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.

Cheney Comrade Injured During Hunt for Bin Laden

Arizona Border Patrol Installing Landmines

Serial Killer’s Neighbor: “He just wouldn’t shut up about serial killing.”

Heather Graham’s Career Found Dead in Apartment

Though it might surprise the ignorant, the holiday of Christmas was celebrated long before Christ came along and limp-wristed his way into the history books, or at least the history books that are available at most major motels. They didn't call it Christmas back then, since that would just be spooky, but regardless, the winter solstice was celebrated for eons before Christ laid the golden turd.

In northern lands, ancient peoples celebrated the passing of the midpoint of winter, looking ahead to longer days and the return of the light, which would remind them just how ugly their neighbors were. With the light came the melting of the snow, which rang in the springtime removal of the dead bodies of all the dumb assholes who had frozen to death over the winter. Hence the term "spring cleaning" was coined, though over time it's somehow come to mean some yuppie sponging out his microwave.

The Norse in Scandanavia celebrated Yule, a vague holiday that involved eating and went on for however damn long they wanted it to. Anyone who asked if the holiday was over yet was eaten, and as a result it often dragged on for months.

The ancient Germans didn't celebrate, since they were German, but they were scared shitless of the pagan God Oden, who they placated by never going outside. The exchange of goods in the winter months consisted of things being thrown from one house's window to the next. This usually worked fairly well but mishaps did occur, and most houses had at least a few frozen chickens stuck to their outside walls. The biggest problem was that if the town butcher threw his back out, the entire town would starve, since Germans don't believe in vegetables except for sauerkraut.

The Romans had their own insane version of Christmas, which basically involved everybody getting naked, fucking, and throwing up all morning. They had a few other traditions rolled in there, but mainly they were just thinly disguised excuses for fucking.

In the early days of Christianity, Easter was the only holiday, and it got so out of hand that they were afraid to add any more. The early Christians were known for having an extreme early version of Attention Deficit Disorder, and as a result the celebration of Christ's resurrection soon morphed into a mutant strain when somebody thought they said procreation and they started dressing up like rabbits, and then somebody brought a bunch of eggs because he didn't have a rabbit costume and didn't know what else to do, and then somebody else said "Fuck eggs, I like chocolate!" and the modern insane Easter was born.

In the fourth century, the church decided it was safe to make another go at it and they added a celebration for the birth of Christ. There was a slight problem in that nobody had any idea when Christ was born, and the Bible just said something about there was tallow in the Eastern bung and nobody knew what month that was supposed to mean. The problem was solved when Pope Julius I scratched his nose for a while and then declared that Christ was born on December 25th. When scholars argued that this ran counter to all available evidence, he pope-slapped them and told everyone that if they wanted to piss off Oden, that was their own prerogative. Everybody agreed it was December 25th after that.

Julius I's real motivation was a clever one. By throwing the celebration for the birth of Christ at the same time when all of the non-Christians were celebrating the winter solstice by balling their brains out, he could confuse people into thinking that they were celebrating Christianity by drinking a lot of beer and nailing everything in the house to a tree, a deception that still stands to this day.

Once the Puritans took over England, they outlawed Christmas, and anything else that people liked to do. This lasted for about ten seconds before the people rose up and kicked their gay asses out of the country. They washed up in North America, complaining constantly about being religiously persecuted, and then outlawed Christmas there, too. The problem was that the Native Americans didn't know what Christmas was, so the Puritans had to teach them how to decorate their teepees with popcorn and nuts and little ballerinas on the outside, and then tell them never to do it.

Living with the Puritans eventually drove the Native Americans to drinking, which the Puritans had taught them to do so they could tell them not to do that, either. Eventually the Puritans died out after they decided that opening their eyes was sinful and then were all eaten by bears at night. But because of them, generations of Americans grew up without traditional Christmas orgies.

Eventually Charles Dickens wrote The Christmas Carol, which he completely pulled out of his ass during a wild weeklong acid binge. Naïve American readers believed that he was talking about real holiday traditions, and were pissed that none of the immigrants had told them about the fun of Christmas. Several immigrant-bashing why-didn't-you-tell-us-about-Christmas riots followed, and America's new arrivals quickly learned to make up traditions on the spot to appease the custom-starved masses.

Soon the entire country was celebrating a bastard amalgam of made-up holiday customs, believing that the Dutch or Ubangi or some goddamned people had actually strung lights up in trees and drank fermented egg snot for hundreds of years. The church was quick to remind everyone that Christ was born on Christmas, too, and they skylarked a story about three traveling salesmen giving presents to baby Jesus to make it all sort of tie together.

You might wonder how Santa Claus came into all of this, but that was all just a Coke commercial that everyone assumed was referencing an ancient tradition. To this very day, the guys at Coca-Cola are still kicking themselves that they didn't name the guy Santa Coke. Scandinavians may argue that Santa was based on their ancient myth about an elf named Jultomten who delivers presents in a goat-drawn sled, but that's just stupid.

º Last Column: What the Hell Are Muppets?
º more columns

You remember back when that hillbilly president was accused of poking the office help? In the end he never admitted he got his jolly roger vacuum-cleaned, but he did admit to an "inappropriate relationship" with the lady. That's classy, man. Never say the fuck word. Oops, I mean F-word. I'd like to have an inappropriate relationship with a guy like that.

Not that I haven't had my share of inappropriate relationships. I've been saying it that way ever since I heard it, because I, too, am a class act. So here's a quick list of some inappropriate relationships.

A lot of smarmy journalists and water cooler gossipers always insinuate I had some kind of inappropriate relationship with the actor who played my father on Who's Your Daddy?, Brad Van Danner. That is entirely sick, people, he was in his 40s and I was only 8 or 9 at the time. It's also grossly inaccurate as the inappropriate relationship was with Chip Fleckner, who played my brother Chip. What a dumb dildo that guy was, they had to name the character the same name so he'd respond when you talked to him! Still, I was young and impetuous and he looked and smelled like that Huckleberry Pie doll.

It's legendary among the non-famous that actresses sleep their way to the top, and then back to the bottom, but I've never lowered myself to that, I'll say on record now. I have never slept with anybody, casting director, director, producer, actor, or anybody for a job that I wasn't going to get anyway, and I've made it implicitly clear before we go to town.

Around 1993 that alternative band Flat Chest had a moderate hit with that song of theirs, "Clarissa Coleman Gone Crazy." A lot of people think I had some kind of inappropriate relationship with the lead singer Dill Warner, but I assure you, he had a girlfriend and we weren't an item, even though it's obvious his girlfriend was a big lesbian and totally giving me a look, and I tried to tell him that. It probably adds to the confusion that I had an inappropriate relationship with the drummer of that band twice before he went on stage at Woodstock '94, though I assure you I thought he was the lead guitarist.

When I was on "Teen Stars Week" of Jeopardy, rumors abounded about me and Alex Trebek. Come on, people, he's like a hundred and I was a teen-ager at the time. Plus, he doesn't actually meet any of the stars until he's on set and has thick security around his dressing room. You'd think he's the president. Ooo, I'm Alex Trebek, I'm so smart and I know everything. Everybody knows you've got the cards with the answers on them right there, Alex, you're not the king of information about imports and exports of Mexico.

There was a year I was on the Conan O'Brien show regularly as a guest. I wasn't the "sit down" variety of guest, just the "walk on and eat Corn Flakes" variety of guest, I'm not sure what was so funny about it, Conan and the guys just get a kick out of seeing me eat Corn Flakes I suppose, and the audience loved it. Without saying too much, I wouldn't have minded having an inappropriate relationship with Conan, or maybe that delicious Max Weinberg. Andy Richter was pretty sexy, too, I like funny guys. I suppose I wouldn't have totally shot down that puppet dog that smokes cigars either, I wonder what the guy who does the puppet looks like. Anyway, I had a few inappropriate relationships there, but it was mostly with guys I thought worked for the show and turned out to be big fat liars.

Like the ex-hillbilly president, I'm not proud of my inappropriate relationships. Well, some of them, especially that one with the famous CNN guy who said he'd sue if I ever mentioned his name. They're all in the past anyway. Unless Conan O'Brien or Flat Chest's Dill Warner call me up again. Yeah, I'll play hard to get—like cold sores are hard to get!

º Last Column: Welcome to My Nightmare
º more columns