Sunday Pre-Hurricane/Cat in the Bag Blogging

Looks like Popeye found his shelter from the storm, a book bag that Mrs. JP had just emptied after our return from a used book sale yesterday.

Now we're back from our obligatory panic shopping at the supermarket, where it's always entertaining on the eve of a storm watching my fellow civilized Caucasians knife-fighting eachother over parking spaces, duct tape and bottled water. My prediction?

It's not saying much that we live in the central area of a tiny state like MA but at most I think we'll get back-handed by Sandy's outer arm for a few hours tomorrow and it'll literally blow over. Of course the weathermen and meteorologists are calling this Frankenstorm and the Storm of the Century, yada yada, and you'll fucking die if you don't stay tuned in to our station because only we can track it! Oh shi-i-i-it!

Because fear and anxiety sells and we're always buying, folks, because we're the most wet-legged species that ever slithered across the face of the earth. With all the hype and near-commercialization of Sandy, the building hysteria is beginning to sound like Y2K all over again. And we all remember how prescient that was, don't we? I will say, though, that it's funny how hurricanes, storms that feed on hot air, keep following Obama and Romney where ever they go.

I'm just saying...

Oodles of toodles 'till tomorrow.