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5:47 a.m. - 2003-07-01

BUDDY HACKETT IS DEAD AND I'M FIGHTING A NAGGING COUGH

My man, Buddy Hackett is dead.

First Kate Hepburn. Now the Budster.

I'm not sure how I'm going to handle these devastating pieces of information.

My guess is I'll shower, iron some clothes and go to work, numb from the news for about 30 seconds or so.

As we all know, celebrity deaths come in threes.

So we lose Kate. We lose Buddy. Who's next?

Granted ... Bob Hope has overstayed his welcome on Earth.

Ronnie Reagan is said to be near death, but I think he died a few years back and Nancy has mummified his body and eventually we'll all find out that she's got him stuffed in a closet and she'll get busted and they'll send her to a women's prison where she'll have her 90 year-old ass strong-armed by some roughneck lesbians with a tattoo that reads "I Fucking LOVED Lucy".

So who's left?

I'm putting my money on Oates.

From Hall and Oates.

Call it a hunch.


As I type this, the local weatherguy is crowing like Chicken Little because a tornado warning has just been announced for our county that our good friend Tropical Storm Bill has brought back from the Gulf.

Mother Nature farts and they issue a tornado warning around here.

I've lived in this city for about 20 years and have probably sat through 400 tornado warnings in all those years.

I've seen the results of two tornados in this city.

Two tornados. Four hundred warnings.

He's telling us not to "go outside and try to see the storm".

Keep in mind, I live in Alabama. A state where tornado sirens go off and the hillbillies drunkenly chase each other outside to "ride the crazy wind dragon" so it's the weatherman's job to make sure Bubba and Cletus don't get swept up like Dorothy and Toto.

I get the feeling he's doing that because if we were to go outside right now, we'd see that there's nothing out there. And then he'd be out of a job because his job is to instill fear in us every time a red dot pops up on his radar screen.

I'm no sucka.

The only time I've ever "taken cover" from a storm was when a hurricane blew through town and even then, I didn't cower on the floor, buried in pillows like my wife.

But I eventually went inside the bathroom in the middle of the house to appease the Mrs.

I think she wanted sex in the bathtub while our roof was being blown off.

She's kinky that way.

Anyway, they've just cancelled the tornado warning because it wasn't a real tornado, it was just some clouds spinning around.

Duh.

You can only cry "wolf!" so many times before we quit listening to you people.

Goofy weather bastards.

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