Winter wonderland downgraded to a Class Three Killstorm

The snow came, it saw, it irritated the skin. Holy moley! When was the last time a snow-dumping like this happened??? Anyhoo, several Hawley folk were lucky enough to get out and frolic in the snowstorm of the decade. The Blog was lucky enough to start his ride home around 4 PM, just as the headwind kicked up to match the increasing intensity of falling snow. 4 miles in, the lenses were completely coated with ice.

The helmet had taken on a layer of ice and the Rock Lobster's shifting became what we in Columbia would refer to as "crucial as a mug". Needless to say, The Blog was riding blind with the rest of the drivers. After mile 16, I realized I would die in the storm. My corpse would be found several years later and buried in a pauper's grave. The I would be taunted in the afterlife for dying in my tights. Hysteria lead to hallucinations. Winged jacuzzis with bubbling hot water and piping hot electric blankets floated past me as I rode across the back of a fossilized brontosaurus (Blossom Street bridge). As the white blanket of death slowly enshrouded me, I found myself at my front door. I ran inside and handing my wet clothes to my trusted cat-servant Mimi for laundering, I bellowed with fist raised to the sky "Idiot 1, Mother Nature Zero!" Then I lost a toe to frostbite. Joshie also got in some much needed snow action. Judging from the pictures he sent me, his Niner was abandoned in a drift.

Also, a snowman offered him a bouquet of flowers as some sort of strange peace offering betweem the Hu-mans and Sn0w-mans. Brother against brother!

Karen from accounting also sent visual proof of her 4 year old's first snowman. The torso looks a bit misshapen and the lips could be a little fuller, pout-ier, but all in all, it is an excellent copy of Cellini's "Chubkin". Note the use of the ragged broom and floppy cap to denote its standing within a rigid economic hierarchy while commenting on the plight and hopelessness of the working class in 16th century Italy.