Why the fuck are you still here? Seriously. It’s March! What’s with this in with a lion, out like a lion bullshit? It’s not supposed to snow in March. I’m pretty sure it says so in the Geneva Convention. Or maybe the Treaty of Versailles. Regardless, you’re breaking international laws here and I won’t stand for it, damnit.
In the immortal words of my favorite Karma Chameleon, “Do you really want to hurt me? Do you really want to make me cry?”
You are the Rod Stewart of seasons. You insist on hogging the headlining slot, then performing twenty-seven screechy encores when all we want to do is go home, sleep, and hope things will look better in the morning. And technically? This is the morning. You’re hogging Spring’s time slot. Get off the fucking stage, already.
Also? I don’t like you. Ever. Like at all. You’re COLD. Stop it.
I refuse to wear long underwear another day. I don’t have room in my pants for my ass, let alone all the twenty seven layers I need to combat your frosty ass.
Is sunshine so much to ask for? Maybe three consecutive days where the temperature gets above 50 degrees?
I’m about to throw a Chrissy Fit, frankly.
And I blame you for Elizabeth Taylor. Because I’m upset and already mad at you. So just roll with me here.
In summary, I hate you and you should go. Now.
Take Chris Brown and Rod with you.
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