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| "ZOMG! Water is falling from the skies! Gather cords of gopher wood planks, barrels of pitch, and two - male and female - of every beast that walks or crawls upon the earth!" - every media outlet west of the Sierra Nevada range, presently |
To listen to the idiot retards of the media (but I repeat myself), you'd think everyone living in Califrutopia should be building an ark or something.
Fortunately, unlike most of the failed stand-up comics and braindead spokesbimbos who become weatherguessers and newsreaders, some of us have lived here more than a year or two, and we know that California has wet years, and dry years, which alternate at whim. Lather, rinse, repeat.
Cleverly, there has long been a name for what's going on now, and it's not the "Pineapple Express", the "Fruit Cocktail Zephyr", or any other such dipshitical dopey name they focus-grouped into being to try and sell more commercials in between bouts of weather doomporn.
The actual name for what's happening now goes by a rather more accurate name.
We call it "rain".
It ain't caused by globull warmism, or climate change, nor any other such ginned up silliness so stupid, you need horsefaced fetal alcohol midwit dropouts from Sweden to shill for it.
In fact, there's another clever name for what's happening at the moment, and why.
It's called "winter".
And - shocker of shockers - in February!!! Who'd have foreseen that?!? Which, between weeks of 100° days here, is the closest thing to what passes for a cold season hereabouts. The locals can generally tell this without any apocalyptic crapola from the TV or radio, because the local mountains above 5000' will be sporting a picture postcard mantle of snow (far from the flatlands, and up by the ski resorts, where such frigid precipitation belongs) the minute the clouds clear away, and mainly signifies to the city folks and flatlanders that skiing and snowboarding will be happening henceforth.
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| UPDATE: This was the view locally after several rainy days. Exactly like we told you was all that would happen. Geez, almost like we've lived here for half a century or something. |
Resort owners generally consider this a good thing. The rest of us simply enjoy the fact that everything down here is clean, including the air, and that all of our cars have been washed for free, one of the few things locally that's beyond even the government's power to tax.
It also fills the reservoirs, to feed the toilets and lawn sprinklers of all your idiot toothless banjo--playing kinfolk libtards you palmed off on the Golden State, who have so sorely abused it and rogered and befouled a formerly wonderful place to live. You can have them all back any time, and we'll keep the rain, thanks very much. The wetness is simply the price we pay to have grass and trees in a land otherwise horribly cursed with 300 magnificently perfect sunny days a year, to the point that thousands of idiots from points east annually pack up the car and move here the minute the Tournament of Roses parades ends every January 1st.
Trying to pimp the current wetness into Stormageddon, or any other such jackassical events, just tells everyone who's lived here more than five minutes that you're a yokel who just got off the bus, and only came to the Hollywood radio/TV market because your scholarship to beautician school fell through, and/or you couldn't pass the IQ test to get into Clown College.
Which leaves only acting or news reading jobs open to those too pretty to mop floors, and too lazy to flip burgers.
If only you'd taken a chance on sticking around school through the 1st grade, you'd have learned the timeless wisdom of the parable entitled "Chicken Little", and realize how stupid you sound. Instead, watching or listening to the news is like a daily dose of the Pageant Of the Masters, wherein you mediots play the part of Chicken Little every night for the entertainment of people brighter than you and your ilk, and too bored to flip the tube off and go do something productive and useful with their time. Since it's probably too late in life for most media types to learn to read classic literature at the 1st grade level, we offer the following condensed version and Spoiler Alert.
TL;DR: Word to your mother: the sky is not falling.
Wear a coat, and carry an umbrella. You'll make it through just fine. No scuba tanks or swim fins required.
