Hurricane Knocked Down a Peg by Sassy Meteorologist

amn, sweetie, if that run-of-the-mill tropical storm named Frances wasn't put in her place by muy caliente meteorologist Brittany Vance. The hurricane, which had been labeled an up-and-coming "Category 1" before the brutal telling-off, shrunk to a Category 2 and skittered up the east coast of the United States, humiliated and told.

It was a sensational victory for Hollywood Channel 5 weather woman and atmospheric wonder Brittany Vance, who made headlines in July, 2003 when she intimidated the hell out of Hurricane Claudette, and frightened the crazy bitch-storm out of even coming to Florida. Vance, however, couldn't save the Texas coastline, but—what the hell. It was Texas, it should have been tough enough to take a little roughing up.

Vance failed to come to the rescue of Florida in previous weeks, during the advent of Hurricane Charley, as the meteorologist was taking some "me time" in Costa Rica. Upon returning to the states, she made a pledge to help cover Florida against the most recent oncoming tropical storm. Other meteorologists hauled ass out of the panhandle state, along with 2.5 million of the population, when they learned a second hurricane was already bearing down on them. Two hurricanes within the same month might suggest Florida should think more carefully about who they elect president this year, if they want the Almighty to lay off them.

Despite the massive evacuation, and Governor Jeb's declaration of a state of emergency, Vance interceded early enough to put the verbal snap to the emotionally-fragile hurricane and take the wind most literally out of it.

"You think you're all that," Vance told the hurricane via live broadcast Friday night. "More like all pap—you heard what I said, Ms. Thang. Take that pitiful breeze of yours and blow on out of here already."

The hurricane showed immediate response, gusting vehemently in defiance, but barely disguising a shrill whistle that sounded much like crying.

"Oh, you're something alright," continued Vance, snapping her fingers. "Something I'd scrape off my shoe—mm-hmm! I told you once, you worn-out bitch, come around here with that tacky hundred-mile-an-hour wind, you so much as muss up my hair and I'll make you sorry. I've had farts that have done more damage, you ten-cent hurricane ho."

Satellites monitoring the storm detected an instantaneous change in direction, as well as a "settling down" of the played-out hurricane as it attempted to discreetly make its way for the Carolina coasts, like it had been planning to go there the whole time, yeah, sure.

Characteristically, Vance showed no signs of modesty in her handling of the pathetic "draft."

"Hmph. I ain't even referring to that bitch by her name, she ain't worth drawling that name out. I did her like I do any trumped-up light rain slut who thinks she's all that. Sit down, skank, Brittany's talking now. That's like I told her."

Floridians reluctantly returned to the state Monday morning, although a shopping spree by Vance had actually done $8.3 million in damages, qualifying the state for disaster aid.

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Long has the world grown fat like a diabetic tick off the fruits of my invention. Strike that, "fruit" sounds a pinch too gay. The meats of my invention. And make that plural, as "inventions," because they have been legion.

In retrospect, part of my problem was likely never patenting any of my skylarks, under the mistaken assumption that nobody would buy anything that I myself wouldn't pay for. Cell phones, gossip magazines, and underarm deodorant have all proven me wrong on that count. Let this be my Achilles heel no more, however. My next vacation is going to be enjoyed from a pup tent right outside the doors of the U.S. patent office.

"What the hell," you're likely cursing to yourself, unless reading this column from the holy confines of a sacred church or daycare center, "are you talking about, VanSlyke?" A fair question, rudely put. So I'll cut, slowly mind you, like wet cardboard was my tool rather than a razor blade, to the chase. If you've enjoyed anything in the last thirty years, chances are I invented it. There. Put that in your pipe and blow bubbles.

The original Game Boy? VanSlykeBoy is more like it, though that sounds a bit like a mascot for pickles. But when the original Nintendo was so popular back in the 1980's, I was the one who spoke up at the barber shop and said they should make a portable one of those, with a screen on the front and a hatch on back to slip the game inside, so that children could play their electrified games while working in the salt mines, rather than wasting valuable labor resources at home in front of the TV. To which my fellow barbershop patrons enthusiastically replied: "What's Nintendo?"

Nevermind, they made one without me. Even if my mental version was better, with a color screen and a hatch for snacks. Shame on me for not developing a massive Japanese consumer electronics company to market my product back when I had the idea.

Tablet PCs? Those, too, should bear the mark of the "V." This one I admit I invented by mistake, after taking home a flat-screen monitor from my doctor's office and realizing to my keen disappointment that it didn't do anything when not connected to a computer box of some sort. Bah to that. A truly useful screen would recognize my handwriting, connect wirelessly to the Internet, and show me the results of the Florida State beauty pageant. Like a pad of paper. Only without me having to draw the beauty pageant contestants or guess what might be on the Internet. Again, industry beat me to the punch on this one, but I did still earn the distinction of selling the world's first "tablet PC," to a half-retarded kid down the street. Thankfully he never asked what the cable trailing off the back was for. Grounding, son. Grounding.

These are just two examples among the thousands I could site, if this column were a thousand times longer and instantly downloadable by neural cortex. So, I'm sure you're wondering, what can we expect next from Sony and JVC, after they steal the idea from Homer VanSlyke? Glad you asked: it's Movie theater goggles. That's right Baxter, an opportunity to enjoy the movies and cop a cool futuristic look without leaving the money-saving safety of your own home. You simply strap on the goggles and the attached ear-implants, set the virtual screen size, toggle on or off the know-it-all loudmouth sitting behind you, set the cell phone ringer volume and frequency, and kick back to enjoy the latest Hollywood DVD. Or, if movies are distributed in crystal-gel modules like they should be by then, just pop a mod and prepare to have your eyes blown off.

Thankfully I don't think any consumer electronics giants read the commune, because I've got my prototype almost finished. It's just a beta model, mind you, in real-world application the big-screen TV welded to the goggles would likely cause serious neck trauma to the wearer. But once I get rid of all these stupid tubes and wires, the whole thing should really come together beautifully.

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Editor's Note: For the first time ever, we received no column from Rok Finger this week. We thought we'd instead run this news piece that came over the wire, hoping perhaps his missed deadline might be more explainable.

PORT-AU-PRINCE, HAITI — A boatload of approximately 200 Haitian refugees were intercepted off the Florida Keys in a boat registered to an American, Kevin McCale, of Richmond, Virginia. McCale and associates have been missing for more than a week following an incident witnessed just off Haitian shores.

According to relatives of McCale, he and his crew of five friends were believed held hostage for more than a month at the hands of a diminutive old man with delusions he was a pirate. The man had been observed by witnesses in Singapore wearing a Napoleon hat and bearing a dead starling on his shoulder. His face was described as "horrible" by those who saw him.

The boat fell into the hands of Haitian refugees, witnesses tell, when half a mile off the coast of Port-Au-Prince, under the guidance of the mischievous dwarf figure, the boat approached a makeshift raft carrying the refugees, possibly in an attempt to rob the natives. Events turned as the raft inhabitants took to the water and leapt aboard the cruise boat, piling onto it in numbers enough to nearly capsize it, and wrested control from its crew. The Americans aboard the boat were thrown into the water, including a dog wearing an eyepatch who was addressed using a profane name.

The Americans swam for Port-Au-Prince, where upon reaching the shores they were abducted at gunpoint by a mob expressing anti-Aristide dissent and anti-U.S. sentiment. Witnesses, including international reporters, describe the events following as the prisoners were bound, lifted into the air, and carried through the city by the angry mob shouting "Down with tyrants!"

Following the incident, a bizarre, jarbled message from an anti-Aristide group described by other dissidents as not affiliated with official Aristide opposition was received by the U.S. embassy:

"We have your king and several of his henchmen. We also have their dog. The free people of Haiti demand an end to American meddling in the politics of our nation. The United States must end its corrupt fleecing of the Haitian people and allow fair trade so our countrymen will at last be free. Long live Haitian independence!"

U.S. representatives say they believe the off-shoot group is holding the small contingent of Americans hostage in exchange for political demands, and they are attempting to negotiate their release through non-violent means. References to a "foul, odorous midget" in the original message are believed to indicate the mysterious small man previously seen in control of McCale's vessel.

Administration officials are also seeking information about an alleged boatwreck survivor found yesterday off the coast of Florida, believing he may be involved in the incident in some way. The man, identified as Camembert Morgen of New Jersey, was picked up by the Coast Guard clinging to his wheelchair to stay afloat. Inexplicably, he was also dressed as an 18th century British woman.

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