Ill wind blow away

I discovered today that my least favorite weather is wind. Ice, hail, rain, locusts, these things I can handle, but wind totally blows. (Pun intended with apologies.)

Take your umbrella out into a rainstorm and see what happens. Your head may stay dry because rain can't do shit about a flimsy layer of nylon or whatever that stuff is. Last week, I took my big honkin' golf umbrella into a minor rainfall, and the wind just ate that shit up! My umbrella, which has a bit of give for the wind in the form of a bizarre spring contraption, didn't even put it a fight! It just Marilyn Monroed right out, displaying its naughty bits to everyone driving by in their cars.

Not only was I stuck in the rain getting wet, but I was stuck in the rain getting wet and looking like an absolute tool because my industrial umbrella's spring-loaded defense mechanism made it near impossible to close again. I could hear the wind mocking. "Ha ha ha," it laughed. "I am the Power."

Imagine a hurricane without wind. It cannot be! A hurricane without rain, however? "Ha!" says the wind. "Give the rain this sabbath day!" A hurricane without rain is a massive tornado. The world still trembles. New Orleans would still squash the Munchkinlanders. The wind will get you, my pretty. Oh, yes. The wind will get your little dog, too.

Do not counter the immutable truth about the savagery of wind with sissy arguments like "Ooooh, but the breeze on a fall day is so beautiful" or "Oooooh, all my tacky lawn ornaments just love the wind." Wind socks? More like wind sucks! A fair breeze is merely the wind reminding us that while we live in peace now, it can on a whim uproot every tree, home, and mountain on earth. If the wind wanted, it could blow away the Sun. Where would you be then?

You exist on this earth because the wind desires it. The wind plays games with humanity so subtle that we still foolishly believe we are the dominant species. Nonsense! The wind eats species for breakfast, lunch, tea, and dinner. Froot Species turn the wind's milk to blood, its favorite flavor.

Has the wind ever blown sand in your eyes? Has the wind ever made a door slam so hard you jump and cut yourself with a pencil? This is the wind playing its favorite game, Mistress of Pain. The wind plays the role of the beautiful, buxom dominatrix in her Dungeon of Windy Doom. You assume the role of the snivelling, naked slave praying for that which does not exist: the wind's mercy. The wind always wins its favorite game.

Remember the wind, my brethren! Cower in awe and terror! Pay fealty to its mighty fury! The wind is stirring.