Wednesday, January 3, 2018

What in the who now?

I am a creature of habit. Anyone who has read this blog can confirm: I like summer in Maine, autumn eating Halloween candy and winter complaining about the weather. See here; here; and here for proof of that last one.

And just when I think I've bored myself silly of weather chatter, they go and do it again.

It freaked me out four years ago when they introduced the name, if not the outright concept, of the polar vortex. Seemingly out of nowhere everyone started talking about polar vortexes as if they were a common, well-known thing. How do they just invent these new freakily scary names for weather conditions each year? And why do we allow it?
They are Sharknado-ing us, and we are letting it happen.

I thought we had seen the worst of it, but then today my phone screen lit up with the phrase:
"bomb cyclone."

Fuck you.

No thank you. I have no room in my life for bomb cyclones, unless they're some shitty frozen beverage I drink on an all-inclusive holiday somewhere warm.

Keep it (thank you Ira Madison III).  I am not taking this on (thank you June Diane Raphael). Whatever a bomb cyclone is, which, come to think of it, what the fuck is a bomb cyclone? And why are they now a thing? And are they kidding me with that name? What, was atomic death spiral taken? A bomb cyclone is neither a bomb nor a cyclone, discuss (thank you Mike Meyers).

Enough of this weather fuckery. It's cold as hell outside and that's all we should have to worry about. Nuclear annihilation is already on my plate because of the Dotard (thank you KJ-U). Avoiding frostbite is already something I'm focused on, on a daily basis. I do not need to concern myself with whatever the fuck a bomb cyclone is, and neither do you. This is just another way they distract us from important shit.

Do not let the bomb cyclone get to you friends. There's a bad winter storm coming. Keep your eyes open, your hats on, and for the love of love zip your jackets all the way up.

Stay warm.

Happy new year.