This Just In: Mother Nature Tells Ken, “Shut Your Fucking Face, Bitch“.
After hearing my haughty rant about snowstorm hysteria, the powers that be in the pantheon of weather deities apparently want me to, as they say, put my money where my mouth is. Since approximately 2 p.m. on Friday, shortly after my last post, it has snowed nonstop throughout the Northeast, dumping inch after inch on the area, completely burying folks from Cape Cod to Bar Harbor.
I’ve been getting texts from my simple but steadfast bodyguard Dave from his home on the coast south of Boston who, despite several cracked ribs, has been shoveling snow for about 48 hours straight, with just a few short breaks to eat and sleep mixed in. The last message looked like this:
“no more. no more. can’t lift arms to comb hair.
bury me in the cold, cold ground. please…”
Of course, it’s been hammering us up here today, with areas in New Hamphire getting up to 18 inches or so over the weekend. Here at The Compound, we don’t worry too much. We’ve got three separates sub-basements full of supplies and a couple back-up generators for power. A neighbor down the road, homing pigeon trainer Gus McDolenz, has somehow mounted a snow plow on the end of a 1984 Ford Country Squire station wagon and will plow out our access roads for a 30 pack. So we don’t worry too much, we just stoke up the fires, grab some beverages and bust out the naughty board games and sit tight.
Not so easy for everyone else, I know.
The latest development, for example, is a flash freeze tonight that will take all the heavy, wet snow that’s fallen today and turn it into granite right where it sits as winds of up to 50 mph pound already debilitated residents, some of whom are still without power from the last round of ice storms two weeks ago. The morning looks hellishly arctic and the local population is feeling pretty beat up, that’s for sure.
I promise, folks. From now on, I keep my mouth shut.