Tonight: The breathtaking flash of light and deafening boom that will wake you up at about 2 a.m. will not be a passing thunderstorm. It will be the residual effects of me making love to Charlie Summers’ wife like a real man should. Lows in the 50’s.
Tomorrow: Guess what? Just when you get ready to go for a bike ride, or set up your picnic, some big ass black clouds will show up and make you think it’s going to rain like the End Times. Then the sky will sprinkle tiny bits of water like it has an enlarged prostate or something, and then it will clear off, just a few minutes after you get back inside. Is this a great time of year, or what? Highs in the 60’s.
Rest of the Week: Be composed — be at ease with me — I am Trevor Noyes, liberal and lusty as Nature; Not till the sun excludes you, do I exclude you; Not til the waters refuse to glisten for you, and the leaves to rustle for you, does my forecast refuse to glisten and rustle for you. You could be a heroin addict with an IQ of 81 dry humping an air mattress and my prognostications will be just as wondrous and magical for you as for anyone else in the world. So try not to take it personally when the tornado heaves a Toyota Highlander through your bedroom wall. Highs in the 70’s.