I Am The Cloud That Will Ruin Your Day

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I am the cloud that will ruin your day. I’m not one of those fluffy little bitches that some of you like to point and coo at, or the wispy high-flying blankets nobody gives a shit about. You know what I look like — an ugly wall of slate that flashes and rumbles and likes nothing more than dumping 50mm onto your pretty face.

I’ve spoiled more occasions than I can remember, and I’ve relished every one of them. Weddings are my favourite of course. Mushy lovers swanking up a perfectly good lawn with vows and floral arches? I darken my undercarriage immediately. My only regret is not being able to see the tears streaming down the brides’ faces. I can just hear the rationalisations now: “it was still a lovely day…” but was it? Was it lovely saying your vows while being turned into the human equivalent of a watermelon? Was it lovely when the wind caught your sopping tie and whipped it into your eyeball? Was it lovely when the celebrant slipped on the floor and did a ghastly rendition of Stayin’ Alive?

Picnics are fun too until I come along. I watch people gorge themselves on brie and chips and tomato salsa dip, laughing and prattling until the loathsome happiness catches in my throat like a pubic hair, and the only way for me to hock it up is by utterly drenching them in my sweet nectar. No more joy. No more pubic hair. I am satisfied. Try eating your flan after I’ve paid a visit. You’ll need a ladle to consume that shit. And that birthday cake looked delicious before I unleashed my watery consignment onto its impeccable frosting. Now it’s a depressed sand castle.

Don’t even talk to me about sports events. What nonsense! A bunch of screaming zealots aligning themselves with teams that launch leathery eggs or scarlett orbs or fling themselves to the ground like crummy stage actors. Screw you guys. Feel my ample moisture. I even call in some favours from my windy associates to hit the covered seats. Let’s see your loyalty when your hair mashes to your head and your ears flap about like fleshy wet flags. Sing a song now you soggy dimwits.

I wasn’t always like this. As a cloud I don’t have to rain. I used to turn myself into angelic pearly-white bulks of gorgeousness that people would gawp at and say “fuck yeah, look at that sick cloud.” I’d even leave little gaps for shimmering rays to blaze through, like god himself was emerging from within my heavenly bulk. Or I’d make animal shapes for the kids, like dinosaurs and shit. But then I realised that you humans have never given me the respect that I deserve. Look at what I do for you! I water your crops, I fill your rivers and lakes, I wash away the filth. I literally keep you alive. And how do you repay me? By poisoning me with carbon dioxide! It’s like I’m breathing vinegar up here!

So screw you guys. I am the cloud that will ruin your day. I’ll soak you on your commute. I’ll wreck your fishing trips. I’ll make your funerals that little bit worse. If I can’t catch a breath, why should you? I’ll bathe your hen’s party. I’ll immerse your cute little beach setup. Don’t bother planning anything nice because you know what will happen if I’m in the neighbourhood. When you’re having a lovely time and see a dark shape in the sky, it could be me: the vengeful cataclysm surfing the gusts towards your delightful little event. My colossal cargo of aqua has your name on it, and delivery is overdue.

Thanks for your business. Love and best wishes.

The cloud that will ruin your day.