The Snow From Hell - by Douglas

Here in the Deep South we are dealing with an unusual March snowstorm that left behind 3 (THREE!) inches of snow accumulation. This is very rare down here and it forces me to make some uncomfortable decisions. Specifically, if worse comes to worse, which of my children will I eat?
The older one will be starting college soon so eating her would save some serious money. Strong argument in these tough economic times. But the pseudo-gourmet in me thinks the younger one would be more tender and succulent. Considering how much we use the TV to babysit him, he’s essentially the human equivalent of veal. Mmm...when I look at him he’s all trussed up with an apple stuffed in his mouth.


But first thing's first. I neglected to buy any milk or bread when I first heard the forecast and now that the entire South is essentially snowed-in, I need to resort to emergency measures. I’ve got flour and yeast so I’m OK for bread. Let’s see…I don’t own a cow so that’s out. No one in the house is lactating. Hmmm…looks like I’ll have to get my larceny on. I need a distraction. I’ll get the boy out of the marinade and have him run up the street screaming that his house is on fire. When someone comes over to help, he’ll run into their house and grab the milk out of the fridge. Plus whatever meat and beer he can stuff into his size-6 Tuffrider coat. Maybe I should send the older one. Bigger coat.

Next, I need stuff to burn. The power lines are bound to freeze and snap and we just have the one sand truck here and no salt trucks. So by the time the roads are sanded enough for the emergency vehicles to get out and restore our electricity, we’ll be human popsicles. OK, first thing to get burned is the entertainment center. If we somehow survive this storm, I think that would be the final argument for getting a flat screen TV. Next would be the books. They’re just for show anyway. Then maybe those bags of clothes we still haven’t donated or sold at a garage sale. I still plan on claiming them on our taxes so let’s keep this on the low.

OK, I think I’m ready to hunker down and wait out this quarter-foot wintry onslaught that the local anchors are already calling “God’s Final Verdict.” Cable’s still working for now, so I’ve got the remote and some grain alcohol in reach. I’ve duct taped a chef’s knife to the end table so I can just fall onto it if the frostbite renders me immobile and saps my will to live. In the unlikely event of my survival, this is still probably my last blog for a while, especially if the computer in any way begins to appear edible or flammable. Besides, gangrenous fingers can really make it a bitch to type.
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