Per 
Over a small city cornered between snow-capped mountains, the sky darkens. Animals scurry invisibly into their burrows. Little grains of humanity instinctively scramble for cover among the shelter of toothpicks. Patches of green veneer gilded a brittle gold by this shelter, accepts its fate. In contradiction to the natural retreat one outlying member of the species homo sapiens trudges through refuse to what was once a hillside church or temple in boastful defiance.
An explosion of snow-white hair erupts from under a black hat too wide to be a fedora, too tall to be a pastor's. From out of his festive lab coat pops a battery operated blender which he rests on the rubble beside his hat. He secures a camera tripod, positioned best to frame the thunderheads rising out from behind his ghostly gaunt face. The clouds writhe with angry, unnatural illumination, as he prepares a carney smile and begins recording.
“Good morning, fellow strawmen,” his corn husk voice cracked before pitchforking each of his sentences with a forceful southern accent.
“Welcome to the eight-o-clock Drowning 'Manity weather report. I am your host, Dr. Torren, bringing you live today's scathing review. This special; roasts are viewer selected. Kids, if you are watching this, you already have all you need for our smoothie challenge. Tell me the first place that comes to mind. Grant it your favorite weather, but remember, only digits decide flags.”
Dr. Torren reaches into the hat and draws a random playing card to read from. “Mhmm, good start. Thursday 6:50 PM, pressure lows coming to Merida will bring a carnival of fun for meteorologists like the good old days. A permanent waterpark will be impactful for the kids, but good luck in keeping the adults from emptying out through closed highways due to them skeeters. If the future matters to any one of you, don't think of swatting those buggers, instead safety protocol advises citizens to Open the door, Get on the floor, Everybody walk the dinosaur!” He throws the card high into the air only for it to immediately reappear alongside a dropped stone. Along with the stone he puts the card and ingredients from his lab coat into the blender.
Dr. Torren reaches for a second card with a snow globe drawn on it. “Bluff, December the twenty-fifth, a year from now, polar fronts will extinguish the fiery eye of Soros, ever depriving Mordor's croplands of white Christmas holiness. Santa will be hungry if even he can brave the blizzards, so take pride in this annual forgiveness.” He violently shakes the card until the snow globe's glued glitter rearranges into the number 064. Like the last card, he tosses it into the blender with a slick black ingredient.
Dr Torren continues the 'magician and cook' routine in additional weather reports.
“Sweet hot Kashima, March 8th, maritime conditions to be favorable for tardy fishermen who just want a year's catch brought to them belly up. Midnight radar shows resident yellow boy's cold sweat, anticipation of a 205 mph blowjob bound north-east from cloud 9.
Bandar Kangan… Iran, if there is one thing you do take seriously its being a regular to my gift shop. How is it you not see my writing on the walls of your little corral? You've gotten enough weather notices already, go on, GIT!
Eaheheheha! These kids know where the funnies are. Now they have me pwned on what the funnies are. That is what I call 'learn'n from the Sage'. Normal-fags on the weather channel may not know me so well, so I'll give their memory a jogging. Oh yes, you can call me a weatherman. After all, I'm a man who controls the weather! Some folk have also called me a tree hugger, which I find cute. Now if you are in any doubt of my abilities, y'all can check back at the archives or my twitter. Everything I declare about the weather comes to pass, everything. I've done it all, from microbursts to hurricanes, polar vortexes to tornados and house pets. Strangely, I've never been busted for starting a fucking white gale.
SHAME! SHAME! BURN THE MESSENGER!
Port Louis, SEE BOYS! Port Louis, October 6th high noon, Night clubs oughta thank India's jet stream for a solid black dusting. Keep your hats on, they're already government approved to withstand even lethal amounts of heavy metals. The squatters they call them, mad as a hatter, dead as a dodo.
Salo, February 30th next year, arsonist reindeer fleeing north-bound warm fronts will be treated as pests. Folk may want to lower the summer blinds to keep out light pollution in following winters.
Elva, February 13th, weather forecasters are not sure how to describe the precipitation that day. All they will site are nationwide vehicle smog warnings that morning and none ever again.
Yahehehehehaweh! Who am I to be picking your hell out of a hat basket? Well, of the two mighty lords this land ain't big enough for, I'll tell you which of 'em I'm not. Two of these fellas beg back-country anons for opinion on which self-fulfilling apocalypse best satisfies continuity, using goofy magic tricks of course. The other is a clown rambling to a webcam. I don't need continuity, no plan. The weather just happens. What would you take me for, a brainlet running plot.exe at dialup for a two figure snipe tally? Don't waste my time. How about his alter-ego handpicking the suckers to get comfy to his Ultra 4K HD TV Live Horror fireplace of the even bigger suckers? I am not so pure of soul. And no I'm not Thanos,
PRAISE KEK!
Williston, August 24th, now nothin' sucks like waterspouts over the reservoir. Precipitation of black gold like mana from heaven! Still, not bucks enough for patching the pipes when John Smith rather be out obeying treaties with the Saudis. Hope for northern detours avoiding the river both up and downstream.
Starting October 18th, Denver will be expecting a full caravan of climate change researchers. Keep'em loges warm and cosy… I mean cool and humid … I mean dry ice proof … I mean, 'Hundred degree swings are just weather, not climate.' so the advisory is you folk liberal-proof your vehicles with that line on your march out of state.
Williamstown, February 7th, the Ark Encounter will be blessed with full parking lot for the first time. Don't worry about maritime driving conditions the roads will be molten tar canals.
What's this, Iraq? Again, why did I leave this meme in the pile? I'm sick of your Bush-sniffing ass! Can't you see I'm out of stock for you and hoarder Kurdistan? Don't yap at me, you're already refueling Saudi Arabia's tempest, so take your oil that's not burning and BEAT IT!
Bethlehem, December 25th, two storms, one's a dust storm occupying from the south, the other's stampede dust at the wall. Sounds like a miracle forecasters got the wrong town before, it'll come round again.
Breda, November 19th, it'll no more matter when y'all sleep in. Just be awake to pump that dump in the night shift, every shift. Bowls fill quick.
October 31st, Mexico City… I'll do a double here just to humor you. It may be warm today but chili tomorrow, if you catch my drift-er.
Nanchang, March 5th, prevailing winds will be shipping American imports. Sulphur dioxide, Saline-octochloride, Peroxyacyl nitrates, polycyclic aromatic hydrocarbons, pyroethylacitate, dihydrogen monoxide. Smart folk know to fuel their cars with these tongue-twisters while they ride the hazy waves out toward Russia. Really, they are gifted to all the other towns as well. America welcomes you, I thank you.
“EhHaEhHaEhHaa! Me and the boys are rocking it out the Jurassic Park today huh? Just like old times in Detroit when I tried my hand at christian rock and roll. The world needed to feel through my rage what terror of Godly wrath does to the mind, so I switched it up to metal. Tastes changed, I was accused of appropriation and bigotry, I barely got out with a penny and my voice. I thought maybe environmentalism would be my pasture, so I made posters, planted trees, did protests. It was a new president, I took the fall for eco-terrorists of the time by doing five years in a rowdy prison, got out with nothing but these dents. What lesson had I to learn?”
Torren picks up a battered instrument and thwacks it's chestnut body to splinters while laughing manically.
“Rosso, January 11th, 'think I'll spare this one my report. Instead think, how salty will Rosso be when its deserts migrate over the pond and leave Venezuela with my dry sense of humor?
Faro, May 12th, Sea-fare beware, water acidity will reach levels high enough to penetrate ablative shielding and re-electrolyze ignition ballast in
Hey, I've been out that way
Bubble the Bay of Biscay
on this day of May.
So stray gamma ray south
you give Faro cancer of the mouth
…
Kids want everything under their Christmas decorated genocide monuments so, all of the above.
AhaheYaHaheYa! What a fine specimen of 'accuse demographic here' I must be. I must herald from a long line of angry hateful sinners. Funny, my folks would agree! You see, I grew up in the bayou a God fearing outdoorsman. Live off the land we did! It was a simple life, fair weather always made game plentiful. So one day in church I saw the pews plenty crowded. Being a young lad, it was not yet revealed to me what was happening. And then
CRASH, BAM, A MISHAP!
Come May 9th in zero short years, Toledo's gonna have two things missing from its skyline and this one's an inside job for sure. Call it lake effect or call it city effect, album covers will need an update.
Filadelfia, May 21st, a clear sky for clearcut ranches will always make a comforting refuge from forest fires. Doggone showers, what is rain without a forest? Burn it to the ground! If smoke or anything spoils the sun then burn some more!
I was baptized that day. A deluge had burst through a bulge in the church wall, eating us up. When I woke, I was born a new. I knew it all. It was like being plugged in to Channel Earth, loss of innocence. Rather than the natural smell of the swamp in which I lay, the stench of chemicals in the water stung my eyes. Oil and gas, the depravity is everywhere, in everyone, especially me, inescapable. Just like my mother, how she would smoke up her lungs, pray for forgiveness and cure of her addiction, only to have a smoke again not five minutes later. 'Poison fills us all,' we'd preach, and so poisoned we'd be. I'll stand by that truth, inescapably.
When rescue found me, I was the only one left alive. Doctors could not explain why my skin stayed so stubbornly pale, pollution must have had a slightly different effect on me than it did the gay frogs. Having had lost my home, my loved ones, and inevitably landing myself on the streets, my survival was hailed a
OBOMINATAION, A MISHAP, A MISHAP, ANOTHER MISHAP…a miracle!”
Dr. Torren briefly falls into a fit, tearing up a toilet roll.
Bethal … Might as well be Methal when everyone's this fidgety. July 2nd, the coal industry goes bankrupt. Turns out the rain's better for batteries than power plant walls and damn near anything. No more jobs in acid wonderland.
Naklo, March 17th, riding down the eastbound winds Mr. Acts of God will be in it for some dodgeball. And it's not just golfballs and baseballs from now on, so get out of the way before someone's house gets tackled with footballs.
Delhi, June 1st, all scam emergency callers will be fired. That's an all encompassing truth.
Yehahahee! For the longest time I struck deals with small businesses and village randos. Simple, hand over ten dollars and you won't see your flock go blowing away. I'm no fashion bug, I just needed enough holler to shake the boots of those more successful upstarts.
Accra, October 26th. Are you down in the dumps? Has your sky got the blues? Well no worries Sid, you've got a friend in you. High tides are expected to return lost toys to the attics of those naughty kiddos. As plastic ash in the drinking water, your toys will be closer to you than you could've ever imagined.
Tuesday, 3:45, Victoria will be expecting eighty-two extra degrees to help with their sweet ol' barbecue. Medium rare below the collar, well done above.”
EhehehehehahaHAHAHAH! So, now that the fleas are leaping away in panic I'm sure the lot of you've come to a reckoning of where I stand in these lawless lands. Have you ever destroyed a 'Torture Me Elmo', or gone through dozens of Flame-Phones or other disposables? Have you ever played one of those fake news simulators that are all the rage and come out feeling guilty of a crime? How about staying up long hours watching the weather with China and taking out your 'beetus beard frustrations on the mountains of trash in your lawn? I did that, for nothin'. Money may talk, but I know outrage sells.
Tuesday, nine-twenty-two 9:22, Clinton will be greeted with a toasty north-easterly summer breeze from blazing Bay City, just right to get its cool back in the westerly showering heavy metal applause.
You buy into these pretty little gifts, you get angry that they've riddled your lawn with carcinogens, you throw them at whatever neighbor you point the finger at, and then you buy more because your still so pissed off. Don't rinse just repeat! Just as a bride I knew once said, 'you don't need a big dress to hide a big BUT.' The best part of this is when the 'but' lands on someone who had nothing to do with it and they get polluted too. Lets say now all my reports are due 25 years ahead in a neighboring country. Gandhi would've called that karma, I call it HILLARIOUS!”
Torren laughs another chest-burster while he jams some of his inventions into the blender.
“Hilo, September 20th, no volcanic winter will save you from climate summer.
Memphis, 9:17 tonight, no winter will freeze a flood in place.
Norslisk, Saturday, From then till the heat death of the universe, will feel without something. It's always in the news, they will always isolate it having a particularly bad case of global warming. Once you are sorry they will guilt you yet again for thinking this animal is any different from similar animals suffering from global warming, despite having an emotional meltdown over sea ice. My advice is, whatever you do, don't think about Arctic bears.
Speaking of thoughts, if any of you wish to write a bio of my thoughts you will be faced with two options. One, you shut down, twist my words into even nastier poison, and spew it like an oil well on whomever you find guilty. Embrace infamy such as I and slander no longer works. Two, you go crazy and start a weather channel about civilian casualties. That was the last thing trustworthy around here until China's 5G. A cornered bear is twice as feisty when blind. One orange smudge on the radar and Russia takes no chances nuking Black Hole-chan. Don't worry, I got your back. Right where you don't see. I follow you, tell you which of your sins are crawling there. Parasites of parasites, I know the weather so well now that I know you better than any social scientist could dream of. You drive a herd so strong it drives the world. I drive you, and the world goes off a cliff. Goes to show, the hardest egg for the human brain to craKAKAKEKAK KAK'N FRACK, HAK'N KAK, FRACK'N HACK!
is itself.”
The wind, warm like a hairdryer, begins to pick up snow into a blizzard of rain. Dr. Torren spares himself the effort of performing with the other cards since the wind blew his hat into the blender. He speaks incantation, unheard by the webcam through the blasting, before switching the blender on. At first it sputters, struggling to fling out the trash stuck in it, and then out bursts a vortex of fire reaching up out of the camera frame. Above the roaring wind, or possibly the reddening heavens, Torren shouts to be heard.
“Upon this earth surrounded by your enemies, the red army returns with with the rage of a ten million Trans-Siberian steam engines!
Blood steaming rage flees from every continent on the last refuge of the parasite!
Prospero has relinquished his staff to fall upon the rocks!
Lowly Trinculo receives the gift from the heavens upon his forehead!
The conditions of a perfect storm have manifested!
EXTINCTION IS IMMINENT!
I MAY BE A FOOL, BUT AT LEAST I'M NOT A USEFUL IDIOT!
Oh, and to the fellow tree huggers out there, 'be the change you want to see in the world.'"
Dr. Torren, laughing at all humanity, vanishes into the tempest. The camera cuts to a live feed from orbit so the world may witness it's own witch trial.
