See if You Can Make it Rain on the Hippies

Nothing is quite so beautiful as an August weekend in Miami, with a failed tropical depression somewhere to the southeast. That is the situation in which I find myself at present.

Hurricane…oops, I mean “tropical storm”…no, wait, “tropical depression”…wrong again…”Invest 92L” is wandering toward Hispaniola, packing weak winds and a moderate amount of rain. After that, it will take the long route across Cuba, losing power the whole way. Once that’s done, it will pop out in the Florida Straits or over the southern Bahamas, where almost nobody lives. If it manages to become a real storm after that, it will be a big surprise, but it will probably be too far offshore to do any damage.

I have to say it again. I love the word “invest.” We never heard it before 2006. At least not in relation to weather. We used to have hurricanes, tropical storms, tropical depressions, and sometimes “tropical waves.” But no invests. Why is that? Simple. Global warming turned out to be a crock, the epidemic of killer storms failed to materialize, we ran short of significant tropical weather events to panic about, and TV journalists and greenies needed a device to help them save face. We’ve had two slow seasons in a row, we are in the midst of a third, and four years ago, these boobs were telling us to expect twenty man-caused hurricanes per year. So now whenever it rains off the coast of Africa, they put up fuzzy, vague satellite photos of the wet area, and they tell us it’s an invest. And they say we need to “keep a close eye on it” in case it turns into a monster storm, which will require us to “hunker down.”

Translation: “we cannot justify our salaries or our existence.”

Whenever I hear the ridiculous phrase “hunker down,” I picture people squatting in their living rooms like chimpanzees. Here’s what it really means. “Close your shutters and buy five bags of ice.”

What if things get even slower, and we don’t even have invests? What will TV weathermen use to scare us and pump up their salaries and persuade networks to pay for fancy gear? I know. Whenever it drizzles for a few minutes, just west of the Azores, they’ll call it “a tropical booboo.” “This tropical booboo by the Cape Verde islands may become an invest by the middle of the week. Hunker down and quit using toilet paper.”

I know I shouldn’t gloat, but you have to understand something. For several years, liberals have been actively rooting for hurricanes to develop. That’s no exaggeration. It’s like the war in Iraq. The more bodies come home, the more Congressional seats liberals gain, so Democrats wept and squirmed when the troop surge worked, and the liberal media sat on (and still sits on) the story. The more hurricanes we have, the more credible the global warming myth becomes, and the more control liberals can exert over our lives. So a slow season is a catastrophe.

The big problem with this attitude–there are a few, but this is the biggest–is that hurricanes are very BAD. As a person who has experienced 180 mile-per-hour winds and who has been through at least five hurricanes, I can tell you that a hurricane is nothing to root for. They kill people. They destroy homes. They disrupt lives. They spawn crimes of opportunity, and they lead to gunshot deaths. Only an effete liberal could be happy about things like that. Theory is fun, but sometimes you have to remember that human beings are not just pixels on a monitor. We suffer and die. Our welfare is more important than the need to prop up Al Gore’s fatuous lies. Thinking of people as abstractions is what leads to leftist delights such as killing fields and purges.

Katrina was one of the greatest things that ever happened to the American left. It also killed hundreds of people and destroyed a major city. Call me crazy; on the whole, I think we sustained a net loss. I wonder how many liberals would trade their Congressional majority for the undoing of Katrina. Let’s face it. Very few. If you can hope your country loses a war, no catastrophe can reanimate your withered, vestigial empathy.

Pretty soon I’m going to have to put the graph up. You may remember it. I mean the graph of hurricane frequency versus time of year. We are nearly at the mid-point of the hurricane season. The historical graph shows that storm frequency peaks sharply in the middle of the season. We have probably seen almost 50% of this year’s activity by now. After September 30th, our chances of a storm will drop off to a very comfortable near-nothing. And the greenies will have to drink their bathwater yet again. And yes, I know they don’t really bathe. B.O. and funk are good for Gaia, the big lifeless clod of dirt God gave us to subdue and enslave and deplete for our benefit and amusement.

Nuts on the left actually blamed George Bush for the hurricanes of 2004 and 2005. Look it up; they were completely serious. If he caused the storms, he also gets credit for the calm weather we’re having now. Wow, Mr. President, way to stop those hurricanes. The left concedes that you control the weather, so obviously, you are the reason our roofs aren’t blowing off. And thanks for all the sunshine. My Key limes and plantains have never looked better. I’d appreciate it if you could cut the humidity on October 1st. We need a little rain for the Biscayne aquifer, but after that, we can do without the sticky nights.

There is no wave of killer hurricanes. The polar bears are not drowning, and they never were, and they never will be. Global warming is not happening, to any significant extent. And Al Gore is still a liar and an energy-wasting hypocrite. Nice things to know, as I coast into another sunny South Florida weekend.