On Weather

It is a well-known fact that weather is a bit of a bitch. Sometimes, you and weather can be completely cool, chillaxin' with a nice sun out. Sometimes she can be freaking awesome, with lightning and thunder and VOLCANOS (yeah, volcanos aren't technically weather, but look at any picture of an erupting volcano with lightning springing through the ashes and you'll catch my drift).

But most of the time, weather and you have an at-best curt, at-worst hostile, relationship.

Today is a good example. It is the last week of April. That is, it is almost May. May is the beginning of summer-like weather, this is a well-known fact.

THEN WHY IN ASS IS IT SNOWING OUT?

Fuck you, weather, I had just gotten used to there not being any snow. MY JOB IS OUTSIDE! I hate, you weather. You and your fucking crystallized rain and coldness.

With this in mind, I think we (by which I mean everyone on the internet as a whole, with a special focus on the blogosphere) should get our revenge on weather.

"But Christian," you exclaim, "weather can't be revenged upon. It is a force of nature."

You narrow-minded fools (love you :)) it is a well known fact that every force of nature has an embodiment, an avatar, if you will. These long-lived (albiet mortal) beings live in the depths of space and time accessible only by those of great power.

I believe my hatred for weather will be sufficient to drive me to the edge of time and space itself. That is how much I hate weather. By harnessing my hatred, we can build a grand ship, an infinite engine, capable of transporting our weather-hating army to the doorstep of that vile wench.

Together, with weapons fueled by malice and cunning, we will shatter her golden door and enter her sun-filled bowery. Her guardians, Misters Rain and Shine, will fall to our power and will inevitably beg for a mercy we shall not grant. They will fall to our weapons of death, and their souls shall be ripped out to fuel our hate-engines.

We shall stand before weather and she will beg for us to spare her. We shall take her and keep her chained forever in the deepest pit of our ship, her Infinite Bonds unbreaking. Then we will sit upon her throne and we, the internet, will reign supreme over weather. Climates will bend to our will.

But that will not be enough. Weather has wronged the world for too long and too greatly.

while one of us rules the throne of weather in it's golden hall, the rest of us shall build more ships. We shall make armies of clouds and pain, who will wield lightning in one hand and ice shards in the other. And we shall bear down, through all of space and time, to destroy all the other avatars and take our rightful place as masters of the universe.

Earth.

Fire.

Water.

Air.

We shall rule these elements, and others besides.

Death.

Life.

Love.

Fear.

These will bend to our will.

And when the universe is ours, we shall rest upon our thrones and plot. Two frontiers have yet to fall to us, we shall realize. We control nature, the world of the living. But heaven and hell are not yet ours. And we shall build a great drill, powered by the anguish of those avatars we have dethroned. And it shall turn with a sound of wailing infants and weeping mothers. And it shall bore a hole in the universe, straight to the pits of hell. And we shall march with our armies into the maw of pain and shall cast down the demons. And we shall seat ourselves upon the thrones of the Seven Lords of the Pit. With nature and hell at our beck and call, we shall turn our gaze upwards. Heaven will glare at us in fury, and we shall begin a new battle.

For twelve eons we shall battle, and our new forms will become host to new powers. I shall turn by hundred-fold gaze upon man and gauge their worth. We will determine them unworthy, and the twisting of nature shall begin. Man shall be wrought in a new image, an image of terror and domination, and will swarm upwards to the gates of heaven, where the heavenly host shall stand guard. For one thousand years we will fight before the Gates, and then we shall enter heaven and God will stare upon us with pity, and all of everything will be erased in an instant, for our hubris had led to the Apocalypse, and all of nature will suffer in torment for our false grandeur.

All because it snowed in fucking April. So, weather, bring your worst. Because in so doing you are calling down Ragnarok, and we shall rise.