A Scourge on Our Roadways 1/15/10

Haven't we all just sat around on a pleasant May morning, with absolutely no worries in the world, drinking mimosas, feeling the gentle spin of the planet beneath our feet, when suddenly, a pang of emptiness overtakes us? A feeling that things are just perfect, and that is wrong? That there needs to be some blight upon the wonderful, woolly world, and we say, with a certainty tinged by the dread we know it will bring to our loved ones, "I sure do wish we could have a good ole bout of ice-fog?"
When we do that, we'll cast our mushy minds back to this diamond of a day, when ice gradually descended from Heaven upon our still-snowy sidewalks, joining the refrozen water that didn't quite make its way into the sewers, to turn our suburban hills and plains into an ice-skating rink with a capacity of about 200,000. Oh, the fond memories we'll conjure of happy chauffeurs careening toward us on the narrow, icy avenues. Oh, how we will chortle when those same drivers return in kind the one-fingered salute we gave them, in thanks for spicing up our 2-mile slide with a near-death experience. Never have we felt so alive!
Yes, it's true, there are some who look upon ice fog as a "scourge," as feared and hated as Attila The Hun, Adolf Hitler, neo-conservativism, and pomegranates. They say ice fog must be a sign of the End Times, that God is declaring open season by simultaneously making it impossible to drive, and impossible to see. To them we will say, "Bah, go sit on a pomegranate and rotate." They don't understand that these trials are the way we were meant to live, and that pleasant, mimosa-swilling May days only leave us with the empty illusion of comfort.
Oh, sweet ice-fog. Thank goodness at last you've come.

Thanks for humoring me.