Let us pray that Punxsutawney Phil is Nostradamus because this weather is making us all feel like an exhausted horse feeling the crop

This winter weather mutilates the mind, the heart and the soul. Mother Nature has become a loose cannon, somebody rolled into our existence to reduce us all to rubble.
You gotta be tougher than a wharf rat to survive all this. If these Arctic blasts persist, soon we all will be in a symbiotic craze.
Global warming, my conservative friends, can be a dyspeptic discussion. But denying its existence now is harder to do than the Indian rope trick. Actually, try doing the Indian rope trick on ice.
Global warming doesn’t mean it’s hotter than hell every day. It means extreme weather conditions. Which is why we no longer have blue skies. But we do have gray skies that constantly spasm.
A colossal blizzard has been doing a number on us, flashing a tattoo of slashing snow and ice and forcing us all to walk and drive like somnambulists.
The monstrous storm, billed as the worst in decades, delivered knockout after knockout as it made its way from Texas to Maine, touching some 30 states and bringing a huge swath of the country to a halt. Everybody and everything was frozen more stiff than Queen Elizabeth.
Global warming? Try global pain in the butt.
Thank God Punxsutawney Phil didn’t see his shadow today, supposedly meaning we won’t have six more weeks of winter. Then again, we may not be thanking the Almighty after all.
The rodent/weatherman is right only 39 percent of the time when he predicts an early spring. He probably would have a better record if he merely tossed a coin.
Of course, human meteorologists and computerized weather models usually bat around .200 with their predictions, so let’s not pile on the groundhog. At least in the throes of Ice Station Zebra, he was there to stand up to the last icicle.
I may even take Punxsutawney Phil along on spring break this year.