C’mon, Duluth. You had twenty-foot snowdrifts last weekend? Really? What the hell happened? Is God still pissed about that Jesus crucifixion thing? Are you sure the snowbanks aren’t just frozen locusts?
There comes a time in every person’s life when they must grit their teeth and shovel the snow from their front walkway. This is not one of those times. For the love of God, get back in your house and don’t come out until the 20-foot snowdrifts melt next August.
If local newscaster Dennis Anderson tells you it’s safe, you may order pizza deliveries from local establishments. But not until Denny says it’s safe.
It’s best to get your mind off the cold by thinking about something else. For instance, think about how much your heating bill will go up now that there’s a giant snowdrift blocking all sunlight from reaching your house.
Once Denny says it’s safe, tell your elderly father to shovel the 20-foot snowdrift onto your neighbor’s lawn. If your dad starts having a heart attack, all you have to do is kick him down the icy street towards the hospital. It’s faster than an ambulance, though slightly less safe.
By the time your read this, Duluth’s snow will probably be cleared and almost everything will be back to normal. However, I’d still go by the rule of “Wait until Denny says it’s safe”. This rule should be followed even by people who don’t live in Duluth. For instance, if you live in Oklahoma, you shouldn’t go to school unless Denny specifically mentions your school during his newscast in Duluth.
The last big snowstorm I remember was the 1991 Halloween blizzard. I was 12 years old and living in a suburb of Minneapolis. We were hit with two feet of snow that night, but my brother and I went out trick or treating anyway, and we got loads of candy. I mean loads of it. I still have a few Tootsie Rolls left from that stash. We were the only kids brave enough to venture outside that night, and we reaped the rewards.
Kids today can talk about 20-foot snowdrifts, but did those snowdrifts bring them candy? I didn’t think so, punks. Y’all are still my bitches. I’m sure some old dude will come in here and bust my balls with some story about the 1940 Armistice Day blizzard, but until then I’m talking trash without fear.
I’m living in sunny California now. I didn’t really miss the snow until I heard how much there was back home. I kind of miss sitting inside with a cup of cocoa and looking at the perfect white neighborhood outside. I think most of all I miss being able to bitch incessantly about the snow and cold. I tried complaining about smog blocking out the sun and poisoning my very soul that keeps my spirit alive, but it didn’t take.
Enjoy the little things, Minnesota folks. Come July you’ll only have four-foot snowbanks to complain about.