Wind Me Up

Dear Wind,

I have been thinking about you a lot recently. In fact, I’ve even gone to the trouble of correctly defining you so that I can properly criticize absolutely everything about you.

I have found that you refer to a number of things, but I’d like to start with your most immature node as an anally excreted gas. To break wind (or to find the activity amusing in any way) is to be of a lower class of human, unless done in the privacy of one’s bathroom (and in some arguments home/company). It is an assault upon our olfactory senses and proper sensibility, and by relation, the same could be said of you.

Perhaps better known of your definitions is as a weather pattern. Apparently you are the flow of air or gas around Earth. In other words, you surround all things and are everywhere. You are not, however it may seem, anything remotely akin to a God. You are in fact an irritant upon the eye of the world and the only reason I can see for you staying here is that we would in fact perish without you, which may be preferable depending on who you consult.

As a weather pattern, you create havoc. You ruin hairstyles, spread our litter-piles around, rile up the crazies and generally create a hostile, unliveable environment for those whom you sustain, myself and fellow humans.

You have also been the subject of mythology and popular culture. I’m going to single out the X-Men for this. Wind Dancer. Possibly the most annoying character ever created, it was difficult for me to tell whether she was using wind as a weather power or as a gaseous outburst from her anus. On the other hand we have Storm who definitely uses her wind as a weather element and can even use it to fly, which I think involves filling her lungs with a heated oxygen compound. Both of these characters are now dead*, which I think says more than I could ever say on the matter.

In closing, I would like to express my frustration at your gaseousness as I am thus unable to reprimand you properly with a gauntlet, and advise that I will simply have to make do with making a fist and banging it on my table in barely suppressed rage.

Adrik

*may not be true