Mother Nature, Part III

Hey Mother Nature. Nice try, bitch. I know it was you, don't try to act all innocent like you don't know what I'm talking about. I know you were mad because not only was I not at all intimidated by 9.5 inches of snow (the official NWS total for my zip code), but I went out and went sledding with my kid in that shit. Had a good time, thanks. Then, on top of that, I had the stones to call you out for your weak attempt at winter mayhem on an internet blog potentially read by up to 13 people. Oh, yeah, I disrespected yo ass, bitch. That made you mad, didn't it? You wanted to get me back, and you figured that you'd throw down some ice overnight. However, you knew I wasn't going to be bothered by that shit, so you took it a step further. You took your evil genius and coupled it with a henchman with a third grade education in hopes of ruining my Sunday. It almost worked, you grumpy whore...almost.

You saw me spend an hour last night shoveling the snow behind my vehicles in preparation for leaving for work this morning and you saw your chance. You hired Cletus and his 1978 Chevy Silverado with the snow plow that his friend Carl drunkenly tack welded to the front bumper to come through and plow the road, building a wall of icy shit snow behind my vehicles. You knew that in that mound of ice chunks and oily powder that I would decide to back through because I didn't want to take the 15 minutes to shovel a path would be a block of ice big enough to high-center my truck, rendering four wheel drive useless and making me get creative with my swearing again. Nice one. It must have been hilarious for you to watch as I spent 20 minutes on my knees in the ice trying to break apart the iceberg that was lodged under my truck. I bet you were laughing your ass off, because you're a vindictive cunt. All this because I dissed you on the internet. I will give you credit for being creative in your retaliation, you didn't just set-up a drive-by like Biggie did, you put some thought into it. Well played.

But, in the end, your ploy failed, because here I am, at work. Yeah, my knees may be a little frostbitten, and my neighbors are probably mad because they had to listen to me curse you while breaking ice at 6:30 in the morning, but your plan was still sub-par. Oh yes I am. I am calling you out again. You're going to have to come harder than throwing some big block of ice under my truck to ruin my day, and quite honestly, I don't think you've got it.

As for you, Cletus, I know you're a sad old dumb bastard of a man who plows random places as a side job to supplement your moonshine habit and you were used as a pawn by a wicked fictitious entity, so I'm not mad at you. In fact, knowing that your beat up old Chevy is probably all you have after that cheating skank of a wife took the dog and left you for your brother almost makes me feel sorry for you. Let me give you a little common sense advice so you can take this part you've played in a game you can't understand and learn something from it: It does no fucking good whatsoever to plow streets if you block every fucking car on said street in behind a wall of snow and ice. Open thoroughfares (Y'uns call 'em streets, Cletus) are useless if cars cannot access them. Wait, I'm speaking above your level. Let's try this: It ain't no good to done scrape them thar roads iffun cars cain't get on 'em. Better? Run with it, Cletus; run. You're educated now.

This isn't over, Mother Nature. You keep bringing that weak-ass game, I'll keep telling my small group of devoted followers that you aren't the cutesy fucking butterflies and flowers chick you pretend to be. They'll know the truth about you, and they'll tell all of their Facebook friends. And those friends will tell their Facebook and LinkedIn and Classmates.com friends and before long, the world will know the truth about you. I'm like Mark Felt, only I'll have a better name than "Deep Throat." Maybe I'll go with "Thin Mint," since your evil wintry temper tantrums are keeping me from getting my motherfucking cookies. Bitch.