After some arctic heroics I wound up idling five vehicles. One that was my truck (works just fine thank you). I didn’t need to charge the battery but you’d have to be a special kind of stupid to turn off the only sure fire heat in the vicinity). Plus four I’d “encouraged” until they ran. Just for the record Al Gore can suck it, when I take a block of machine that’s nothing but a monthly payment that needs a tow and turn it back into a mode of transportation I’d happily drop a polar bear in a woodchipper to keep it that way.
Newsflash, when you’re idling multiple cars in very nasty cold all you want to do is climb inside the defroster vent and listen to the radio. Second newsflash, the radio has very dumb people who aren’t smart enough to put on a song and shut the hell up. What do they talk about when it’s damn cold out? It sure as hell ‘aint Federal Reserve rates and technical refinements in nucleotide sequencing.
It turns out there’s such a thing as naming a storm. Hercules? I call bullshit! Time for a Curmudgeonly Gem of Insight. Everyone get out a magic marker and write the following statement on the forehead of the nearest weather announcer:
“Every blizzard has a name. That name is ‘winter’.”
Also, if you use the word “snowed in” in any sentence that has the phrase “2 to 7 inches” you are hereby ordered to never speak again. (Living in Delaware is no excuse!)
Now they’re predicting another storm. Ion?
Oh. Hell. No!
“The first blizzard of January shall be called ‘winter’. The next blizzard shall be called ‘winter’. Repeat until the robins come back or the glaciers kill us all.”