scott--Willard Scott, he smiles so much I don't think he has a central nervous system--Willard Scott will be standing in front of the Washington Monument dressed in a chipmunk outfit and frogs will be bouncing off his head. And he'll be going, 'Giant frogs, giant frogs, what can I say, back to you.'"
And I think that pretty much sums it up.
Back to you, Jon.
*stab*
VIEW 4 of 4 COMMENTS
stay the fuck out of my shit-