It turns out that I am an Ant God of sorts - at least for the Ants in my Ant Farm because they're always petitioning me for more grubs and crickets and sacrificing virgins to me as if I didn't know that virtually all ants are virgins. Dumb bugs. But I'm probably not a rain God because my super rain powers don't seem to extend much beyond the Houston metropolitan area and only are in evidence when the area has a surfeit or as the local Anglo Saxon dialect puts it a "shitload" of rain. But whether in Anglo Norman or Texas Saxon the fact is that I tend to attract the rain whenever I go outside. Perhaps I'm a Regional Demigod? I doubt it because the rain around here doesn't so much shower me with love as kick my ass. No, I suspect that I'm nothing more than the Rain's bitch. At least in Houston.
And I really can't help it - I have to walk. And walk and walk and walk. I walk because I need to think, I walk to stop thinking, I walk because it keeps me from imagining that I am the long lost member of Led Zeppelin who wrote all of their good songs not Jimmy and Robert, those fakers and I walk to avoid the stares of the all of the people who think I really do look like a washed up rock and roll has been. But I have to walk and I do it outside. In the middle of the day in the middle of summer in Houston, TX because I'm not wimpy. Nuts? yes. But not wimpy. And inevitably when I do so, it rains. People ask me "why in the heck don't you check the radar thingummy before you go out you big dope?" And you sir look as if your a sharp thinking chap yourself, thank you for that well aimed insult: I do check the radar and never go out if there are any storms headed my way but those of you who live on America's South Coast know that sometimes storms just 'pop up' for no reason whatsoever and begin raining cats and dogs. Not that they really rain house pets which would be cool in a really messy and tragic way but it rains a lot - big huge drops with thunder and lightning and streams forming on the edges of streets. In other words, a typical light shower in Houston.
And the thing is they always seem to 'pop' 'up' right above me. It won't start until I'm at the standard "too damned far from home to get back without being soaked" distance which varies based upon the planned storm's intensity and scope but is never less than one half mile (and no I don't know that in Kilometers: I'm a rain bitch not a Demigod) and then it begins to sprinkle and quickly turns torrential so that everything on me gets soaked. You can't imagine how many sets of earbuds I've had to replace because the rain pools in my ears and shorts them out. Sigh.
I've tried to control my super power by commanding the rain to halt only to cause bystanders who - seeing my shouting and waving in the rain - say "look at that poor washed up old rock star, he really must have done too many drugs" to which I respond "I am not old and washed up, OK, so I'm old but I'm not washed up" to which they point out that I'm standing in a torrential rainstorm soaked to the bone so I say "Ok so I am old and washed up but I'm not a rock star and besides that's not the point" to which they roll their eyes and back carefully away from me with their umbrellas held slightly forward in the modified "brolly En Garde" position.
I've tried to leverage my powers into money by threatening the local baseball team: The Astros. Assholes are more like it: they laugh at me and say "who cares? nobody comes to our games anyway, besides we have a roof that we can put up" and of course the Texans have a roof too and the boys at Rice University stink so nobody goes to their games even though they don't have a roof. In fact, the one time I did a little demonstration there the entire Freshman class came out to do meteorological experiments on me for extra credit. Gosh darn geeks. No my powers can only be used for good. If you define good as whatever the hell the clouds want done which I don't.
I think to get any traction on this rain bitch thing I'm going to need some help from the Ice Queen. She has the ability to turn anything she comes near into solid ice - a lot like my old....hamster did. So what if I got together with this La Reine des Glaces cum Hamster and we had a rave somewhere nearby when the Super Bowl is in Houston? How much could an inch of solid ice on everything harsh the NFL's buzz? I'm sure that one will be worth millions but the Ice Queen is such a French....personality that it is going to take all of my powers of persuasion to get her to whip her iciness out when I need it to pull the "sting" off. French Cubes are certainly the Coldest Cubes, aren't they?