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.
Didn’t get enough bitching for the day? Pop on over to Sprocket Ink and check out the scientific study proving I should be an erotic dancer.
I’m with you on all of that.
If you like my season and you think it’s springy, winter it is time to go.
It’s still happening, damnit.
YES! EFFING ROD STEWART! He is to blame for all the world’s disasters (I’m paraphrasing and in fact making things up but I swear it’s true)
I believe you, Veg. I have my pitchfork ready. Let’s get ’em. Here’s a pair of pruning shears for your tiny hands.
I do believe this is you.
Yes. And yes. And how.
Perhaps Winter has been waiting around for Liz. I mean, wouldn’t you? But Winter, you need to hit the bricks before you have to take Charlie Sheen and his tiger blood too!
Tiger blood melts snow, right?
You do know that you’re supposed to blame Rocco for the ill fitting pants, right? I mean, its pretty much his fault.
In defense of winter, fall stayed way past his time last year. It probably just through winter off a bit. And spring? Well she’s kind of flighty…maybe winter’s just holding down the fort until she gets her shit together. You know?
I ♥ you.
I blame Rocco for everything that Rod doesn’t do.
p.s. Oh, and winter? Minnesota is completely sick of you and no I will not buy you a beer.
Take away the peanuts, too!
Winter is like the guy who cums on your face just because he can. Asshole.
Well said. But he never seems to run out of spooge.
Here is where we all raise our half empty glasses to the official reunion of Liz and her gnarly bohunk Richard Burton.
It’s supposed to snow here this weekend but I’ve got my bony little fingers curled around the memory of the day not too long ago that we broke 80 degrees.
I’m replacing my track lighting with heating lamps, damnit.
Aww…winter is never ending this year! We are not going to have snow but rain…always lots of rain. Your Rod animosity is so freaky awesome…but hell if it doesn’t make me end up singing the Robin Hood theme song. Rod is bad on his own, add sting and brian adams and that makes for a perpetual winter!
I will never forgive Sting for doing that song. Never. That’s probably why we aren’t married today. Well, that and that bitch Trudi.
We are in the middle of getting another half foot of snow right now. Winter, can go fuck itself. I am in staying inside and making spiked smoothies all afternoon, and pretending it’s just a very large white sand beach outside. Now where did I put those little umbrellas?
I can think of a few places Winter can stick those umbrellas. Grumble.
Oh dear, someone is a little Miss Crankypants today.
The hail isn’t helping either.
The very least winter could do at this point is provide me with some relief in the form of an official SNOW DAY off of work. However, winter is being stingy there too. Winter is an asshole.
Here, here! Where’s the reach around, Winter?
Take me Winter. Take me! Take me now! Take Me. Take Me. Yeah baby. Take MEEEEEEEEEEEEEE! Phew. What? Oh yeah, commenting. That’s right. Focus, focus, focus. I can’t wait to get a little, or a lot, of Winter lovin’. Send him my way I’m all ready for a bit of snow ploughing.
I’d send you our Summer but it’s been a bit piss weak this year, all moist and sweaty. And I know how you feel about moist.
i’m pretty sure it’s no longer considered an encore when it’s the 20th fucking song! especially when i barely made it through the first two sets. scoot!
ps: chrissy fit! <- that's awesome.
I concur; both Rod Steward and winter need to grab their collective sweat panties by their oversized elastic bands and exit stage left. Should they roll their screechy, aged selves over Chris Brown on their way out, effectively silencing that white haired, ill tempered, leprechaun for all time and eternity … then at least we can say they served some purpose other than to annoy us into hibernation induced obesity.
Okay, we had one week of gorgeous weather, which was just a fucking tease. Now it’s back to 30 degrees!! What’s worse than non-stop Rod? Rod, more Rod, then the Police walking out on stage, picking up their instruments, then turning around and walking back off so Rod can come back out!! WTF!?!?!?!
Also, ummmm, is it really THAT bad that I will still take Chris Brown on in a pillow fight?
Elly. Be. Careful. What if winter reads this and goes and throws a hissy fit in the green room and upsets the hair and make-up staff and tweets about it? You don’t need that, girl.
I’m searching the interwebz for subWOW! Paging subWOW!!!!
Also, don’t think we have forgotten you have a secret. That bitch comes out tomorrow and we have NOT forgotten.
I made it until Friday.
Help me help myself!!
I’m vibrating like a toddler on sweet tarts and kool aid.
SECRET! SECRET! SECRET!
lol [ i think i peed a little. ]
I think old man winter is doing his best chris brown impression on mother nature… Where’s the UN Panel on Climate Change?
Tick, tick, tick, tick, tick, tick, tick, tick, tick, tick, tick, tick, tick, tick, tick, tick ……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..
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