OhSnowYouDidn’t

So you know how animals always seem to know when bad weather is coming? So do toddlers. And that’s when things get UGLY.

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Growing up on the American South gave me a unique perspective about weather events. We’ve seen everything: tornadoes, floods, tropical storms, blizzards, and crippling ice storms. Tomorrow we’re expecting a “historic winter storm” which is weatherman speak for, “Satan’s frosty asshole will park itself over our area for the next couple of days and YOU’RE ALL GONNA DIE.”

See? If you kind of squint and turn your head sideways, the snow totals sort of look like a hemorrhoid hanging off the Dark Lord's rectum. Seriously. I can't make this stuff up.

We’ve learned our lessons about these kind of storms the hard way. Every few years, an ice storm will blow through and coat everything with a glaze of ice an inch thick. Add to that the winds that come a’whippin’ down the plains and you’ve got the formula for a fuster cluck of epic proportions.

No matter how many days warnings the forecasters give us, everyone seems to wait until the last minute to stock up on the essentials. Like toilet paper. And liquor. And you know, food. The day before the storm brings flocks of frantic, frightened weirdos out of the backwoods. They converge on Walmart in slavering droves, and these people aren’t afraid to beat your dear old granny over the head with a loaf of stale French bread to get to the last three cans of SPAM.

You’ve gotta watch your back around these people. They’ll shiv you for a carton of cigarettes eggs.

Of course I’m one of those idiots who waits to go the grocery store until the night before the storm. I didn’t even leave the house tonight until after 5PM, mostly because Boo, like a long tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs, was twitchy all day long. And by twitchy, I mean he was darting from room to room peeking through the blinds like he was expecting some kind of flashing sign from Above to be sitting on our front lawn counting down the minutes to Snowmagedon 2011.

Except I like the idea of the Big Guy Upstairs getting all hood on one of his mouthy underlings like, “Ohsnowyoudidn’t, bitch!” So that’s what I’ll be calling this thing.

On the bright side, snow fall like this gives industrious college students to build giant snow penises. Heh.

"No, no very sorry officer. I totally haven't seen a snow penis in the vicinity, but I'll keep an eye out."

Ohsnowyoudidn’t, muthafuckas. This thing is about to get six different kinds of ugly.