I live right outside of Philly. Over the weekend Philly and its surrounding areas (thats me) got hit with snow, like a fat 50 love fake. That makes no sense, and I hate that song.

Heading on with my bad-self.

Yesterday, Sunday, with over a foot of snow on the ground it was time to start digging our cars out. Digging, though, involves shovels and other instruments similar to shovels. But I'm a student of Cavemanity, and we Cavemananites use no such modern easy-makers. . .

Okay, we just didn't have shovels. God I needed a shovel. Instead, me, my girlfriend, and my brother, we got on our hands and knees and dug. We dug like humanoid dogs.

My car was first, it wasn't too bad. We cleared the snow out from around my back tires so I could back up. I jumped in the car and slammed that thang into reverse, vrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrroooom, sqqqqqqqqqqeeeeeeeeal-my car starts spinning counter-clock wise, I didn't know it had that ability. Forward, reverse, forward, reverse, counter-clock wise. After a few minutes, I'm as cool as the rubber burned snow.

Next.

My brother's car. His car is old, an 89' skylark. It was passed down to him from my girlfriend, who had it passed down to her from her brother, who had it passed down to him from old dead lady.

We dig for a bit and we figure we could just take the same approach we did with my car - force it out of the snow with pure power. One thing, this car lacks said power. With my brother and myself pushing, and my girlfriend in the driver's seat, the wheels keep spinning me right round, like a roller coaster blah blah blah. Our efforts were futile.

We go in and warm up, we eat some pasta and meat-ta-balls.

Round two. Us, brain using humans vs. The soulless, inanimated snow.

We a ponder a bit.

We fill up the teapot and put it on high.

We are taking it back to medieval times.

We run outside with boiling teakettle in hand. The snow doesn't even see it coming. Of course it doesn't, I kicked out its eyes earlier.

splash-sizzle-sizzle, splash-sizzle-sizzle, splash-sizzle-sizzle, splash-sizzle-sizzle.

Sounds of terror and chaos fill the frozen night sky. The snow shrieks, but no one gives a damn. For, we are on the tundra - the tundra of the dead.

My brother jumps in the car. I'm holding the steaming teapot.

The car goes forward, backwards, forward, backwards, hover to the left, hover to the right - BANG! The car escapes its frozen snow tomb.

The car, out of pure joy, has too much momentum. He slides across the icy street almost into another snow grave. The War-worn skylark flexes its break muscles and stops inches. From. Sure. Death.

Meanwhile, I am rolling in the snow, with the teapot, crying my eyes in laughter from the sight of everything that just happened.

This entry was posted by Geoff, on Monday, February 13, 2006. You can leave your response.