It snows here. A lot. It gets cold. Really cold.
There's an old joke about Canada having four seasons: Winter, More Winter, Dear God Even More Winter, and Roadwork.
(It should be mentioned, for those who don't live here, that this is not true everywhere. It's a big friggin' country, with many climate zones. Not everyone is subject to brutal winters, right Cheryl?)
But here in Central Ontario, it snows. Like a mofo. What's more, it gets cold. Cold enough to freeze your god-dammed Winnebago, in the immortal words of Fozzie Bear. Or was it Doc? Maybe it was the singing snowman, I don't know.
A friend and co-worker expressed annoyance at people who complain about Canadian winters. I partly agree. If you have lived in Canada for any number of years, there is no reason you should be surprised when you get dumped with 20cm of snow every day for a week, or if you wake up to -30C-with-wind-chill temperatures.
It really shouldn't come as a shock.
That being said, I fully reserve my right to complain about freezing my ass off, despite of wearing layers of clothing. I fully reserve my right to complain about the sheer volume of static electricity emanating from my body at any given time, and about my compulsive need to tap or kick every door I go through, lest I somehow forget and manage to electrocute myself with the static build-up.
I reserve my right to complain about assholes on snowmobiles who do 65kmh down my tiny road with the 40kmh speed limit at 11 at night. I also withhold my sympathy for people who send their machines through the ice when they knew damn well we had open water less than three weeks ago.
My house is drafty, my toes are cold. I'm gonna complain.
I didn't ask to be born in this bullshit climate.
Were it not for the socialized medicine and certain custodial arrangements, I'd have fled this godforsaken no man's land years ago.
|Is this a traffic sign, or a plea for help? SOURCE|