Dear “Dear Readers” Readers,
I have a confession to make. The truthis that I write the weekly weather reviewonly halfway through the last week thatI’m currently reviewing. Consequentlythis means that I generally have to guesswhat the weather will be later in thisweek’s Last Week in order to write eachweek’s weekly weather review. Yes, I realizethat in doing this, I am inadvertentlypredicting the weather—my bad. Butwhen you have a Sunday deadline andno friends, what else can you do? Shrug.
Anyway, because of my temporal dissonance,I’ve been put into the difficultposition this week of having to predictthe extent to which Hurricane Chandyhas fucked shit up in Cambridge longbefore the hurricane has actually gottenhere. So to save myself the trouble ofproducing an incorrect weather report,I’m just going to write two reports andhope that at least one of these is applicable,if not both. No class on Mondaymeans I have more time to waste onthese, anyway.
I.
Dear Readers,
Keep it the tits down, please, you’re being toocloud. Ugh, my head. The combination of Halloweenwith the greatest storm this century means Iwent a little too hard the past few days, so I’m reallynot feeling too swell. Anyway, as you might beable to guess from my post-celebratory migraine,things have been better for me. As you’ll readbelow, having the more-perfect-than-the-perfectstormin town has been a time of great joy amongthe weather-loving community. Operation WTFhas been put on hold as a result of my good humor.You’re welcome for saving you the three calories itwould have taken you to click your mouse, dicks.
Signed,
Weatherman
This week in last week’s weather, we talk aboutthe glorious, most perfect of storms.
When Chandy rolled in I was invited out ofmy cardboard villa behind the Kong, taken into a nice warm shelter by workers who insistedI would die if left out in the elements, and givenblankets (blankets!!) for the first time in weeks.From the shelter window, I got to watch Chandydecimate the Northeast in her full glory. Theumbrellas finally got what was coming to them,and their bent and broken corpses now linetrash cans from Virginia to New Hampshire.The storm hit our campus with the grace of asilver fox and the strength of an NFL linebacker(before his body is ravaged by extreme workoutsand neurodegenerative disease). Chandy’s rainwas matched only by her winds, and the sight ofher pouring her malice onto the human world ofmachinery has been seared into my retinas, rightnext to the place where molten shrapnel once leftits mark. Overwhelmed by her beauty, I strippedout of my cumulonimbus costume and ran nakedinto the storm, where I made sweet, sweet love tothe violent snow-dusted winds. The doctors saysensation should come back when the swellinggoes down. In my penis.
II.
Dear Readers,
In this one, Hurricane Chandy is lame.
Signed,
Weatherman
This week in last week’s weather, we talk aboutthe opposite of the aforementioned parallel universe’sthis week’s last week’s weather.
Anti-climatic. Boring. Un-hurricane-ish. Stupid.Just like my father. Never going to amount toanything. A disappointment. Sterile. Ugly. Uglierthan ugly. “Is that it?” she tells me. Yes. That was it.
Hurricanes are like girls, kids: They are characterizedby a low-pressure center and numerousthunderstorms that produce strong winds andheavy rain. The characteristic that separates hurricanesfrom other cyclonic systems and girls isthat at any height in the atmosphere, the centerof a hurricane will be warmer than its surroundings—a phenomenon called “warm core” stormsystems. WARM CORE STORM SYSTEMS.What the hell didn’t happen?
P.S. We miss you, President’s Chair, like a fat kidmisses Orlando “Eddie” Brown’s early musicalcareer on the Disney Channel original televisionsitcom “That’s So Raven” before he got his bigrecord deal break. So come home, will ya, Chair?The weathervane is lonely without your hardbody to gaze at all day. Follow #CrimsonWeatheron twitter for up to last minute weather updates.
