You know what? I’m sorry, okay?! I’m SORRY!
I’m sorry I’m not loving all this snow and ice. I’m sorry I’m not pleased that the icicles hanging from my house are large and long enough to impale and kill a wooly mammoth. I’m sorry I’m not thrilled with the fact that I have to golf-club chop the ice from my satellite dish every morning. I’m sorry I’m going to whine some more about the weather, but, seriously, ARE YOU KIDDING ME WITH THIS SNOWY SHIT, MOTHER NATURE?!
Do you see that, Mother Nature, if that’s indeed your REAL name? The weather forecasters are so depressed they’re not even bothering to tell us what in particular the weather will be on Friday, but that we can bet our cold butts it will be “dreary.”
And I heard you’re dumping six additional inches of snow on us today and tomorrow, which will bring the total accumulation of snow for this February to 806 inches, and I’m NOT EVEN EXAGGERATING.
Will you not rest, Mother Nature, until the meteorologists, instead of placing words like “snow” or “flurries” or “cloudy” above the daily temperature highs, start placing words like “doom” and “doom-ier” and “Don’t bother getting out of bed” and “You might commit suicide this day?”
All right. I’ve said my piece. I’m completely done ranting about the weather until tomorrow when I’m going to write in iambic pentameter a moving, gut-wrenching poem about how I forget what the sun looks like.