Wouldn't it be nice if the TV weatherman could be a little less, I don't know, apocalyptic? It seems like the only weather forecasters out there who don't get their jollies scaring meteorologically ignorant people into stocking up on batteries and bottled water are Al Roker and Willard Scott, both of whom are way too saccharine to wake up to at seven in the morning. There could be a hail of fire falling upon Rockefeller Center, and Al Roker would still be out there talking to tourists holding up signs (which would most likely be burning up in the fire-hail). Apparently, the weather has become too controversial a topic for Willard; he spends his time on-air congratulating people who should be dead by now on continuing their long and pointless existences, which is even more depressing than floods, tornadoes, and tsunamis combined.

Maybe it's the way we treat the weathermen that turns them into prophets of doom, how we blame them when the weather's bad or when the Doppler radar gets the prediction wrong, how the other anchors ask them inane questions that have nothing to do with the weather and then don't bother to listen to the weatherguy's answer. How, as weatherdude interns, they have to go out to the beach in the middle of the freaking hurricane wearing the official Channel 7 weather poncho, as if we wouldn't believe that there's a hurricane if we didn't see cars and trees and unsecured lawn furniture flying around the poor guy.

"...And as you can see, Chuck, the wind is really picking up out here, the tide is at least twenty feet above the dunes, and I nearly got swept out to sea twice. Town officials are warning everybody to stay inside until the storm blows over, and while there's theoretically no reason I myself couldn't heed that advice and give the exact same report from the studio, I'm risking my life to come to you, live from Sea Girt, in hopes that one day it will be me standing in front of the green screen, doing the national weather forecast."