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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The history of the light bulb is a story of intrigue, espionage and a steamy love triangle gone bad. Unfortunately, that story has been optioned by ABC for a miniseries this fall, so we're going to have to stick to the afterschool special version.

Thomas "Cotton Gin" Edison was a rootin', tootin' six-gun-shootin' eccentric from the crusty butt-crack enclave of Battle Mountain, Nevada. Some may remember the town as the site of Evel Knievel's ill-fated final stunt, when he attempted to jump over the moon in 1983. The crater remains a popular tourist attraction and the center of Battle Mountain social life to this day.

The Battle Mountain of Edison's day was a quieter berg, nestled into Nevada's scenic dirt basin and known to cartographers nationwide as the flattest place in all of the United States. Early settlers exercised a healthy sense of irony in naming a town so flat that twelve people are killed every year by tumbleweeds hauling ass through town.

Little did they know that Battle Mountain would eventually live up to the "battle" part of it's name, when the construction of two dueling gas stations across the street from each other on Mountain Pass Road would mark the beginning of the constant bottle rocket wars across the road that have continued to this day. These skirmishes gave birth to the popular Battle Mountain Eye Patch fashion statement, worn by most adult residents of the town, all of whom had been blinded by bottle rockets. Few visitors to the town last more than a day unless they infer from the shrapnel-strewn storefronts that it might be best to gas up after dark.

But contrary to popular belief, the gas stations weren't the only two buildings in Battle Mountain in Edison's day. The town also featured three houses, a tool shed and a doghouse. The houses belonged to the Edisons, the Turnbuckles, and the Edisons' other neighbors who nobody ever bothered to talk to. The doghouse belonged to the town dog, Ruffles McGinty. Thomas Alvin Edison was born into this bustling metropolis in 1851, and soon made a name for himself as the only kid in town.

Throughout his childhood, Edison was mercilessly teased by the townfolk for his childlike size and pathetic vertical leap. The townsfolk consisted of Mr. Turnbuckle, who ran the Western Gas Station, and the father of the other neighbor family, who ran the Eastern Gas Station. Most of their attention was devoted to the bottle rocket war, but the one thing they could see bandaged eye to eye-patched-eye on was teasing Thomas Edison about his vertical leap.

The alienation and bitter obsessions fostered in Edison's childhood were to serve him well later in life, as he grew into a fine inventor. That's what his mom told him anyway, most of the rest of the town just made fun of him for inventing things that had already been invented, like the derby hat and the shovel.

At the age of eighteen, Edison swallowed his fears and made the move to the big city: nearby Battle Lake, Nevada, a dusty, arid stretch of scraggly, sun-baked land with the population of a little-league baseball team. There he would finally be able to pursue his scientific interests free of the closed-minded milieu and stifling mental environment of small-town Battle Mountain.

Edison blossomed in Battle Lake, spending his days yelling at clouds, digging holes in random parts of town and inventing in his spare time, taking credit for the invention of the marshmallow, the frying pan and nighttime.

As a sister invention to go along with nighttime, Edison decided to invent the light bulb, so he could practice his vertical leap when it was dark. Early attempts at catching lightning bugs in a jar proved effective, but short-lived. After two years of effort, Edison refined his light bulb to consist of an electrical current running through a fishbowl, but found it difficult to develop a filament that could sustain the current for more than a few seconds.

Edison tried anything and everything in his search for a perfect filament, including copper, gold, goldfish, grass, paper, mud, sand, string, underwear, hot dogs, a horned toad, Popsicle sticks, his finger and a neighborhood kid's big toe. After months of experiments, Edison discovered that bamboo coated in carbon worked the best, and he had one last laugh at the neighborhood kids who had told him you couldn't smoke bamboo. His new filament was groundbreaking, and the Edison light bulb burned for a remarkable four minutes before catching the wall socket on fire.

What few people today know, however, is that some English guys had already invented the light bulb fifty years earlier; the innovation just hadn't made it to Battle Mountain yet. After a brief stint as a local hero, Edison tried to take his invention to the patent office in Reno. He was promptly laughed the hell out of town, pantsed and ridiculed for his modest vertical leap.

We might never have known the name Edison today if it weren't for the fact that he snapped, went back to Reno and went hillbilly on the whole town with a rubber hose until it was declared that Edison really was the inventor of the light bulb, never mind all of those bullshit light bulbs everybody over in Europe had been using for years.

Thereafter the name Edison became synonymous with light bulbs and insane backwoods crackers everywhere, a true story of American ingenuity and intimidation that would stand as an example for years to come.

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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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