Spite presents: Hurricanes: Hey, South. Eat it. A reply to "The Heat: An open letter to the North" Hastily written by Mark Richardson

It's been many weeks since the heat wave tackled the North, and knowing the attention span of the American public, most of us have forgotten it. I admit, I was one of those Americans... until Thursday. It seems as if the news has been taken over by countless meteorologists, standing on the beach of some resort town I've never heard of, reporting on, you guessed it, Hurricane Dennis. It seems as if the tables have been turned on our dear friends south of the Mason-Dixon line. This happens every year... a large storm develops near Africa, takes its sweet time traveling west, and hits some well-prepared coastal town. Why is this news? Ha, ha! Your house is broken! Sure, hurricanes kill people, but it's their own damn fault! We have evacuations for a reason. You sit there on your aptly named Lay-z-boy, watch this swirling cloud on The Weather Channel, listen to the authorities order mandatory evacuations, and then decide... "It's not too bad... I'll go hide in the basement for a while." Next thing you know, the Red Cross is pulling your dead ass out of a mailbox halfway across town. You know the storm is coming, you live near the ocean, and you feel safe behind the half inch of plywood covering your window... what the hell is wrong with you? Get out of the damn way!! Those of us who were complaining about the heat also have to contend with something a zillion times worse than a hurricane... a tornado. These little bastards come out of nowhere. What was a pleasant spring shower has now turned ugly, ripping houses clean off of their foundation, throwing trailers a half mile, and ripping skin clean off of a heard of cattle. We don't get five days warning, we aren't given the luxury of an evacuation, hell, the only thing we get is an ass full of debris... and a bunch of skinless cows. Regardless of this letter, Dennis will still strike, and we'll all get to see sob stories about the million dollar beach houses that didn't make it though the storm, or about the local oaf and his family who tried to ride out the hurricane in a tent on the beach, and were tragically swept out to sea.

Mark's roommate in college once pulled a knife on him because the phone cord was tangled.

Spite Home | Bile Cabinet