Dear Doppler Dave -- Why did God smash our window?
So I'm lounging around all day. Doing some laundry. Chatting with Chris while stealing his music. [sidenote: Since the man has his finger on the pulse of regional politics, Chris discovered a new up & coming candidate -- someone they will soon be calling "Missouri's White Barak Obama." You should really donate some money to this candidacy. Chief's gotta spring his lady out of jail.]
Everything seemed fine... until Doppler Dave comes on the TV and tells me to be scared. Once again, the liberal media was trying to destroy our way of life through their sirens, Tornado Watches, and moving weather maps.
Ryan and I didn't buy into the hype until the golf-ball sized hail started smashing our house. We ran to the basement and hid amongst the spiders and ghosts until everything quieted down. We emerged unscathed, but God wanted to remind us just how much he hates our living in sin. The roof of my car & the hood of Ryan's smog-maker are both dented up. Also we have a HOLE in our guest room window. Thanks alot, science.
Yesterday's hail should have tipped us off to the fact that God hates us.
Check out the damage!
Ryan gets to work fixing that shit up.
Meanwhile, I stand around making the ugliest "scared country bumpkin" face I can. Why do I look like Catherine Keener's retarded sister?
Dr. Baby stands guard over the broken window.
posted by Julia @ 4:16 PM
6 Comments:
That's nothing. In HyVee, we all had to go back to the dairy cooler and stand in there waiting for the storm to pass. It did, but not before three people were raped.
So... my plan WORKED! Excellent! EXCELTENTS!
Ryan, your site has been down and now that it's back I'm happy to see that your perpetual persistence in perturbing local media outlets has not receded like today's terrible tornado.
POINTS FOR ALLITERATION!
While we sat in our basement (ridin' the storm out), we had a good chuckle about you two being too afraid to go into your basement, and then, once you overcame your fear, we sketched a rough outline of what you would bring down there. The final negotiated list includes: two cats, leftovers, a bong and ryan's hail-shattered corpse to be taken to the pet sematery as soon as the storm subsided.
I don't wanna be buried
in a Pet Semataar-ary
I don't want to live my
life agai-ain
Ace was spot-on.
But the cats brought the bong, not us.
I don't want to be buried...
in a pet sematary...
I want a viking funeral. I'm not even joking.
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