Yardstick.

Yeah, it's up there. How can I tell? I just look out the window, dude. I look out and I see exactly nothing. That's how you know it's Snowmageddon. Simple, right? Trouble is ... I'm on the third floor.

Yeah, the abandoned Cheney Hammer Mill (our squat house) was buried in snow this past Tuesday night, and Mitch is responsible. I know it seems like I blame everything on our mad science advisor, but that's only because he's behind everything that happens, at least in some measure. Like that full moon we had last week. Did you see it? It was kind of ghostly, like the clouds had wrapped around it, but you could still see the full disc. Mitch's part in that? Not certain, but my guess is that he was working the cloud machine that night. (He should really be advising a 1970s arena rock band, but I digress.)

The sad thing is that his cloud invention could be a boon to mankind and animal kind alike ... if he would only use it for good instead of evil. That's a bit unfair, actually - Mitch is amoral, not immoral. Madness has no reason, but it can have a goal ... and this week, I suspect the goal may have been snow and more snow. And as I believe I mentioned earlier, he has a cloud machine. Not good.

There is one other piece of incriminating evidence. The big nor'easter was named Stella, and that was the name of Mitch's old girlfriend from back in the day. He doesn't talk about her much, but Marvin (my personal robot assistant) has dished a bit of back story on Mitch's wild years. Now I know that doesn't sound like Marvin, but you would be surprised what's stored in those creaky, tape-medium databases he holds inside that brass hide of his. (Before you ask, no, there are no audio recordings - just metadata of phone calls, that sort of thing.) Folks: never date a mad scientist. Seriously.

So, let me be the first to apologize about the storm. I'll probably also be the last to apologize, since Mitch never apologizes for any of the catastrophes he causes. Crazy as fuck means not having to say you're sorry.