Why do news anchors always act like it's the weatherman's fault when the prognostication is unfavorable? Like, "Aw, come on Tom, I thought you were going to give us some sun for the weekend." And the poor schmuck is all, "You know Jane, I'm sorry, I really tried." Are weathermen the scientific equivalent of the Dalai Lama or the (Nazi) Pope, with a direct line to God? Is that how they know, and can they put in a good word?

This gives me an excellent idea for a skit: The Antagonistic Weatherman. He wants you to suffer through sleet, humidity, fog, and fucking tornados. He may not actually have a say in it, but damn if he'll let YOU know the truth.

Antagonistic Weatherman: "It's looking lovely here in midtown Manhattan; 75 degrees and a pleasant breeze scattering the empty coffee cups abandoned by harried commuters. But don't worry, New York: black storm clouds should roll in around 4:45 p.m., just in time for your trip home. And they're not going anywhere this weekend, so forget about taking the brats to the Hamptons.

The torrential downpour will stop late Sunday night, making way for an absolutely spectacular work week. Too bad you'll be stuffed into a cubicle in a giant windowless room, between the woman with bad breath and the guy who's always looking at kiddie porn.

Lucky for me, I only work mornings, so I'll be in Sagaponack rubbing elbows with a drunk but jovial Billy Joel by 10:30. Have a good one, fuckers!"

-A