Tornado Lust

Rather than doing anything productive this morning (like cleaning the kitchen or even making toast) I watched another episode of Stormchasers on whatever-the-hell channel it comes on. Discovery, I think. And what an unseemly mess it is.

Not that I have anything against stormchasers, stormchasing, making money off stormchasing, Doppler radar or anything else. Guys want to chase powerful storms looking for tornadoes? Hey, this is America, and if you can figure out a way to make money out of it, more power to you.

But holy cow, do they always have to be so excited about tornadoes all the time? They're hooping and hollering and pumping fists as though the advent of a huge-assed tornado is the best thing that's ever happened to them, better than their first kiss, better than their first orgasm, better even than their first beer.

I think if I were a Kansas farmer who'd just lost everything I owned, including probably my wife and kids, and I saw video of these juvenile knuckleheads cavorting and high-fiving over the F4 tornado that wiped out my farm, the urge to punch their teeth out would become overpowering.

Show at least a little decorum, would you, and not give off the creepy vibe that you're about to masturbate on the spot? In the words of Dr. Evil, "Starting to creep, just a little."