Warning: this article has so many instances of the word “fuck” that even I blushed a little while writing it. You have been warned.
So here we are. We have gone over how to prepare for a tornado, how to drill for a tornado, what to do when one arrives. Now lets get into the types of tornado. “Types?,” you ask. Yes, I can hear you. I have methods. But forget about that now.
There are six types of tornados. A famous guy came up with a scale to measure five of these types and named it the Fujita scale, or “F scale.” that ranges from F1 to F5. Forget him and his scale. My scale is also named the “F-scale” because I theorize that the size and damage a tornado is capable of is proportional to the number of “F-bomb’s” a tornado makes the average person drop in a single sentence. My F-scale goes from “Negative” to “Infinity” because I do not believe in placing limits on the human mind’s ability to imagine ways of saying the word “fuck.”
Let’s go through the basic stages of the “F-scale.”
“Oh, that’s cute.”
This is the tornado you see swirling trash around in the grocery store parking lot. Fact: “cute” is the inverse opposite of “fuck.” The phrase “fucking cute” is a cancellation of terms that should never be used unless you wish to state that something simply “is.”
“Get the fucking lawn furniture inside.”
A funnel cloud has formed and small debris can be seen flying through the air. There is little danger of getting hit by anything, but the wind has the potential to fuck up your back if you have to pick up all that furniture and do the raking and get those little limbs and stuff.
“Stop fucking around with the cat and get in the fucking bathroom.”
We have escalated the funnel to the point where pets have begun to act erratically. Objects the size of a bread box are flying past your window and it may be time to head inside the one room in your house without windows just in case the lawn furniture becomes airborne.
“Fuckin hell, I can’t fuckin believe this fuckin shit is going down.”
Panic has set in as objects larger than a breadbox and various types of weather begin smashing your domicile as you cower in the windowless room. This stage is often characterized by the lack of “g’s” at the end of the word “fucking.”
“Oh my fuckin gods, it just threw that fuckin cow into the fuckin swimming pool and I just skimmed that fucker.”
Irrationality has set in. Prayer to any and all deities may begin to occur as sights that should not be seen by human eyes may be occurring as the house is ripped away and the person is left to cower in a cast iron bathtub. Focusing on the mundane may also occur.
Five to Infinity
“Fucking fuck that fucker cause I’m getting the fuck outta fucking here.”
A tornado that has become an F5 or greater on the “F-bomb” scale is no longer capable of description outside of a not-so-friendly Dungeons and Dragons game. The person is nothing but a pawn in a giant game of air hockey and all he can do is hold on and curse his damn fool head off.
Also, you just thought, "That wasn't that many 'fucks.' I said more 'fucks' than that putting together my kids Christmas toys." I know. I can read minds, too.