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| Death of a Weatherman. | Started by: Pickles on May 16, '09 17:31 |
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It was a balmy day in New Orleans, humidity making the temperature of almost eighty degrees oppressive instead of enjoyable. The occasional fluffly white cloud scuttled overhead but other than that the sky was a crisp, clean blue. Pickles sat in the shade of her lemonade stand, cooling herself with a funeral fan. With the weather this nice she had expected to be selling out of lemonade all day. Instead, she had only served a measly half gallon. Taking a break from watching the ice melt she opened up the latest edition of the Detroit Chronicle. It took her the better part of an hour to read the articles, restaurant reviews, obituaries and horoscopes before she turned to the weather section. She skimmed over the cities she knew she wouldn't be visiting, stopping briefly to read up on Chicago and New Orleans. Her eyes narrowed to slits when she read "Thunderstorms all weekend... again? Good luck, New Orleans." Oh ho ho! Again indeed! After packing up her lemonade stand she bought a plane ticket and flew to Detroit. The next day the weatherman from the Detroit Chronicle was found dead, a lemon stuffed in his mouth, the following article pinned to his vest. "In an effort to quell traffic to New Orleans, I, Sam Sultana falsely reported bad weather. New Orleans actually has beautiful weather if you ignore the humidity, hurricanes and" The note here is smeared with several pools of ink and blood. "What I mean to say is every day in New Orleans is like a day in Heaven. I should know as I will soon be occupying one or the other. Feel free to travel to New Orleans and experience the glorious weather for yourself!" |
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| Pickles laughed when she read the police blotter the next day and set up her Lemonade stand near one of the busiest trolley car stops. | |
| Reply by: Pickles at May 17, '09 01:03 | |
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Godfather Marietta Rossi of Detroit growls as she receives news about the completely perplexing circumstances surrounding the death of The Chronicle's weatherman. Pressed for deadline and irritated that she was late to a dinner because of the phone call that told her the news, she quickly dials a number into her phone and leaves a message. "Hey Harold Herbert? It's me, your mom. Yeah, we need a new weatherman for Det Chron. As soon as possible, too. I have no idea what the hell happened to Sultana, but the crazy sunnovabitch ended up dead. Jesus, when the reaper comes a calling... anyway, hope you got the fresh laundry I had Rourkey send over. Mama's looking out for you! Anyway, love you son, call me later. Bye bye." DK, after getting the message, instructs the Chronicle staff to replace the weather man. The men and women spend the next few weeks interviewing for a new one. After weeding through the crap, crappier and crappiest candidates that came forward with their resumes, they end up replacing Sam Sultana with Alex Anopolis, a man who, despite his good looks, was just as useless as Sam was to begin with. And that, ladies and gentlemen, is what we call progress. |
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| Reply by: Marietta at May 19, '09 16:41 | |
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