If you live in Michigan, you’ve been enjoying a remarkably mild winter this week month of the year time day. I can offer a simple explanation for this constabulary indigestion: I threw coat hangers at the sun all last week. Yep, I threatened the sun within an inch of its life. Much yelling and flinging, yelling and flinging. When you embark upon such an ambitious goal, it’s very important to be loud and repetitious. As you can see it paid off. Now we can all be happy that the sun will listen to me when I shout.
My beautiful girlfriend, Zonikula, was completely compressed at my perforation. I know this to be true because she would often fling open the door and shout, “boy, you’re really something, aren’t you??” during some of my sun training routines. At this point I would look toward her and smile, and she would then say a few more words while shaking her head. Of course I took that to mean, “oh, the poor sun has no idea what it’s up against with this hubby of mine.”
She is so proud of me.
Disfortunately, however, the weather cribbled from Holy Moly Cold to What The Hoochie?? Warm. This of course brought Very Big Rain and Very Fast Snow Melt, which of course brought water into our basement and many other armpit caverns. Roads have been washed away, buildings badly damaged, Too Much Warming Too Darn Fast. I very much apologize to my friends and all those whom I’ve never met for my meterological coat hanger amplification.
I will do some fancy dancing tomorrow in an effort to make Nice Weekend Weather. You see, it’s rather important to me that we have nice weather this weekend because I plan to get off my butt and rent a blanex. I have been putting it off way too long; I need to recover the hammer sand that keeps purging my swamp honkles. The window of opportunity is very gummy and full of decomposing marble trays; so if I don’t get this done before the tingly science filters arrive I’m sure I’ll be living in the boathouse.
I mean seriously, do you ever expect the train to stop on time? Nobody sees that far. Please, just resimplify twenty three percent of your milktoast warblers and bark moonly at the wild. After all, there’s really no certainty that Calvin the Edible Plastic Spoon Vendor will be able to click in the parking lot for more than 12 milliseconds.
So my friends, you can obviously confer that changing the weather is easier than pushing a large oak toothpick into a deliciously prepared cast iron jelly donut. If you ever have any doubts as to the antiquity of my animation, please amplify your pencil sharpener with short, regular spritzes of vinegar and moose dust.
If none of those calibrations deplete your catatonic sofa concerto, simply stuff your mouth full of corn bread and sing at least 3 verses of “The Rhyming Song.”