I Am The Cloud That Will Ruin Your Day
I am the cloud that will ruin your day. I’m not one of those fluffy little bitches that some of you like to point and coo at, or the wispy high-flying blankets nobody gives a shit about. You know what I look like — an ugly wall of slate that flashes and rumbles and likes nothing more than dumping 50mm onto your pretty face.
I’ve spoiled more occasions than I can remember, and I’ve relished every one of them. Weddings are my favourite of course. Mushy lovers swanking up a perfectly good lawn with vows and floral arches? I darken my undercarriage immediately. My only regret is not being able to see the tears streaming down the bride’s face. I can just hear the rationalisations now: “it was still a lovely day…” but was it? Was it lovely saying your vows while being turned into the human equivalent of a watermelon? Was it lovely when the wind caught your sopping tie and whipped it into your eyeball? Was it lovely when the celebrant slipped on the floor and did a ghastly rendition of Stayin’ Alive?
Picnics are fun too until I come along. I watch people gorge themselves on brie and chips and tomato salsa dip, laughing and prattling until the loathsome happiness catches in my throat like a pubic hair, and the only way for me to hock it up is by utterly drenching them in my sweet nectar. No more joy. No more pubic hair. I am satisfied. Try eating your flan…
