Every now and again I have a conversation in my head with…say…a traffic light. Or the table. Or those bark-y dogs a few houses up from me. My brain clearly has some pretty piss poor decision-making skills, because if I weren’t having pretend conversations with the laundry, I could probably be inventing agriculture systems that can survive on Mars and we’d all be eating Martian carrots right now. I feel like I should apologize for that.
Anyway, I am who I am, and as such I was having a conversation the other day with Hurricane Isaac. It was in that conversation that I realized that if hurricanes were people, they’d be a-holes. See for yourself.
Me: Is that a goatee?
Isaac: Yeah, it looks awesome, doesn’t it? Imma score some ladies with this business.
Me: Awesome plan. Totally gonna work. That, or you’ll destroy everything you touch and people will make little voodoo hurricane dolls and hope you get hurricane STDs.
Isaac: Whatever. I know I look good.
Isaac: Wanna go party? I’m headed inland. I’m gonna be cool about it, though.
Me: Oh yeah? First time for everything, I guess.
Isaac: Yeah, I’m gonna be totally cool. Waltz in, water some plants, blow around a little just for show, then head on out.
Me: Sure you won’t get all drunk and pick up people’s cars and crush their neighbors’ cats with them?
Isaac: Hey, I’ve NEVER done that. Sure, some people in my family have, but I’m my own man, okay? Besides, people in my family are famous so, you know…crazy works.
Isaac: Uuhhh…YEAH. Katrina? Ring any bells?
Me: Of course it rings bells. Everyone freaking hated her. HATED her. She was maybe the most terrible thing ever.
Isaac: She wasn’t that bad.
Me: Have you lost your mind?! She killed a TON of people. A TON of them. And destroyed like, ALL the houses in New Orleans.
Isaac: You know what? You’re so judge-y.
Me: Yeah, I guess I am.
Isaac: Hey, hey! Baby, baby, baby…
Me: Ick. Stop calling me baby.
Isaac: Baby, come on baby.
Me: Fine. What?
Isaac: Shhhhh, shhh, shhh…shuuuush. Baby, don’t be so hard on yourself. We all have problems.
Me: Ugh…you’re so gross.
Isaac: So gross that you like it?
Isaac: Oh, I see…so gross that you LOVE it. You love it gross, huh baby?
Me: Ohmigod, no! You’re so pervy! How is it even possible to be that pervy?
Isaac: Hey! Don’t you go running your mouth off, woman, or I swear I’ll pick up a tree and rip your face off with it!
Me: Holy crap! Calm down!
Isaac: I’m sorry, baby. We’re getting closer to land. You know how I get…come rub my goatee.
Me: No. Thanks. I’m good.
Isaac: Fine! I’m gonna go get with that peninsula over there and we’re gonna have a ton of baby tornadoes together! Then how will you feel!? You’ll feel terrible!
Me: You’re an a-hole.
Isaac: Your face is an a-hole!
Me: Fine. My face is an a-hole. Are we done here?
Isaac: Yeah. Yeah we are.
Hurricanes—they’re a bunch of a-holes. Stay safe out there, people.