By Jarrett Bellini

If one more person makes a serious or even half-kidding reference to the fallacy of global warming when discussing the current streak of cold weather blasting across America I think I may end up having a complete mental breakdown.

Granted, this may have more to do with thirty years of repressed childhood memories. Actually, I’m pretty sure that’s it. I’m a mess.

Nevertheless, I think there needs to be an official cease fire on excessive conversation about low temperatures during any month that have the letter R. I’ll concede that this arctic blast is newsworthy and that the media should be reporting on weather, but, just so we’re clear, remember, it’s January. It’s supposed to feel cold.

So, no more global warming jokes. I ask this not because I’m some big defender of climate change theories – I don’t understand such things as science, math, and girls - but because I tend to have allergic reactions to clichés, and my throat is starting to swell.

(Editorial note: It might also be the shellfish. Mind you, they’re delicious in months that have the letter R.)

However, if you insist on this line of comparison, I only ask that you also come talk to me in August when I’m sweating inside my house, naked, watching Star Wars while sitting Indian-style over an air-conditioning vent with an Otter Pop.

Have I shared too much? I believe I have.

I suppose, for now, I can let these clichés from our unfolding weather-related melodrama pass because, truth be told, it really is exceedingly cold. And, especially here in the southeast, we’re not used to such things. In fact, we really only get about one good snow storm a year, at which point our synapses collectively shut down in that small part of the brain that controls our ability to properly drive a motor vehicle over 25 miles-per-hour. Though, some may argue that, for most people, this phenomenon is simply called: a weekday.

Of course, according to Facebook, this seems to be a true catastrophic, nationwide event, worthy of cliché-driven conversation domination. I know this because the already-boring status updates have literally turned into, well, talking about the weather. Not that my updates are ever anything to brag about – unless my quest to eat eight tacos for dinner strikes you as noteworthy – but there’s definitely a direct correlation between the temperature dropping below thirty-two degrees, and the general lameness of my current news feed. Here are a few recent favorites. The names have been changed to protect my social calendar:

RHEA PERLMAN is baffled by the FREEZING COLD weather Atlanta is presently experiencing... I never again want to hear the words: high of 27/low of 16 referencing any place in the dirrrrty!

WILLIAM SHATNER just learned that the hairs inside your nose can in fact freeze.

PRINCESS LEIA wants to know who to talk to about false advertising. "Hotlanta?" 19 degrees outside. Really? That new furnace cannot come soon enough.

KOOL & THE GANG This whole global warming talk is a bunch of bull!

Cue: mental breakdown.

Now, personally speaking, even as a native Arizonan, I’m not a hater when it comes to the occasional spell of cold weather and snow. It’s fun, and you learn to appreciate the nice days. Then again, I also don’t have any sticky, sniffling kids to dress in giant bundled layers only to find out that school has closed for the day… which I’m sure would cause me to have a stroke. And, yes, according to my research, all children are sticky. End of.

So, I welcome any snow we might receive here in the southeast. What can I say? I’m easily entertained, I’m a dog-owner, and if there’s one thing I love more than watching Star Wars naked while sitting Indian-style over an air-conditioning vent with an Otter Pop – and, oh, how I love it – it’s watching my dog, Mikey, frolic in the white stuff.

Anyway, it’s just a little cold - it’s just a little snow. Try to enjoy it. And have yourself an Otter Pop. Naked.

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