Winter didn’t listen, naturally. That’s so typical of winter; it is a selfish, heartless season that does exactly what it wants, when it wants and ignores the pleas of mortals for mercy. It has no memory and no feeling. Winter is the worst kind of guest; it will come too early and stay too late. It knows you invited it in for a beer but it plans to spend the night in your bed and make you sleep on the couch. Winter will eat all your best leftovers and not do the dishes. Winter leaves one Kleenex in the box. Winter has already sold its first novel to Random House and is negotiating a movie deal in which Brad Pitt will play it.
Winter is draining the battery in your car and letting the air out of your tires. Winter has used up all your Anytime minutes on psychic phone lines and is now calling its friends in Warsaw. Poland. It left the milk out to spoil and ordered porn on cable. Winter shrugged and walked away when you accused it of getting spaghetti sauce all over the front of your favorite plaid flannel shirt.
Winter doesn’t care about you, it only wants your money. And to make you miserable. Winter steals money from the homeless and kicks puppies on the way to its accountant’s office to set up illegal offshore tax shelters. Winter is bigger and stronger than you will ever be and will kick your ass every time. Your parents wish you could be more like winter.
Winter always wins before it dies.
Thursday, February 21, 2008
Friday, February 15, 2008
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