XX. Bad Weather
When I was a little boy, I climbed an old oak tree in front of our house during poor weather and fell 12 feet.
Later, my mother and I are in an avocado-tiled bathroom. It smells like dirty clothes and turned perfume. I am sitting on the lip of the scuffed tub, knee up, battling a stormy cloud of alcohol issuing from her mouth. The wind creaks the house like an old boat.
"Clubber, you know why you fell, don't you?" She pours monkey blood into the wound, and it runs in a rivulet to the lip of my sock, forming a crescent of rust.
"The wind blew me out of the tree?"
"No. Because God is angry with you. That's what makes the weather bad."
"I question your causality, woman."
She put the cap back on the bottle in her hand and reached for the uncapped one by her side.
"You sure are a smart aleck," she said and took a drink.
Ever since that day, I have been terrified of bad weather and always felt a vague connection to my sins. For instance, Hurricane Katrina happened because I lied to my grandmother about the flattery of a dress. I once brought on a hailstorm by having impure thoughts about Malcolm-Jamal Warner.
The point is, to avoid bad weather you must avoid sin. However, in the event that you do sin and God acts predictably, you should fortify yourself with my patented "Extreme Actions for Extreme Weather." These are time-honored and field tested.
In the event of bad weather:
Stay Calm. Panic. Get to a safe place. Accuse others of panicking more than you. Roll up windows. Steal your girlfiend's purse. Drink plenty of fresh water. Smoke a ham. Cover head with textbook. Urinate frequently. Wear loud clothes. Do electrical work. Drink whiskey and become threatening. Keep proclaiming, "We are all going to die!" Loot. Bust out neighbors' windows to "equalize pressure." Stay even calmer. Confess to things you never did. Regret routing rain gutters into sunroof. Keep pumping fist to sky, daring God with "Is that the best that you've got?" Test family alertness by pretending you're dead. Use fireworks in cramped quarters. And pray.
There you go. Now you're ready for anything. By the way, look for an upcoming Category 5 because I lied about my beloved mom in print.
Later, my mother and I are in an avocado-tiled bathroom. It smells like dirty clothes and turned perfume. I am sitting on the lip of the scuffed tub, knee up, battling a stormy cloud of alcohol issuing from her mouth. The wind creaks the house like an old boat.
"Clubber, you know why you fell, don't you?" She pours monkey blood into the wound, and it runs in a rivulet to the lip of my sock, forming a crescent of rust.
"The wind blew me out of the tree?"
"No. Because God is angry with you. That's what makes the weather bad."
"I question your causality, woman."
She put the cap back on the bottle in her hand and reached for the uncapped one by her side.
"You sure are a smart aleck," she said and took a drink.
Ever since that day, I have been terrified of bad weather and always felt a vague connection to my sins. For instance, Hurricane Katrina happened because I lied to my grandmother about the flattery of a dress. I once brought on a hailstorm by having impure thoughts about Malcolm-Jamal Warner.
The point is, to avoid bad weather you must avoid sin. However, in the event that you do sin and God acts predictably, you should fortify yourself with my patented "Extreme Actions for Extreme Weather." These are time-honored and field tested.
In the event of bad weather:
Stay Calm. Panic. Get to a safe place. Accuse others of panicking more than you. Roll up windows. Steal your girlfiend's purse. Drink plenty of fresh water. Smoke a ham. Cover head with textbook. Urinate frequently. Wear loud clothes. Do electrical work. Drink whiskey and become threatening. Keep proclaiming, "We are all going to die!" Loot. Bust out neighbors' windows to "equalize pressure." Stay even calmer. Confess to things you never did. Regret routing rain gutters into sunroof. Keep pumping fist to sky, daring God with "Is that the best that you've got?" Test family alertness by pretending you're dead. Use fireworks in cramped quarters. And pray.
There you go. Now you're ready for anything. By the way, look for an upcoming Category 5 because I lied about my beloved mom in print.
posted by Clubber Lang at 4:41 PM
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