Rain

It is raining today. I feel like I need to be in a basement. I want to ignore you, rain. You are not my friend today. I am not in a desert, I am not in close proximity to a raging wild fire - I do not need you!
I am a lazy human. A lazy human, who even on nature's very best of days still struggles to accomplish even the most maligned tasks.
A delicious 25 degree summer day, offering itself to me - in all of it glory - will still be ashamed to know that I rebuke its offer by watching low-grade American talk shows, while it shimmers, and fills the streets with sunshine. A Homoslothpian like myself is reluctant to activate its "do something productive" receptors on even the most blessed of days; so how do you expect it to be active on a gloomy poop-infused day such as this?
Would you like me to don rainbow suspenders, and skip at a rapid pace towards the lake, picnic basket in hand? Shall I go for a bike ride, and wave gleefully at other bike riders? No. These activities, when done in the rain, cause people to assume you are mentally unfit, and I do not wish to stumble upon any chums of mine, on any rain-heavy skipping adventures. The rumours will spread fervently: "Did you see him, skipping in the rain? What a Ass-rash! What a Gizzard! He's lost his tits!"
Shall I be ostracised from my friend circle, due to your lousy water dumping? You would like that wouldn't you rain, you communist. When you spit, you spit on everyone, regardless of events planned. You pitiful attention seeking bastard. You have ruined my sandcastle, you have waterlogged my sandwich.

Take me to a basement.

MBW