Tuesday, October 25, 2011

Your Area and the Weather - Don't Get Touched Inappropriately

Your area is going to be violated! Quick, fashion a loin cloth made of plastic wrap and cower meekly in the nearest bathroom stall . . . for WINTER WEATHER is going to wreck your shitty junk. Your area must be protected at all costs. Invest in shields and guns and snow shovels and lice creams and dental dams at once! Actually, just a Nutty Buddy will do.

Anyway, looks like some fun times are afoot for the Mild, High City. Quite a week out there. First you have Tebow getting Tebowned by Timself for 95 percent of the game before Tebowing it around and pulling a Tebow. By the way, we're not talking about him with a hint of adoration without that onside kick. Fucking ridiculous. Then you have the reemergence of the mysterious, delicious McRib.

And now the prospect of a massive dump by Old Man Winter? Sheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiitttttttttttttttttttt . . . you guys are living right.

I'll be back later on with some further analysis of the snowfall predictions . . . mainly those of this blog's namesake and her minions. Right now, they're saying 6-12 inches. You want it, don't you Denver? Yeah. You want it bad.

Talk to you later. I've missed you guys.

-Flipper T.

PS - I need all FKS Weather Spotters to get stoned and then be on hazy alert. I want odd photos and blurry memories of the storm please. Thank you.

Thursday, February 3, 2011


Just so you know, last night on the 10:00PM forecast Sabine said the snow that's been falling since around 11:00AM would actually start at 3:45PM (I have no idea why she picked this particular time - seems like an odd choice). She said it'd be a "quick hitter." She claimed it would be in and then out in no time leaving less than an inch. Maybe she was talking about you in the bedroom.

Wednesday, February 2, 2011

When the Thundersnowlightning Hits Your Sky Like a Big Pizza Pie, That's Cantore

I need to start by apologizing for my abhorrent lack of coverage of Denver's deep freeze. It's shameful, I know, but I have a reason. It's called gargoyling (see third entry). Some of you may call it twin fire. Whatever the preferred term, shitting lava while projectile vomiting into the bathtub is sure to take the wind out of the sails of even the most hardy blogger, and old Flip is no exception. Sunday night saw my body expel every last drop of its contents and then some which left me in a confused and semi-catatonic state for the next 24 hours. The only activities I could muster energy for was drinking Gatorade(TM), laying on the couch, eating pho and swallowing a vicodin. Things were grim and stinky around FKS headquarters. Luckily, I put my energy into the right activities and am mended as of today . . . just in time to go back to work and enjoy temperatures that would make a Canadian blush.

Yes sir, Old Man Winter came shuffling back to town like a crusty drunk - smacking us all on the knuckles with his cane as he wandered by. He also called us "sons of whores" and "daughters of juggalos." Dude's a crotchety dick. But he did remind us that we live at the bosom of the mighty Rocky Mountains. Denver can indeed be a cruel and unusual place to live in terms of weather. On Friday the high temperature was inching near 70. On Tuesday it barely tickled zero. But so what? Those saps back east would give a lot of cash and appendages for wild swings in temperature. Having feet of snow on the ground for months on end, unless you're in the mountains, is akin to having a cheese grater rubbed slowly up and down your thighs. You feel the pain every inch of the way.

But that's neither here nor there. This post isn't about us. It's about longtime friend of the site, popular action figure and all around bad ass meteorologist Jim Cantore. The exuberance, passion, bewilderment and unadulterated joy displayed by Mr. Cantore on Michigan Avenue last night was simply a sight to behold. I left the weather channel on all evening as I went about my chores (read: napping, masturbation, sighing, sitting in the sauna, sipping spicy Spanish wine) and would rush back to the television anytime they cut live to Cantore. I imagine, by now, you've seen his reaction to the bolt of lightning, but there was more goodness where that came from:

Mother Nature is clearly Cantore's mistress. Look for a Windy City Jim action figure in stores near you . . . coming soon.

And I would be remiss if I didn't give Coniglio some props. He eschewed the coattails of the National Weather Service and correctly predicted the snow Sunday night/Monday morning would be between 1-4 inches (NWS predicted 3-6). Way to trust your gut, sir. You have fortitude and that's all we ask for in our meteorologists. It's why Jimmy Cantore's so god damned awesome. Keep up the good work, Marty.

Saturday, January 8, 2011

A Naughty Little Storm

Yeeeaaaaahhhhh . . . that's how a pro does it. A weather quickie . . . in and out . . . not sitting there unloading on you. Sounds like Mrs. Abrams, whom I've expressed considerable amounts of love for, is feeling a bit frisky in this new year. Perhaps, like a lot of couples, the newness of her marriage has worn off and the sex is waning. She is clearly acting out in the hope of capturing my attention and, by god, it has worked. My offer of an unsatisfactory sexual relationship (for her) still stands (erect).

Lucky for us, we have the exact opposite of Stephanie Abrams working here in Denver. I don't know her name . . . and I can't even find it on their site, but she's definitely pretty frightening in that "can't control the volume of one's voice" kind of way. I watched her shrilly belt out the forecast Saturday evening and kept cringing and wincing. It was one of the most abrasive weather forecasts I've ever been a part of. I've posted a couple of photos of this magical creature below. If you're some kind of masochist and want to hear her voice, go here, because I'm not putting people through that.

Seems like the naughty theme should continue - plus, it took me well over an hour to photoshop Sabine into this.

What can I say really, she kind of frightens me. But she seems earnest enough so I won't bust her ovaries too much. Like most, she is forecasting just an absolutely savage 72-hour stretch:

Good God . . . I'm going to be drinking heavily on Tuesday. Like the last storm, I have a hard time believing we'll get anywhere near the high end of the predicted snowfall total. It just seems when arctic air like this is involved, things shrivel and the inches stay lower than expected. Just like when you lay with an icy woman.

Don't get me wrong, I'm rooting for the worst. Any opportunity to show up at least 30 minutes late to work on Monday is one that I'm quite interested in. Pretty much everybody's predicting between 5 and 10 inches of snow for the Denver metro area, with the belief that the most intense period of precip will occur Sunday afternoon/evening. The forecast I trust most is NOAA, because they have the most geeks . . . not a bunch of pretty ladies like the one above. They're calling for between 6 to 10 inches of pow pow. They live in Gnarnia, brah.

Regardless of the snowfall amounts, it's going to be right chilly. Make sure you have all the essentials (pho, whiskey, football, hard wood . . . for your fireplace) and get ready to enjoy an immaculately lazy Sunday. Soak it in, fuckers.