No Shortage Of Scapegoats

I’m really starting to wonder if anyone is responsible for anything anymore. It seems like the modern day mentality is: it’s always someone else’s fault. And there’s always plenty of blame to go around with no shortage of people to give it to.

If a thug commits a violent crime, you would think that it would be a cut and dried case. But no. There’s always an “underlying reason” .  You’ll hear all of the typical bullshit reasons. He came from a broken home, he has no education, his grandmother is a stripper, etc. It never ends……

I worked with a guy years ago who happened to have a drug problem. Not surprising, it seriously affected his ability to do his job. He would make appointments and never show up because he was out on a crack binge. So, my reaction was, “Fire his worthless ass.” But, of course, in today’s politically correct society, this could never happen. Can you guess what happened next?

You’re gonna love this. The guy goes out on disability! Yes, that’s right. He was able to take an extended paid vacation because he was “disabled” by his addiction to drugs. So, the rest of us had to pick up this asshole’s workload while he got paid to be “rehabilitated”.  I felt like kicking his ass but, because he was “disabled”, I would have probably been charged with a hate crime.

Let me say something about this. Drug addiction is not disability. It’s the result of your bad lifestyle choices. No one held a gun to your head and made you smoke that crack pipe. You made that call. Why should the rest of us be responsible for carrying your worthless ass?

We’re seeing the same type of thing with celebrities and athletes today. The same ones (Lindsey Lohan, Paris Hilton, three quarters of the Cincinnati Bengals, etc.) are constantly getting into trouble. And we keep hearing the excuses as they get chance after chance after chance. I say send their asses up the road and give someone who’s doing the right thing a chance!

And remember the whole mortgage mess? People bought houses that they knew they couldn’t afford. So, when the bill comes due and they can’t pay, what do they do? They blame the banks for giving them the loans! Sorry, I’m not buying it. Did you really think that a $50,000 a year salary would pay for a $750,000 house? If you did, you’re a total dumbass. But once again, the responsible people get stuck paying for you. By the way, you’re welcome!

And the blame game goes all the way up to our highest level of government. When the Obama administration gets grilled on any issue, what do they do? They blame it on Bush, of course!

Whatever happened to the days of "the buck stops here"?

KW

US Gypsum - The Spatman Era

Many moons ago, I spent some time working at a local US Gypsum plant. For those who don't know, US Gypsum makes drywall (better known as Sheetrock). I know, it doesn't sound very exciting. And it's not. But, I did my best to make my brief stay there as memorable as it could possibly be. This is the story of my adventures and the emergence of my alter-ego, Spatman.

The bulk of my two and a half year stay at the gypsum plant was spent working as the “mixer operator”. I was responsible for controlling the “ingredients” that would eventually become the finished Sheetrock product. A large mixing machine would shoot wet “stucco” in between two moving layers of thick paper. My job was to make sure that the proper flow was maintained and that everything stayed at the right levels. I had to take test samples every thirty minutes. Yes, it was a boring, monotonous job but it gave me a lot of time to think.

My main tool was a long narrow spatula (simply know as a “spat” around the plant). By dipping the spat into the wet stucco, an experienced mixer operator could tell if all the ingredients were intact. By looking at the wet spat, I could see the fiberglass, vermiculite, etc. That's all you need to know about that......

On one midnight shift, the boredom drove me into a temporary episode of insanity. I tore off a generous amount of paper towels and tied them around my neck to resemble a long cape. As a group of coworkers came around the corner, I stepped in front of a fan and struck a Super Hero pose. I held my spat high while my cape flapped wildly behind me. The coworkers had this confused look on their faces. One of them finally asked, “Who are you supposed to be??”

I responded by simply saying, “I am Spatman! Leader of the Gypsum people!” And, just like that, a legend was born....

One my unique talents was that I could imitate certain superiors around the plant. I would often call my coworkers (posing as one of the foremen) and chew their asses out. I would say things like, “Hey Bob, I see you down there f*cking off! Get back to work or I'll send your ass up the road!” It was cruel but it made my day go by a whole lot quicker.

One time, I called a new guy up (posing as Mr. Stiller*) and told him to run up to the main office and bring back a board stretcher (This is an old construction site joke. There is no such thing as a “board stretcher”). I didn't think this dumbass would fall for it, but he did. The next thing I know, one of my coworkers says, “Hey Spatman, look who's coming. This can't be good.”

Here comes the rookie and the plant superintendant. Instead of asking one of the office workers for the stretcher, this moron goes right to the big man!

The Super says to the rookie, “So, who told you go get this board stretcher?”

The rookie says, “It was Mr. Stiller.”

Super responds, “Mr. Stiller? He's not even working today!!”

The rookie says, “Well, he said he was Mr. Stiller. And it sure sounded like him.”

I'd tried my best not to laugh. The Super was pissed but he couldn't prove who made the call. When the rookie passed me, he just mumbled, “You're an asshole.”

It got to the point where people didn't know if they where speaking to Spatman, the General Foreman or the President of the United States. One guy told me he actually hung up on the General Foreman several times because he thought it was me prank calling him. He got his ass reamed for that! Sorry......

When I wasn't prank calling coworkers, I would sometimes write little ditties about some of the more interesting people. It was all in good fun and everyone got a kick out of it. However one time, I went a little too far.

There was this one guy, Dickie*, who really liked to party. Ironically, Dickie actually resembled Tommy Chong. Well, it was around the holidays, so I thought everyone could use some Christmas cheer. So, I penned a song called Dickie the Burnout (sung to the tune of Frosty the Snowman). Seizing the opportunity, I fired up the PA system in the plant and started belting out:

“Dickie the burnout,
Is a jolly happy soul.
With a case of Bud and a fifth of Jack,
And some greens to fill his bowl....”

Keep in mind, my impressive vocals were blasted throughout the whole complex. Even the truckers outside the plant were treated to my acapella performance. I felt like I was playing at Madison Square Garden! The office workers scrambled to kill the PA system but I kept singing.

From my vantage point, I could see the workers on the floor below me. They were rolling. I could hear people laughing and saying, “It's freggin' Spatman!!” Honestly, I felt a little like Bruce Springsteen.

Well, shortly after my original rendition of Dickie the Burnout, Dickie himself came to pay me a visit. As he approached me, I was waiting for him to give me a high-five or something. After all, he had to appreciate that Spatman took the time to write a song in his honor, right? Not quite. Dickie was pissed!

In his Tommy Chong voice, he says, “Hey man, that's not cool. Why do you do shit like that? You're gonna get my ass fired. If the front office hears that stuff, they're gonna want me to take a piss test. And between me and you, I ain't passin' no piss test.” (Like he really needed to convince me of this)

I could tell that I really crossed the line with him. I immediately apologized. The last thing I wanted was to get someone fired for a stupid song (even if it was funny as hell!). And that was the end of my music career........

There was a wide variety of personalities in this place. There was this one guy, Marvin*, who worked in the quality department. Now, keep in mind, the quality department was in charge of making sure no damaged or inferior Sheetrock left the plant. Marvin would surely test the integrity of his department.

Spatman was a little nuts, but Marvin took craziness to a whole new level. One day, I saw him standing near my mixing machine with his back turned. I said, “Hey Marvin, what's up?”

He responds, “The pH level of your stucco mix!”

As I walk closer to him, I see that he's got his dick in his hand and he's standing there pissing into the mix! I couldn't believe it. He was really enjoying himself too. He laughs and says, “I wonder who's wall that piece is going to wind up on!”

Another time, a group of us went out for a few drinks after work. As he's standing at the bar, Marvin proceeds to relieve his kidneys. Yes, literally at the bar! The rest of us were scrabbling to get away from the river of piss that was rolling down the floor. This guy had some serious issues.......

There was this other guy, Jack*, who was obsessed with pornography. When he would open his locker at the beginning of the shift, a stack of skin mags would always fall out. No one could understand why Jack felt the need to bring this stuff to work. And, to add to the mystique, Jack would know the whole history and bio of all the girls in the magazines. He would speak with pride and enthusiasm as he brought us up to date on Miss January's new breast implants. It was more than a little disturbing.

Although it was mostly men that worked in the plant, there were a few females. And it always amazed me the way the guys reacted to the girls. They would act like adolescent boys discovering the opposite sex for the first time. I guess it might make sense if we were in a prison cell, but for an eight hour shift in a manufacturing plant, it seemed a bit over the top.

Moving on, there was a guy we referred to as "Sleepy John". His nickname was well deserved. I'm serious, this guy had trouble staying awake for more than five minutes at a time. He's the only person I've ever seen who could sleep while on his feet! He would have given Rip Van Winkle a run for his money.

Well, one day, a bunch of us hit a nearby basketball court after work. Sleepy John came along but we all figured we would just take a nap on one of the park benches. Anyway, he tells us that he's a decent ball player. We call his bluff and bring him on the court. I was concerned that he would fall alseep at midcourt and we'd all have to step over him. But to our amazement, basketball was the one thing that seemed to hold his attention. He was like Lebron James on the court. It was hard to comprehend.

There was this other character named Hoffberger*. He was a bit of a rough guy with a gravely voice that sounded like Froggy from The Little Rascals. This guy had this annoying habit of picking his nose or spitting while he was talking to you. One time, I was eating lunch in the break room and Hoffberger walks in. I immediately had the urge to eat my lunch somewhere else. He sits down right in front of me, and before he gets a word out, he buries his finger in his nose, up to the third knuckle. The guy was a real charmer.

Another time, from the second floor, I saw Hoffberger sleeping on his forklift below. I quickly transformed into Spatman and went to work. I took a huge roll of those brown paper towels and saturated them in a nearby sink. By the time I was done, I had a compressed ball the size of a small watermelon. This thing must have weighed about ten pounds! Anyway, I set my sights and hurled the water-bomb, from about forty feet above. It headed towards Hoffberger's forklift with the full force of gravity. As luck would have it, the projectile exploded right in the middle of his chest. Not only did it wake him up, it nearly drowned him!

A couple of other guys witnessed the ambush. They were trying to hold each other up as they doubled over with laughter. It was a proud moment for Spatman. If I knew how to dance, I would have definitely performed some kind of victory celebration.

Meanwhile, Hoffberger gathered his senses, and then came charging up the steps like a wounded animal. I have to admit, even though Spatman is supposed to be fearless, the thought of dealing with with this pissed-off guy was a little unsettling. I figured he already know who threw the water-bomb. But to my delight, Hoffberger says, “ Alright Spatman, who threw it??”

So, I did the only sensible thing and said, “I have no idea, Hoffberger. Why are you all wet??”

He just stared at me for a few seconds. I think he was contemplating whether or not to rip off my head. But I guess he figured that an assault on Spatman would be viewed as sacrilege by the rest of the plant. So, he just stormed off, back to his freshly washed forklift.

Although almost everyone was fair game for Spatman, there was one guy who I wouldn't mess with. His name was Carter*. I tell you, this guy was a true psycho. You would be talking to him and he would interject with crazy, off the wall comments like, “I like big titties” or “Do you know what happens to a body when it falls from a tall building and hits the sidewalk?”

I was seriously afraid of this guy and stayed as far away from him as possible. Years later, someone told me that Carter went on some kind of crime spree with his girlfriend and that he was now in prison. Wow, I never saw that one coming!

There was another guy that everyone referred to as Ragman. He would wear these tattered clothes to work every day. He made homeless people look like a wedding party. Every time I passed the guy, I felt the urge to hand him my spare change. I have no idea what his reasons were for dressing this way.

Meeting all of these characters gave me an idea. So, I started an impromptu newsletter simply known as The Gypsum Times. In my down time at the mixer (which was pretty much all the time), I would write short blurbs about all of the going-ons in the plant. For the brief time I did this, everyone got a real kick out of it. Hey, we were all stuck in the depressing place for eight hours a day. Why not lighten things up a little bit?

One day my foreman comes walking out with the latest issue of The Times. I tried to remember if I had given him any bad press. Anyway, he slaps it down on my desk and says, “Spatman, this shit's gotta stop. I'm getting all kind of heat from the office. I'm gonna have to shut you down.”

You would have thought that we were two executives from the Hearst Corporation.

And just like that, my publishing career came to an abrupt end. US Gypsum was squashing all of my dreams. As much fun as I was having, I knew the end was drawing near. Spatman was about to retire.........

For many reasons, I knew I needed to get out of this place. So, I eventually went in an gave my two weeks notice. I think everyone was shocked. After all, Spatman gave people hope, inspiration and a reason to come to work everyday. What were they to do now that he would be gone?

On my last day, the General Foreman walked up to me. I really thought he was going to lambaste me for all of my antics over the past couple of years. But to my surprise, he said, “Hey Spatman, it's been nice working with you. Best of luck to you. If you ever get into a jam, you'll always have a job here.”

Today, I occasionally run into people that work (or worked) at US Gypsum. I'll introduce myself as Ken. Then, I'll nonchlantly add,“They used to call me Spatman.” Then, they'll say, “Oh yeah, I've heard of you.”

The legend lives on.............

* the actual names have been changed to protect the innocent

KW

Memories of 9/11

It’s hard to believe that already been nine years since the infamous events of 9/11. I can still remember the events unfolding as if it were yesterday…...

I had gotten called out to work on the late evening of September 10. By the time I got back home, it was around three in the morning. As a result, I wound up sleeping later than usual. I woke up to the sound of my clock radio as the DJ was talking about a plane flying into a building. I was still groggy and didn't pay much attention. When I went to the kitchen to get a cup of coffee, I flipped on the TV. Then, I saw the images of the first burning tower. Without even sipping my coffee, I was now fully awake.

I remember watching in horror as the second tower of the World Trade Center was hit. Shortly afterwards, the news was broadcast that the Pentagon was struck. My brother-in-law was working in Washington that day. I remember that we sent several text messages back and forth. The last one I sent simply said, “Get the hell out of the city!”

When I eventually made my way out to work that morning, there was a unique stillness in the air that I can only describe as eerie. As I drove around the Baltimore beltway, the lack of activity, in a strange way, reminded me of Christmas Day when everyone was comfortably huddled inside among family and friends. Although, many of us were huddled together on that September morning, it was far from a holiday.

Watching the terror that was being inflicted on our country was sickening. I think every possible emotion ran through my nervous system that day. Strangely enough, at one point, I almost started to feel sorry for the animals behind the attack. My thought was, “You bastards have just f*cked with the wrong country!”

Some of the images from that day will forever be ingrained in my memory……

I remember watching a video clip of a fireman inside the lobby of one of the towers. He had a confused look of terror in his eyes. There were sounds falling objects beyond the large front windows. With every thud, the fireman looked even more confused. I later learned that the “falling objects” were actually people who had jumped from the upper floors to avoid the intense heat from the fire.

I remember seeing people covered in soot scrambling to get out of lower Manhattan. I felt so bad for them.

Rescue workers rushed into the burning Towers, attempting to save as many people as possible. They climbed countless stairs with loads of heavy equipment. They were scared, but they did it anyway. That, my friends, is the definition of bravery! Thinking about their heroics, today, still gives me chills.

Fueling my anger, I watched a live video clip of a street scene in Pakistan. Muslims were celebrating as they watched the Twins Towers crumble. I developed an instant hatred for these people. How could they celebrate as thousands of innocent civilians were being murdered?? I learned all I ever wanted to know about fundamentalist Islam that day.

I remember watching members of Congress joining together in front of the Capital for a rendition of God Bless America. The sent a message to the world that, although we were reeling from the raw pain of the attacks, nothing could ever break our spirit. Indeed, united we would stand!

As I tried to digest the day’s events, something magical happened. For the first time that I can ever remember, there were no differences in this country. We weren't black or white. We weren't Democrats and Republicans. There were no liberals or conservatives. We were all in this together and we were all simply Americans.

Several weeks after the attacks, I was watching the World Series in a bar in Colorado. New York happened to be playing Arizona. And September 11 was still fresh in everyone’s mind. At one point, a New York player hit a homerun and I instinctively shouted, “Yeah, baby!!” For the first time in my life, I was actually rooting for the Yankees. And a quick scan of the barroom told me that everyone else was too.

………………………………………………………………………………………………..............

Earlier this year, while in New York City, I took a tour of Ground Zero. It was a cold winter day. Construction equipment now sat in the space the Twin Towers once occupied. But my mind kept flashing back to the chaos that took place here nine years earlier.

Our chaperon was much more than your average tour guide. She was a 9/11 survivor. She had worked in one of the towers and told us from a firsthand point of view of what things were like on that September morning. At times, she had to pause as the emotions from that day came roaring back. She told us about the friends and colleagues that she lost that day. Although everyone hoped and prayed that their loved ones would be found, too many of them never came home.

She also told us about the local people who were displaced from their homes around Ground Zero. Many of them weren't allowed to go back for months. Pets were left alone in vacant homes to fend for themselves…..

She took us around the whole WTC complex, explaining the significance of each vantage point. When we finally reached the end of the tour, we all thanked her for sharing her story with us. It couldn't have been easy for her. But she explained that she has to talk about it. It’s part of her healing process. God bless her.

After the tour, we stopped off at the small museum across from Ground Zero. Although there were multiple artifacts from the event, the thing that struck a chord for me was the letters that were left near the fallen buildings. These were letters with photos of friends and family members who were missing after the towers collapsed. It was overwhelming and I felt myself welling up as I read each letter. In reality, each one of these photos and letters represented a human life that was lost on that day. It was truly heartbreaking….

I’m sure we all have our own recollections of how we felt that day. In an instant, we forgot about the trivial things in our lives, and we saw what really mattered. Oddly, the most trying times often bring out the best of the human spirit. There was no doubt that America would indeed prevail over the cowardly terrorist attacks of 9/11.

Please take a moment today to remember those who lost their lives on September 11, 2001 and all of those who bravely gave all in the continuing war on terrorism.. May they all rest in peace and may God bless America.......

kw

Fired Up In Florida

This Saturday, the leader of a small church in Gainesville, Florida is planning on torching several copies of the Quran. Reverend Terry Jones is doing this, he says, as a protest against radical Islam. Jones’ story was quickly exposed worldwide by the media. And as a result, not surprising, Muslims have went apeshit. They have promised violence to Americans if Rev. Jones goes through with his stunt.

Hey, I can understand Muslims being opposed to someone, especially a Westerner, burning their holy book. It’s incendiary. I feel the same way when I see some asshole burning the American flag. But like it or not, we have the freedom of expression in this country. By the way, why isn’t the ACLU rushing in to promote Reverend Jones’ First Amendment rights. Hmmm……

Personally, I couldn’t care less about what this reverend does. However, what bothers me is the potential repercussions of his act. I think that this will be used as propaganda for radical Muslims around the world. I mean, they hate us anyway. Do we really need to throw more fuel on the fire (so to speak)? I also think that it will incite additional violence against Americans, especially soldiers, by Muslims.

And this is the part that I have a problem with…..

It’s like we have to coddle these people because we’re afraid how they might react. If they feel offended, they feel that they’re totally justified in responding with violence. And the rest of us are supposed to be sympathetic and understand. Are we really supposed to accept this bullshit??

Another thing that really pisses me off is all of the talk about "insensitivity". Where are all the liberal outcries of insensitivity when Muslims are sawing off the heads of American journalists? Where’s all the talk of sensitivity when a Muslim with strap-on bomb explodes himself on a crowded bus of Jewish school kids? Speaking for myself, I get a little “insensitive” when radical Muslims hijack planes and fly them into office buildings. But maybe I just don’t understand……..

We’ll just have to wait and see if this crazy reverend in Florida goes through with his plan. Personally, I think it’s a waste of time. If nothing else, it’s in bad taste. Come to think of it, it’s kind of like building a mosque at Ground Zero…….


KW

The Harbor After Dark

Baltimore’s Inner Harbor can be a really nice place to spend the day. There are many sites to see and plenty of places to grab a bite to eat. It’s a short walk to a concert at Pier Six or a ballgame at Camden Yards. However, these days, when the lights go down, it can also be a dangerous place.

The other night after leaving a concert at the Inner Harbor’s Pier Six, we were treated to some of the nocturnal activities of the city. After having a bit of a chicken wings jones, I talked everyone into walking over to nearby Hooters (yep, I go there for the wings.). As we crossed the small footbridge near the Hard Rock Café, we noticed a group of young thugs hanging in the near the passageway under the World Trade Center. We wisely decided to avoid this route and walk around the Pratt Street side of the building.

As we approached the end the Light Street Pavilion of Harborplace, we noticed a group of what appeared to be young gang members. They were obviously up to no good. Fortunately, a couple of Baltimore cops were nearby and we were potentially spared of becoming Baltimore’s latest crime statistic.

After this, we decided to just go back to the car and get out of the city. There is no chicken wing good enough to risk your life! As we neared the parking garage on the other side of the harbor, we decided to stop off at a Subway to use the restroom. As we approached, once again, we noticed a group of unproductive youngsters hanging out in front. A few seconds later, a guy walks out of the front door and he's immediately decked by one of the punks standing out front.

If this wasn’t bad enough, another guy comes walking out of the 7-11 next door. From the looks of the towel he was holding up on his face, I assumed that he must have been on the receiving end of a punch as well.

Not surprising, we decided to head right over to the garage. We figured it was only a matter of time before someone started bustin’ caps.

Since we had to pay for the parking at an automated machine, we were relieved to see a city cop standing out in front of the lobby. We told him that everyone was Kung-Fu fighting around the corner. He said it was typical of a Saturday night down here. Later, someone explained to us that they sometimes had to temporarily close the 7-11 and Subway to clean up the blood from the fights. Not exactly a ringing endorsement for an eating establishment!

We had a great conversation with the officer but it was quite obvious that he couldn’t care less about what was going on around the corner. I guess it was someone else’s responsibility. Just reading between the lines, my thought was that fighting crime in the city is viewed as a hopeless situation. The cops feel like they’re being looked at under a microscope while the thugs get all the protection. If the cops pursue them, they’re accused of harassment. (Just look at what recently happened to the 19-year veteran who was fired for “harassing” a disrespectful kid on a skateboard).

I’m sure there’s plenty of blame to go around, but I think it starts at the top. The guys who go out and put their lives on the line everyday need to have respect for their leadership. And from what I’ve seen and heard. it just isn’t there. The guys on the street have little respect for the mayor, city council nor their own commishioner. Politics have taken prescient over doing the right thing. The "leaders" seem to be more sympathetic the criminal element than protecting the actual cops who fight the crime. And as a result, morale is in the toilet.

It really is a shame to see to what’s going on at the Harbor. Aside from being a frequent stop for locals, it’s also a major tourist attraction for out-of-towners. If I were in charge, I would do everything I could to keep it safe. I would beef up the police presence in the entire area and have a very low tolerance for any shenanigans. If it means that a few thugs get “harassed” along the way, so be it. Are we forgetting who the bad guys are here???

KW

What's In A Hurricane Name?

As the east coast prepares for Hurricane Irene this weekend, I thought I'd take a moment to explain how these storms get their names.

In a nutshell, there are six name lists used by the World Meteorological Organization. The lists recycle every six years. The hurricanes are named at the start of each season beginning with the letter A. Boys and girls names are alternated every other year (this year might start with Alex and next year might start with Arlene). Each subsequent hurricane of the season is also alternated by gender in alphabetical order (ex. Alan, Bonnie, Charles, Diana, etc.). And if a hurricane happens to be an especially badass one, it's name is retired and replaced with a new one. For example, there will never be another hurricane named Katrina. It was renamed Katia.

Hey, are you guys in the back still awake?? Stay with me and I’ll try to keep things moving along…

Several years ago Rep. Shelia Jackson-Lee (a Texas Democrat) complained that hurricane names were too “lily white”. She thought we should incorporate more “African-American sounding” names in the list of hurricane names. To think that the taxpayers are paying this idiot’s salary is mind numbing.

I think Jackson-Lee’s complaint is asinine. However, the current naming convention does seem a bit boring to me. After all, a hurricane is a major event. So, shouldn’t we name it after something memorable? I think so.

So, I’ve come up with an idea. How about we name the hurricanes according to their personalities? Here are a few that come to mind:

Hurricane Britney – It comes through town and exposes itself. It appears to howl, but in reality, it’s only lip-syncing.

Hurricane Vick – This is actually two hurricanes. They fight it out in a remote backyard somewhere in Virginia.

Hurricane Lindsay – This one staggers into town in the late hours of the night. It also seems to mysteriously track out of control towards nightclubs.

Hurricane GaGa – Rolls through town, shows it's ass and everyone scratches their head and says, “What the hell was that??”

Hurricane Martin – This one is indigenous to Maryland. Although it has the potential to uproot trees, the only thing that seems to get “raised” is taxes.

Hurricane Jesse – Creating a tremendous amount of hot air, it claims that God is racist beacause of the black storm clouds. And although it tends to make a lot of noise, no one seems to take it seriously.

Hurricane Paris – This one is captured blowing by on videotape. And although it doesn’t really do anything, it becomes famous anyway.

Hurricane Sarah – Defying nature, this attractive storm starts all the way up in Alaska and ruffles feathers all across the country.

Hurricane Tiger – Slams everything in sight. The end result is about $100 million in damages.

Hurricane Angelina - This mother of all hurricanes drops in on third world countries and picks up kids and carries them all the way to the United States.

Hurricane Barrack – It rips through at breakneck speed and turns the country upside down. No one is sure where it originated, but when the dust finally settles in Martha's Vineyard, it blames all of the destruction on the previous hurricane.

Hurricane Snooky - Congregates with other loser hurricanes along the New Jersey shore.

Hurricane Simon - A straight forward hurricane that insults the structures just before it knocks them down.

Hurricane Cee-Lo - This one sees other hurricanes with the girl it loves and says, "F*ck you and f*ck them too."

Hey, if the meteorologists need any more suggestions, I'll be here all week….

KW