Weather Wanker.

This morning is moving at treacle trudging pace. Why am I up?  I don't want to be up in this weak, slow choke, morning air, though as I type, I can feel the coffee kicking in, making a little more sense of the day. I already kicked going to the improv last night, as it would have been difficult to turn up and perform, as unconscious as I was. Tonight, I want to go to Joe's play, though it depends on how long I can stay in today.
You humid, would be stormy, soup air wanker! Even  my pooch doesn't like you, and spends most of your days snoozing, waiting for the arrival of your way more popular cousin Temperate. Have a bit of a rain, sort your shit out.