Weathermen are the most self-important bozos to ever gaze upon a teleprompter. They stand in front of a camera, and spend an eternal four minutes telling us it’s dark, as though I can’t see that it’s pitch black outside my window, or that it also happens to be 10:20 p.m.! I’m surprised they don’t explain the magical process that makes the sun disappear after druids slaughter a lamb at Stonehenge every evening.
And when it is dark, why do they feel the need to tell me it’s cloudy? It’s dark, what’s the point? Nighttime is the one time it’s not relevant to know if it’s cloudy. Unless you have a telescope, or you have the urge to howl at something, who gives a rat’s ass whether it’s cloudy at night? It’s not like people need to go get a moontan. I can almost hear the weatherman say, “And if you guys out there watching the tube are planning on a nice, relaxing midnight barbeque, it’ll be clear and moony for you all next week.” Cue: fake laughter from the anchors and the sports guy in his late forties who’s still living his high school football years in his head. Next.
What the hell is a geographical panhandle? They call one part of Texas that sticks out to the west (on most modern maps) a panhandle. Out of all the things they could have come up with, a panhandle is what some wacko decided to call it years ago? Please. I call it “that part of Texas where Buddy Holly’s from”. In case you’ve never been inside a Bed, Bath and Beyond, or you’ve never been hit in the head by the round part that it is attached to, a panhandle is long arm of metal protruding from the pan, or skillet as they call it in low literacy states. It’s purpose is to keep morons from touching the pan when it’s hot. Despite this, millions of Americans are burned every year because they don’t use that part of the pan I say that area of Texas doesn’t look like. On a side note: it’s always hot in the Texas “panhandle”. Weird, huh? The Big Dipper (aka Ursa Major) is easily identifiable by its long handle, but then again, it’s also supposed to look like a bear. When you think about it, none of the constellations look like what they’re supposed to. Go figure.
Anyway, the Texas Panhandle looks nothing like a handle. I love it how some geographer just decided to call any wide, straight strip of land a panhandle. Okay, smart guys, if that’s the case, then why isn’t Florida called what it’s shaped like? Instead, it’s called a peni…nsula. Yeah, right. We know what you really meant to call it back when you coined that term. You threw the first four letters in there to make people giggle when they start to sound it out, and then you duped us with the unpronounceable-by-itself “nsula”. Besides, it’s the only logical explanation as to how the Gulf of Mexico was created, so why didn’t you call it by what it looks like?
The last of my all time favorite harebrained things that meteorologists do is when they stand outside in the pouring rain telling us viewers that it’s (SURPRISE!!) raining. Some yellow rain slicker-wearing nut will stand in the center of the devastating aquatic power that comes with the likes of a hurricane, and hold a mic that’s hooked up to something resembling an electrical power source. For all the weather reporters out there, you don’t have to risk your life to tell me it’s storming. I believe you. What, like we viewers can’t see that it’s wetter than a glass of water outside? They always urge people to stay inside while they’re out there wearing a raincoat and holding an umbrella. It’s pouring like crazy (I’m not talking about that lame monsoon crap they get over in Vietnam, I’m talking about sideways shooting rain so dense that it forms a gray curtain no ounce of light can penetrate) and some meteorologist is standing in the middle of it holding an umbrella like it’s really gonna help. Sheer genius! That’s like using a squirt gun to put out the Hindenburg! I’m always anxiously waiting for one of these buffoons to take off like a kite with the hard blast of a full force gale. Now, that’s news! Cue: fake laughter.