SNOMAGEDDON – A columnist’s Diary of Survival, Part Two.
It’s time we all stopped kidding ourselves. This is no ordinary winter.
I believe – and you might want to put on a shawl before reading further – that we are entering a new Ice Age.
When you look at it that way, all the hype about global warming makes total sense.
It was a dodge. A smoke screen.
A snow job.
Al Gore was trying to protect us from the far more incontinent truth.
See, dealing with a warmer climate isn’t really scary.
So the polar ice caps melt. So the Earth heats up a bit.
So Hillyard becomes a seaport.
Big hairy deal.
But a new Ice Age?
That’s something truly worth shivering in your mukluks about.
I’d take having to wear extra sunblock any day. I’m tired of having to defrost my giblets each time I come back in from the cold.
So many things would change for the worse with a new Ice Age.
Like Moon boots making a comeback. Those things are so ugly they make UGGs look attractive.
And I can see Paula Deen offering “Rump Roasts and Finger Sandwiches,” a Food Network series based on Donner Party recipes.
In a new Ice Age we might see the return of large, dangerous and formerly extinct creatures like the mastodon and the saber-toothed Nixon.
Speaking of which, I actually thought I saw a woolly mammoth galumphing through my neighborhood the other day.
It turned out it was just a fat guy in a puffy parka.
I hate the cold. I hate wearing long-underwear that won’t stop pinching me in my private places.
But most of all, I hate snow berms.
The other day I tried to drive to the newspaper. But when I turned onto Lincoln, this snow berm that was in the middle of the road and taller than an NBA center trapped me in the wrong lane.
By the time I could turn left, I was in Chewelah.
Have you noticed the unhealthy physiological changes caused by this winter without end?
The dark, sunken eyes. Flesh pastier than the underbelly of a carp.
The dazed look of confusion …
And that’s just what I see staring back at me every morning in the bathroom mirror.
Hey, the rest of you Spo-zombies aren’t so great looking, either.
The following e-mail has arrived from Ron Wendle:
“You know the ‘Near Nature. Near Perfect’ branding the Chamber of Commerce crowd put on Spokane?” he wrote. “Well, I have a little phrase to add. ‘Spokane: Where you get a daily workout in your driveway.’”
I hear you, Ron. The evil snowplow drivers have buried and reburied my driveway entrance so many times, I figure they’re getting back at me for all the wisecracks I’ve written about the city street department.
Q. What’s the difference between Spokane snow removal and the Iraq War?
A. The Iraq War has a much better exit strategy.
Here’s an important survival lesson about coping with the cold: Put your socks on first when dressing for the new Ice Age.
I learned this the hard way when I mistakenly left my socks for last one morning.
I had so many layers on that I could hardly bend over to get to my feet. So I sat down on the edge of the bed and made this superhuman lunge. The force slid me right off the bed and onto the floor.
From downstairs my lovely wife, Sherry, wondered what had made that awful house-shaking noise.
Nothing to worry about, I told her.
Just another wooly mammoth lumbering through the neighborhood.
Doug Clark is a columnist for The Spokesman-Review. He can be reached at (509) 459-5432 or by e-mail at email@example.com.
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