I blame Canada.
Some asshole up north played a little too much hockey over the weekend, pounded a few too many Molson Ices, and now we’re all just fucked. Come on, fess up, you socialist monsters – who let the Polar Vortex out?
Like a slowly swirling mass of frozen arctic air, the Polar Vortex has brought incredibly cold temperatures to the upper Midwest and thrilling all caps headlines to weather.com. “ICY Air Means DEATH For Many,” “Record COLD TEMPERATURES Close BILLIONS Of Schools,” and my personal favorite: “PROSTRATE Yourself, SLAVES – HAIL THOTH, ARCHSCION Of The SEVENTH REALM” It’s enough to make a person fear for his skinflesh! Frost cancer is no joke, folks!
Honestly, though, I was more than a bit afraid to leave the apartment this morning. It was the same kind of fear that makes my armpits sweat after a blizzard leaves two feet of fresh powder on the ice-coated Wisconsin backroads. In this case, though, the roads were clean and clear. It was just cold. Way way way too cold. Looking out the patio doors I couldn’t see the cold, but I could sense it, like the way dogs can sense leprechauns and fresh dung. The Polar Vortex was out there, invisible and menacing, just waiting to deliver frostbite unto my delicate facial features. I watched that documentary about Mt. Everest in high school – I know what bad frostbite looks like. It’s SICKENING.
People look so miserable out in the cold, even when their features aren’t turning black and dead. Like, if they sent a bunch of models out there to flash some flesh and smile coquettishly, maybe I’d venture outdoors. But as it is you just see these bundles of shuffling cloth, like a cotton field grown sentient and vengeful. Sometimes a human feature pokes out, a stray nose or eyeball, and it’s always red and anguished as if it’s desperately screaming “fuck off!” to the elements because the person’s mouth-hole is too deep in the cloth monster to be heard.
And then there’s that one guy who clearly did not dress for the weather. He makes a case for crippling rheumatoid arthritis not being a disease but just a reaction to cold temperatures. If I saw a tree in nature so gnarled and warped as this man in his track jacket and bare head I would scissor-kick the tree right out of its misery. I would do the same to the man but he’s already outside and I wouldn’t go out there if wild dogs paid me a million dollars. I fully expect to find him out there tomorrow, a human iceberg drifting gently into traffic.
Even inanimate objects look pained. I remember some of the cars in the parking lot being red in the summer – now they are all grey. Not even a nice matte grey, no, this is a “oh shit I sneezed some brain!” grey. Trees look so brittle they’d snap apart under a hard stare. There’s this bush outside my bedroom that’s like – God, I’m so sorry, bush. You don’t deserve this. I think I saw a mailbox buy a gun so it could shoot itself!
Polar Vortexes are why people start doing heroin.
THANKS, CANADA. God. Next time just keep it to yourself.