Hey Tornado, I Want to Punch You in Your Stupid Spinny Face

Hey funnel face.

Yeah, I am talking to you. What are you gonna do about it? Rotate me? Knock over my patio furniture?

You think you can just come around all whirly-twirly, like some kind of silly little ballerina or something?

Yeah, my niece does ballet. She looks ridiculous and so do you. Nobody wants to watch a morbidly obese dust-devil pirouette around a cornfield.

You know when you go outside and there’s like a little clump of leaves doing a roundy-round next to the curb?

Well get your ego in check, you vortexical dick, because that’s all you would be if you didn’t lean so hard on goofy-ass cumulus cloud (with a helping of gangsta hype-man nimbus kicking things straight into cyclone central).

Yeah, you heard me right.

You play all tough, moving debris this way and that, but at the end of the day, PuffyCloud McHappyFace is doing all the heavy lifting. And that poofy dunce is straight up foolish. People pretend he is a sky pillow. Your rep is backed by a marshmallow-looking group of moisture droplets.

You don’t like that, do you? Well, why don’t you just go ahead and throw a temper tantrum like you always do. Ooooh, you can toss cows around. Now I’m intimidated.

Oh wait, no I’m not, because I just ran over here behind this mountain.

Did I say mountain? I meant “ran over here under this overpass for a couple seconds.”

Seriously, guy? That’s your cryptonite? A Nixon-era slab of concrete where my homeless cousin poos?

I’m gonna straight up clock you in your twisting- glob-of-dirt jaw.