c'mon.
real life ones.
no weather substance, just bluster.
it's like being in chicago at the beginning of march.
get it?
the woods are awash in bent boughs.
the nose-nipping jack frost ferocity is not winning any prizes.
this is the big action on this otherwise boring day off.
raging savage stormswept gypsy air currents...
berserker barbarian arctic blowhard breezes...
gargantuan gale-force ghost gusts...
it's like the mutha-uckin' tundra up here.
duders,
it's hard to sleep with the sound of a thousand raging A-holes
bleating and buffeting the fortress.
vortex-type sonic destruction isn't super exciting-
especially when there's only some cold, lame air making all the ruckus.
yeah,
air is being a real F*-tard right now.
that 'jet-directly-overhead' noise has been roaring since midnight.
and what's up with the wind chill, ya'll?
that's a sure enough doo-doo buttery bonus.
i've always loved that 'feels like' temperature adjustment.
y'know,
it's actually this many degrees,
but thanks to our buddy the wind,
it now sucks even worse.
i should be wearing a windbreaker,
but it seems more likely i'll just be one.
c'mon.
***********
this would almost be a little less explosively lame
if i had a group of homeboys and girls to play with.
i'd swear, judging by this stack of uber-nerd literature
that brutally hot talented ladies would be in the realm of pure fantasy.
and yet,
i've got my preposterously disproportionately attractive wife to prove otherwise.
that's a real natural 20 moment, ya'll.
of course,
SHE won't play imaginary battle-beast games.
she's pretty, and not a screaming dork, after all.
so mostly,
i've got an eleven volume collection of reasons i should be getting divorced.
awwwwwwww, man.
that's a hard-style statement, huh?
relax;
she knew i was a closeted gaymer when we met.
no secrets, kids.
only true stories, told truly.
real life.
in the woods.
in the cold.
it's all really happening,
even the solo adventure dungeoneering;
never quiet, never soft.....
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