Why the perpetual excitement about what the sky’s doing?
I don’t mean you or me. I mean the guy on a green screen who lives in my light box. Today’s haphazardly delivered report was almost exactly this: “Today’s going to be.. well… I mean compared to tomorrow, it’s gonna be much…
Actually… (insert all too familiar sigh of someone giving up on life)… it’s
…It’s pretty bad right now.”
(camera pans to traffic moving fluidly under sunny skies)
“Basically, kids, it’s gonna be a royal rain of dick in your ass. But tomorrow will be an even bigger one – that cums cockroaches. And we can expect those cockroaches to last most of the day, tapering off in the evening.
Back to you, Gayle!”
We’re powerless over weather – our great equalizer. So what I need’s a basic report. What I don’t need is your ear-moticons when delivering the nature of daily external elements to me. Now I have your negativity underneath my consciousness, setting the tone for my day. Thoughtless prick. I mean, this one anchor inevitably emits this noise tandem to each rain report that sounds like Napoleon Dynamite reluctantly feeding his llama.
Is that really necessary?
Just because the clouds are crying doesn’t give you license to do it in lieu of professionally relaying the events to me. I just want to know whether to dress like Paddington Bear or Malibu Barbie.
Why lament over a lil drizzle? No one’s snapped the levies. And wouldn’t it suck if we never had diverse weather? Just the same shit day after day?
Plus, can we assess the fact that you – the one complaining – are just sat in a studio all day anyway?
If it were sunny, I can guarantee you’d be complaining in the other direction:
“What a shame! Such a beautiful day and we’re stuck inside. Damned to these well paying jobs. Why have you forsaken me, Father?! WHYyyy- Oh. *Ahem* Back to you, Ron, with a sarcastic piece about camping on Skid Row.
Yes, Gayle. I’ll be live tweeting from a temperature controlled tent while peripheral cameras and loud narrating confirm my special status and local fame to passersby….
hashtag…don’t…talk…to…me
…unless…the…camera’s…on…”
Also, where are they getting this shit?
I’m imagining a blazer laden guy in a toupee, sat in lotus position, and cradling magic eight balls in either hand. Upon shaking, one offers a randomized time of day and the other shows either a pictograph of a smiling sun or a rain cloud.
I was told it’d be raining all day by these teleprompter actors when in reality I’ve got toon birds crapping happily on my terrace and a prince below, beckoning to use my weave as an escape ladder from the coruscating solar rays. So far, Siri had it together best as her “sun” icon stretched up until 4 P.M.
Hardly “all day”.
That’s, like, four hours before the sun goes to sleep.
Eff the police. I’m going for a stroll.