STORMY WEATHER
The television weathermen in this town knock me out. They DO get excited. There was more to get excited about than usual today — all those Oak Tree Homes! — so the weathermen got more excited than usual. WE INTERRUPT THIS PROGRAM FOR AN ANNOUNCEMENT: THE WORLD IS GOING TO END! WE MEAN NOW! GRAB YOUR ANKLES AND KISS YOUR ASS GOOD-BYE, IT’S ALL OVER FOLKS! MOVE UNDERGROUND AND REMEMBER YOUR NEIGHBOR JUST WANTS YOUR FOOD AND AMMO.
Very valuable service and all that. I’m grateful for the technology and the early warning systems we have here. Blah blah blah.
But get a grip.

It’s not like any of us can actually do anything to change the weather. There’s really not much you can do if a tornado actually hits the structure you’re inside.
Personally, I like thunder and lightning and extreme wind.
I’ve stood out on my front lawn to try and experience reported 100 mph winds. Rain stings like a BB gun and you get paranoid that some branch will come out of the sky and kill you, but you hope it lands on the mean old lady that lives … nevermind.
Even if your structure stays stable, I’ve seen big trees driven through walls.
You can’t be in the news business in Oklahoma City without having covered the weather. I think it’s some kind of rite of passage and maybe even a law that all journalists, no matter how ill-equipped, must speak to someone who has just been uprooted by a killer storm that took baby brother.
And, no, you don’t feel great because you’re getting a “scoop”, you feel like shit. You feel awkward and rude and cruelly compelled by the nature of your job to do something you would never ever do under “normal” circumstances.
“Tell me, miss big sister, did you and baby brother ever argue in the back seat of the car over who was touching whom?”
“What?”
“Well, DID you?”
“I g-g-guess so, why are you bringing it up?”
“It’s all your fault he’s dead, isn’t it?”
“Don’t say that!”
“Admit it! Admit it! You killed baby brother! Didn’t you?!?”
“Mister, there was a terrible storm and the tree just come through the wall … ”
“Sure, big sister, sure. I’m sure that’s EXACTLY how it happened. Didn’t you also shove him in a closet and hold the door shut when you were supposed to be looking after him?”
“We were playing! We were just playing! Why are you bringing this all up?”
“And didn’t you also let him take the blame when YOU were the one who spilled the milk?”
“That was years and years ago, before he could talk!”
“So, you admit that your torture of baby brother took place over many years, do you?”
Did I mention that it’s the full of the moon?
My mind is so gassy that I can’t stop the brain f@rts and Pepcid isn’t helping.
I SEEM rational, but there’s something off kilter.
Shut up!