An Open Letter to Tropical Storm Nate

Dear Tropical Storm Nate,

I just saw your updated travel itinerary and it looks like you’re dropping by here for a visit — as in, “we’re under a Jim Cantore Warning!”

Not good.

I know, I know — your plans could change at the last minute but the cone of uncertainty seems pretty certain. Mississippi has a big “kick me Nate” sign on its back. You’re the biggest test the Gulf Coast has faced since your evil great grandmother Katrina kicked us in the teeth.

You’re not welcome here.

Nate, I knew Katrina and you’re no Katrina — and I hope you stay that way. But I know that there is a threat that you could get delusions of grandeur and grow strong. Warm water is your fuel and the Gulf is as warm as pee in a hot tub.

Did I mention you’re not welcome here?

I will take some basic precautions to get ready for you. The Big K was 12 years ago, but I still have a very fresh memory of my trees doing the hula. And no power when it is hot really sucks. That wasn’t much fun.

I know it is October, but I am not ready for any trick or treaters. If you come to my house, I’m giving you a rock.

I’m not panicking Nate. I’m just getting ready for your visit.

So take your time. No better yet, go to Hell. We don’t want you here.

Marshall

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