You know what? A fucking tropical storm is not a hurricane! It's a little wind and rain. Power might go out for a little bit. A few branches might get knocked down. But we're talking winds of 50-60 mph max! Stop overreacting, you crazy, crazy fuckers! Closing schools, closing businesses, and selling hurricane supplies all today for a storm that won't even hit us until Wednesday at 2 AM is fucking retarded. I blame you, Governor Charlie Crist! Stupid numbnut fuck.

Okay, now that rant is over, I'm reminded of the last real hurricane season that Florida saw in 2004. We had literally closed on our new house between Hurricane Charley and Hurricane Frances. We moved in and didn't even have time to get settled before my wife flew out on the last flight out of Orlando before the airport closed to go to Italy for three weeks. So I was all alone in this big quiet house, living through one of the worst hurricanes that Central Florida had ever seen.

Before she left, Amy went with me to the grocery store to get supplies. We bought plenty of water, some Pop Tarts, and a few cases of those peanut butter crackers and those cream cheese crackers that come in the packs.

Amy asked me, "Are you sure you don't need more food than this?"

I assured her that I was fine. I was convinced that I could eat crackers and drink water for months without needing any different food.

Amy left.
The storm came.
The power went out.
Two days passed.

"I can't eat another cracker ever again, no matter how long I live." I mumbled to myself. I hadn't spoken to another human being for two full days, since our phones were down and my cell phone didn't work and I didn't know my neighbors. "These things are the most evil horrible food ever created."

Desperately, I started searching for something else I could eat. Since we had just moved into the house, there wasn't even any random miscellaneous food in the fridge like mayo or pickles. We hadn't had time to stock the fridge in that way that fridges become when you live somewhere for awhile. In fact, I think the fridge had nothing but milk and water and the freezer only had ice and one frozen pepperoni DiGiorno's pizza.

"Hmmm," I thought, staring at the pizza, standing with the freezer door open, watching the melted ice pour out in a steady stream. "I bet I could cook that on the grill."

First, I turned on my gas grill and set it on medium. I closed the lid and let it reach around 450 degrees. "It's just like a normal convection oven, Adam," I said to my reflection in the window.

I tore off four or five sheets of heavy duty aluminum foil and used them to make a cookie sheet for the frozen pizza. I placed the pizza on the aluminum and stuck it on the grill. Immediately, it started sizzling and cooking. In order to keep it like a normal convection oven, I closed the lid and let it cook for 16 minutes.

While I waited, I just laid on the cool kitchen floor and prayed for air conditioning to come back. I may have also inadvertently developed a split personality.

16 minutes later, the pizza smelled great. I opened the grill and a huge black cloud of smoke came billowing out. "Holy fucking rat shit, did you see that?" I asked myself.

"Yeah," I answered. "I hope the pizza's not ruined." Gingerly, I reached in with my tongs and pulled out something that used to be a pizza. A full quarter inch of the bottom of the pizza had been burnt to a solid crisp, forming a blackened shell that was rock hard. The top of the pizza, covered in cheese and pepperoni, was mostly melted and bubbling.

Since I couldn't eat it like a normal pizza, I decided to eat it the only way possible. I sat it on a plate and, using a spoon, scraped off the cheese and toppings from the pizza and ate it like a really chunky soup. With the exception of a few pieces of charred crust that I got with the spoon, the melty cheese, pepperoni and sauce mixture tasted pretty good. I finished my meal pretty well sated and very happy that I hadn't had to face another horrible crackers meal. After not too long, I was nodding off out on the couch, where the breeze kept me relatively cool at night.

But not for long.

"Blargalalagalagrrrrrrble". I jerked awake with a start. Something was wrong.

"Grrgabragglegronblarggghl". Very wrong.

"BRALARALARGRRALLAGRABBLEBLARGH!" Oh God something was trying to eat its way out of my stomach!

In the pitch black dark I ran for the bathroom. As soon as I sat down, I got a feeling that started in my toes, went all the way up my legs, through my stomach, up my chest, to the top of my head and then shot back down my body until it exited directly out of my ass with the force of the hurricane itself.

My legs shot straight up. One of my shoes flew off. I slammed my head back into the windowsill and snapped the handle off of the drawer on the vanity next to me. The toilet groaned and shook and creaked like the shuttle as it exits the atmosphere.

"Hnn hnn hnn," I sobbed between explosions.

I wrestled that gastrointestinal monster for the better part of the evening. In the end, all was lost, and I was reduced to a twisted bawling heap crying for my mommy while the smoking crater of the toilet served as a reminder never to grill a frozen pizza.

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