Storms
Hurricane Florence was a category 4 and was on a path to destroy the Carolinas. It was huge. Trump suggested it could be the biggest storm ever. He said, "It’s tremendously big and tremendously wet." That's a weird statement and it was almost pornographic. Who would confuse a storm and porn. Trump.
It was Thursday night, all of the channels had non-stop storm coverage. The momentum should have been building, but the storm was loosing steam. It was dying, almost defiantly to prove Trump wrong. Florence, a female storm, refused to be the biggest, wettest, hottest storm ever.
Weather news casters spend eight months of the year totally bored. During a typical show, it might get a little exciting and they say, "thunder storms are 50-50 for tomorrow" or "this weekend will be the hottest days on record." They try hard to make snowy days scary, but they never are. Eight months of the year the weather guys and gals are sleep walking through the shows.
Hurricane season is Show Time! And when they get a hurricane in the barrel, they know how to milk it, drip by drip. It starts off the coast of Africa, moving at 17 miles per hour. Weeks go by, hundreds of different tracking systems predict the hurricane will hit just about everywhere. Everyone from Texas to Maine pays close attention. They show devastating images from previous storms. Fear sells. Day by day, they build their scary storm story. The hurricane even has a name. It has character. It has a plan and only Weather Man can save the day.
The top weather reporters from all over the country fly to the scene once the hurricane's path is more definite. They must be IN the storm. It's game time. It's the weather super bowl. Imagine if the NFL waited all year for the season to start, games were scheduled and as the big game was about to start, it was all canceled.
Florence was dancing away into the night. The storm chasers refused to accept their fate. They stayed on scene in their traditional windbreakers getting slightly moist on a breezy night. One guy on Fox (above) had his arm wrapped around the pole as if he was going to be blown away. Notice the leaves on the bush next to him. The wind was not blowing. It was game day and they were ready to go go go. Hurricane Florence gave up and was barely a category 1 at that point. The plug would finally be pulled if it turned into a tropical depression.
I think it is time to end the stupidity of standing in storms in windbreaker. What is the point? I really can't tell how hard the wind is blowing based on the windbreaker. The networks should insist weather reporters wear long, light weight clothing that shows the viewer more details about the wind speeds. Below is my suggestion.
Hurricane Florence was a category 4 and was on a path to destroy the Carolinas. It was huge. Trump suggested it could be the biggest storm ever. He said, "It’s tremendously big and tremendously wet." That's a weird statement and it was almost pornographic. Who would confuse a storm and porn. Trump.
It was Thursday night, all of the channels had non-stop storm coverage. The momentum should have been building, but the storm was loosing steam. It was dying, almost defiantly to prove Trump wrong. Florence, a female storm, refused to be the biggest, wettest, hottest storm ever.
Weather news casters spend eight months of the year totally bored. During a typical show, it might get a little exciting and they say, "thunder storms are 50-50 for tomorrow" or "this weekend will be the hottest days on record." They try hard to make snowy days scary, but they never are. Eight months of the year the weather guys and gals are sleep walking through the shows.
Hurricane season is Show Time! And when they get a hurricane in the barrel, they know how to milk it, drip by drip. It starts off the coast of Africa, moving at 17 miles per hour. Weeks go by, hundreds of different tracking systems predict the hurricane will hit just about everywhere. Everyone from Texas to Maine pays close attention. They show devastating images from previous storms. Fear sells. Day by day, they build their scary storm story. The hurricane even has a name. It has character. It has a plan and only Weather Man can save the day.
The top weather reporters from all over the country fly to the scene once the hurricane's path is more definite. They must be IN the storm. It's game time. It's the weather super bowl. Imagine if the NFL waited all year for the season to start, games were scheduled and as the big game was about to start, it was all canceled.
Florence was dancing away into the night. The storm chasers refused to accept their fate. They stayed on scene in their traditional windbreakers getting slightly moist on a breezy night. One guy on Fox (above) had his arm wrapped around the pole as if he was going to be blown away. Notice the leaves on the bush next to him. The wind was not blowing. It was game day and they were ready to go go go. Hurricane Florence gave up and was barely a category 1 at that point. The plug would finally be pulled if it turned into a tropical depression.
I think it is time to end the stupidity of standing in storms in windbreaker. What is the point? I really can't tell how hard the wind is blowing based on the windbreaker. The networks should insist weather reporters wear long, light weight clothing that shows the viewer more details about the wind speeds. Below is my suggestion.
The storm was a fizzling out and I was tired of seeing the reporters saying the same thing on every channel. I remembered there was a better storm on TV. Another storm that Trump thought was hot and wet. Stormy Daniels. Her attorney Michael Avenatti was going to be on Tucker Carlton's show. I guess Trump was right, the storm was porn.
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ReplyDeleteI got lucky! I saw a tweet where Michael Avenatti hyped his appearance on Tucker Carlson, so it was on my radar. I flipped to Fox just in time for the moaning & groaning, it was the next best thing to Porn Hub if you searched "guy-on-guy action." It was hot! It was filthy! The lies, the insults, they were flying all over the place. It was sexy! Tucker Carlson was flirting with Michael Avenatti. They were both getting off on it. This is where we are as a country: our president fucks a porn star and The Family Values Evangelicals give him a mulligan but an attorney represents a porn star and gets called "creepy" on national television. I'm tempted to judge the very same people I have allowed myself to watch on television, but I have to admit, this is who we are and it's time for me to embrace the crazy, enjoy the crazy, instead of judging the programming that I'm tuning in for. Who's to blame? Really? I blame myself. By the way, last thing, I will not be impressed by a hurricane chasing report until he's blown away by a gust of wind and his widow weeps as she's given a Peabody Award.
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