Be careful what sashes you throw up...some kids are tattle-tales.
Children laugh and play in the snow. Men toil and break their backs shoveling it. Women think it looks pretty...which we've been meaning to talk to them about because they should be concentrating on making dinner! Okay, okay, we're sorry. We didn't mean that. That was a low blow. Strange Times has always been an equal opportunity employer and we care deeply for women's rights.
The Women's Rights Era...an era when no one had clean socks. We're sorry again, it's just too easy.
Although the general consensus is that snow makes the holiday season complete, one man ain't having any of it. Richard T. Bouregard is that man. Richard lives in Wisconsin and this year he has been hit heavily by the tremendous swinging cock of Mother Nature...we're just gonna let you think about that last sentence for a few seconds...
Alright, you good? Okay. Bouregard woke up this morning, drew his blinds, and sighed a sigh that would make even though most chipper, warm-hearted soul want to down a bottle of baby Tylenol and Jack Daniels and pray for sweet death. We were going to include an audio clip of this sigh, but our sound technicians kept killing themselves whenever they heard it.
U2 has the same problem.
Richard trudged out of bed like some sort of...trudgin' curmudgeon, which is a cool name for a band if any of you want to use it, go right ahead. He made his breakfast and struggled to eat it, but couldn't swallow because of all the sighing that he was obligated to do. You could say Richard was depressed at the sight of snow. You could also say that he was a woman, but only the former statement is true...we think. We just found out Mother Nature has a penis, so anything is possible. All Bouregard could do was stare blankly out his frosted window at the powder that he loathed so very, very much.
If your friends aren't cool with powder...get some new friends.
People have suggested that he move somewhere that doesn't get as much snowfall as Wisconsin, but Richard has been reluctant, saying "The snow should move. I was here first."
Strange Times interviewed Richard about his hatred for the white stuff. "Why would anyone like snow?!" Richard began screaming incoherently the second he answered the door. "It's like...cold as FUCK, first of all. It's wet. And fucking COLD." When we asked him when his dislike for snow first began, he grew silent. He also grew an erection, but it was filled with anger and secrets buried deeply in his past.
"I think it all began when I was in the womb...my mother was raped by a snowman when she was pregnant with me." We bit our lips to stifle the laughter, vomit, or tears, we weren't sure which one was about to erupt from our face. "I could just feel that...frigid, unforgiving snoweiner poking and prodding at me. Ever since, I haven't been able to stand the feeling or sight of snow."
We're 99% sure that kid is doing a little more than adding coal buttons.
So there you have it. Snowman Rape. It's a growing epidemic and there's only one way to stop it: Stop building fucking snowmen. We are the ones that create these monsters and it's hurting the ones we love most. It seems a simple solution, but right now you're probably gearing up to go out and create a rapist, complete with a top hat and carrot nose...you know exactly what that carrot is going to be used for...raping. Tons and tons of raping. How can you live with yourself? We can only hope that the snowman remembers your face and gets all its rape-fury out on you, its creator. The only possible comfort we can take from all of this is that snowman rapes typically only last a few minutes because of the whole melting thing. That is unless you get caught outside...then you're in for a long, long, long session of unrelenting rape that lasts well into the New Year.
Go ahead, have fun. Drink champagne and wear silly hats. It's only a matter of time before Frosty kicks down that door at the stroke of midnight and rapes all y'all. And if there is one thing he is good at...it's raping.
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