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What the hell happened to spring?

What the hell, God? We endured a bloated, ghastly winter this year with the promise of spring, a promise you failed to keep. Only at the end of April did temperatures consistently rally past the forties and now it's 91 degrees? That's too hot! What happened to spring? We're full-out ball sack now. Just breathing gets you sweaty. The sun is relentless, there's no refuge, it crisps you with its rays and melts through the brick of your house to broil you within.

See, we need spring. Spring is all we got here in Philly. Sure, we do a nice fall, but fall leads into winter and the sun goes away and the days get shorter and the nightmare of Christmas is approaching and you just can't help but be reminded of the fact that you're going to die real soon. So spring is where it's at. You get the birds, and sun, and every day is longer than the last, and it rains but you don't care because it's big and sexy and dramatic with growls of thunder and splashes of lightning and then the sun cuts through and zaps the mist and the whole air glows and it's cool and fresh and every flower of every bush and tree and moss is full on erect and ready to make some seeds.

But not this year. Sure, the days are longer, and the flowers are going nutso in a big pollen orgy, and the birds are banging and chirping, but where's my fresh air? Where's my cool breeze? Where's my shorts and hoody weather? It's supposed to brisk in the morning. I'm not supposed to wake up glued to my sheets.

Goddammit you psychopathic hydrocarbon billionaires. You stole my fucking spring. I knew climate change was a calamity, but I thought it would be the fun kind that spices up the news cycle, where we all get to laugh at the morons in Texas turning their state into a wasteland, and the smuggos in California burning themselves to the ground. It's not supposed to inconvenience me! I don't want to get a tan every time I step out to pick up the morning paper.

Think about this. Not content with billions of dollars and ultimate political power, these guys, the Kochs, the Mercers, the Icahns, have to destroy the Earth. They're all eighty years old and they want to go out like a cool guy not looking back at an explosion, except the explosion is the only guaranteed source of human life in the universe. Imagine driving to the supermarket and then when you get there you crash your Taurus into the wall and set it on fire. And everyone around you is like Cool! and they grab paper and coals and dry grass to build up the blaze and a few people are like, wait, whoah, you're gonna burn everything down and kill us all.

It's a lot easier to destroy something than to build it. Any asshole can crash a car but not too many can throw one together and drive away in it. Do you have a northeast coast of the Americas spring in your back pocket, David Koch? Do you have any springs lying around, Rex Tillerson? I don't see any on the shelves. Could you check the back and see if you have spring back there, please?

Goddamnit, I'm not gonna bounce back and forth between a Philly summer and winter like a Scylla and a Charybdis. Is there going to be anywhere even halfway nice to live in ten years? Or am I going to have to trek like a nomad following the spin of the Earth to keep from getting incinerated? I have seen my fellow Americans and they are not the team you would call up to save the world. They aren't even the team you call up in the feel-good comedy movie that involves world saving.

Stay tuned for the apocalypse. I'm gonna have to my raise kids in a yurt and teach them to slay mutants and harvest their flesh at this rate. We're gonna have to change the nursery rhymes. Winter follows summer, which comes after inferno.

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