hurricanes blow
With two weeks of no electricity, I finally realize how much I really love my night light and the comfort of a warm shower.After suffering through several frigid showers and severe cases of hypothermia, I have pretty much become immune to the cold. That's basically the only benefit that came out of this hurricane mumbo jumbo.Actually there's a few other perks,but I really just wanted you to be sympathetic towards me for a second.
What the hell kinda name is Wilma anyway? It's WIMPY.A storm with 120 mile per hour winds and the capability of making Andrew look like a fight between two girls with weak arms deserves a name with respect and authority. Like, "Crush" or "The Pulverizer".The name should strike fear into young children's hearts, not remind them of some dumb prehistoric slut in a ridiculous cartoon.That's just weak. And why couldn't they pick a better name? It's not like these hurricane namers have such a busy schedule that they can't all just sit around for a few hours and pick an appropriate name. They name hurricanes for Pete's sake...that's what they DO. It's they're CAREER. Someone with a career as easy as that has no excuse to slack off. "But I have children who demand my attention all the time, and I have to cook and clean and watch TV.I just don't have TIME for serious thought processes and whawhawhabullshitbullshitbullshitsobsob". Shove it, idiots.A dead chimp could do your job, and probably a lot better too.
Hey, my trampoline blew away.I walked outside the day after the storm and I KNEW something was missing, but I just couldn't put my finger on it.Then it hit me: No trampoline.We found it a few days later in the neighbor's lake, not ours. I can only imagine the journey it must've took.I hope it killed someone while it rolled across the street.That would be bad ass.The spot where it's supposed to be is now completely desolate, save for a few patches of grass and some coconuts.It brakes my little heart when I have to explain to Giovanni why I can't take him to go see the trampoline anymore. *RIP Big Bertha*
I find it rather ironic that the only tree that survived in our yard was the one that we told my dad would definitely not survive. See, he was hell bent on saving our mango tree which had fallen down during Katrina, so he tied it with a rather conspicuous yellow rope to a fence to make it stay up. We told him that it was useless, that it would fall down again during Wilma. But to our dismay, and to my father's grim satisfaction, the little mango tree (or mango stub, because that's really all it was) was the only soldier still standing. And my dad is not showing an signs of letting us live it down. This will haunt me for years.
Joseph Corteo is currently being a dumb ass and won't quit bitching about me being on the computer. So I bid you farewell for now, avid readers.Until next time.
What the hell kinda name is Wilma anyway? It's WIMPY.A storm with 120 mile per hour winds and the capability of making Andrew look like a fight between two girls with weak arms deserves a name with respect and authority. Like, "Crush" or "The Pulverizer".The name should strike fear into young children's hearts, not remind them of some dumb prehistoric slut in a ridiculous cartoon.That's just weak. And why couldn't they pick a better name? It's not like these hurricane namers have such a busy schedule that they can't all just sit around for a few hours and pick an appropriate name. They name hurricanes for Pete's sake...that's what they DO. It's they're CAREER. Someone with a career as easy as that has no excuse to slack off. "But I have children who demand my attention all the time, and I have to cook and clean and watch TV.I just don't have TIME for serious thought processes and whawhawhabullshitbullshitbullshitsobsob". Shove it, idiots.A dead chimp could do your job, and probably a lot better too.
Hey, my trampoline blew away.I walked outside the day after the storm and I KNEW something was missing, but I just couldn't put my finger on it.Then it hit me: No trampoline.We found it a few days later in the neighbor's lake, not ours. I can only imagine the journey it must've took.I hope it killed someone while it rolled across the street.That would be bad ass.The spot where it's supposed to be is now completely desolate, save for a few patches of grass and some coconuts.It brakes my little heart when I have to explain to Giovanni why I can't take him to go see the trampoline anymore. *RIP Big Bertha*
I find it rather ironic that the only tree that survived in our yard was the one that we told my dad would definitely not survive. See, he was hell bent on saving our mango tree which had fallen down during Katrina, so he tied it with a rather conspicuous yellow rope to a fence to make it stay up. We told him that it was useless, that it would fall down again during Wilma. But to our dismay, and to my father's grim satisfaction, the little mango tree (or mango stub, because that's really all it was) was the only soldier still standing. And my dad is not showing an signs of letting us live it down. This will haunt me for years.
Joseph Corteo is currently being a dumb ass and won't quit bitching about me being on the computer. So I bid you farewell for now, avid readers.Until next time.