Appalling Example of "Storm Chaser" Behavior

Reed Timmer has shown an appalling lack of good sense and responsibility from the moment he came into the storm chasing scene. His antics have been dangerous before, reflecting badly on all chasers. I can only hope that Darwin will eventually take care of this situation. Unfortunately, we all must bear some responsibility for Reed, because we have been talking about and showing the results of storm chasing for decades. We cannot prevent idiots like Reed from behaving as they do. The best we can do is what you have done - make it clear that you do not in any way support such irresponsibility.

Reed (and his cohort) have displayed nothing other than utterly contemptable behavior and the fact they have taken time to post their account makes their legitimacy even more questionable. I am astounded these idiots could display such disregard for common sense and, more importantly, for the lives of others. WE must collectively work to rid our ranks of these so-called "chasers." Their continued lack of ethical behavior and willingness to do anything to promote "teevee reality" will eventually effect the legitimate side of our hobby. Too bad deportation isn't a viable option...

This storm has permanently altered the face of chasing - specifically hurricane chasing. I don't think that myself or anyone else will EVER look at this in the same light. I am also full to the brim with the irresponsible behavior constantly rearing itself by the same hounds over and over again. I am hopeful that they will notice that they are no longer accepted by the more reputable members of this 'community' these days. Somehow chasers need to be taught to put the value of life - both the lives of others and themselves - ahead of this wanton disregard.

A friend of mine noted that mountain climbers who have to be retrieved by Search and Rescue are often FINED as a result. They guys should be fined as well.

Perhaps Reed and whoever the "other guy" was this time will donate some of the no-doubt hefty bounty this stunt has produced? Normally, I have no problem with people being as idiotic or selfish as they please, so long as they are only putting themselves in harm's way ('thinning the herd' isn't just a phrase, there's real meaning there). But knowing that they actually knew, actually heard, cries of distress and did nothing but record it on video is over the line for me personally. The fining idea is a great one, and I think another would be to force them to donate proceeds to relief. This of course will never happen, but one can at least fantasize that, for once, morals trump money.

I know that I will more than likely be slammed for the following statements.

First, it never ceases to amaze me the number of people in the meteorology community that for some reason always take the "holier than thou" approach to everything stormchasing.

Second, everyone here has jumped to conclusions. You have no idea why Reed and his partner were in Slidell. It was not their choice and it was not because they got caught off guard by the storm.

Third, they did nothing different than what any of the major news outlets (ABC, CBS, NBC, Fox, and TWC) do. They put themselves in a dangerous situation to experience and record a major news event. It happens all the time. Many of you do it when you chase storms, this was just on a larger scale. There were other well known stormchasers just to their east. However, Reed has become the favorite whipping boy for many of you so he gets all of the flak while there is very little said about any other chasers down there.

Finally, statements like the following are completely uncalled for: "I can only hope that Darwin will eventually take care of this situation."

Don't worry, Joel. I will not slam *you*. That doesn't preclude my taking the liberty of reducing your *arguments* to a steaming heap of dung, but I won't slam *you*! :-) Unlike many BLOGs this one welcomes dissenting views. Like a starving hawk welcomes a fat juicy mouse...

[1] "Not their choice?" Whose choice was it, then? Did the devil make 'em do it? Or did somebody force them into Slidell by gunpoint to shoot video so they could sell it? If so, then I guess everyone should cut them some slack. Otherwise, no.

[2] For consistency's sake, if someone from CNN, TWC, ABC or any media outlet, or anyone else who should know better (including me) has to be rescued, then they too should pay all costs for it, just like these "chasers." There are no double standards here. I see no evidence yet of these guys offering to cover the costs of this rescue. When they do, I'll cut them, a little slack. Otherwise, no.

[3a] As for the "meteorological community" presumption, that argument is about to invalidate itself: four of the five commenters above Joel are NOT meteorologists. They are simply conscientious storm observers, driven by true appreciation of stormy skies instead of by egomania and greed, who know better than to get themselves into that situation (and therefore, haven't!).

[3b] Elitism? A convenient claim but nothing more. I see forum posts hiding behind this "holier than thou" cop-out all the time. Lose it. It's not very original nor does it constitute a method of reasoned debate.

[4] Darwinism: Yes, I'll concede that may have been "over the top." That's Chuck's opinion and not mine. I don't wish harm on anyone; but I also have little sympathy for those who choose to immerse themselves a harmful situation then expect those hired by our tax dollars to rescue them. This revolves around a simple concept called "personal responsibility." It's all too rare anymore.

Reed, since you are here defending your actions, why don't you fess up and tell us the *real* story that happened to you and your partner, instead of the lies on your web site?

Why don't you post the full story Reed?

It's already online...
http://www.xanga.com/pinkfloyd137

Gegco - I do not appreciate your accusation that Stormgasm has posted lies on the website. I personally posted that information and it is factual. Nowhere are there lies and who are you to say there are?

By the way I haven't seen ANY information about Katrina on Reed's website (which is not Stormgasm). You might want to do a little more research before pointing fingers.

Perhaps, one day, all those involved in the pursuit of weather will come back around to the old adage...."it's not nice to fool mother nature"
Seems all this serves to do is cast a pallor over a community of weather enthusiasts who simply want to make the hobby safer.
By taking such extreme risks, and with the sensationalism of mass media fueling the whole thing, I feel it is only a matter of time before someone is unduly influenced by some sound bite or vid-clip and sets off to emulate their "hero."
Everyone should take a second and analyze their actions and the consequences thereof. When you are in a position of influence, one must realize that others take their lead from those more "experienced" than they. How would any of us feel if our actions were the indirect cause of an injury or fatality?
Food for thought?

First of all how else are you supposed to get footage of a storm like this other then ground zero? I did not see anyone of the other storm chasers in as deep as these BRAVE fellows.
Second: These storm victoms [sic] were given a warning of the storm and were asked to leave the city. And how do we know that the voices were not coming from buildings that ground crews were unable to get to? I dont [sic] mean to sound cold hearted, but the truth of the matter is, we DONT [sic] know the situation. Speculation just gets you into trouble when you dont [sic] know the exact situation. His job was to go and get footage of the storm, not to play God. That is what everyone is accusing him of. Im [sic] sure that he did not look at it as though they needed to save themselves. He just could not help them. And the last time I heard, walking didnt [sic] cost anything. So they may have used department money catch a bus or a ride home, but its not like every other government funded department has never wasted money for some useless program or research. But this seems to chap everyone!
He brings the devistating [sic] conditions back to the rest of the world by video, and he puts himself in these dangerous situations, so that everyone else can see what is going on. He is part of a group of people that save lives every day, by the detection of severe storms and warnings of what could develop. Thanks to people like him, we actually knew about the storm before it hit. We know about tornados [sic] or other severe weather in our area. And all you do is chastise.
Reeds [sic] videos bring back the reality of nature, and the devistation [sic] that can come of it. Hopefully these videos will make us a more compassionate nation when in time of crisis.
Just because Reed is on the edge in his methods of storm chasing, doesnt [sic] give anyone the right to criticize him. You claim that he puts peoples lives at risk...
THOSE PEOPLE CHOOSE TO GO ALL BY THEMSELVES. They are adults, they make their own decisions. If they dont [sic] want to be as close to a tornado or in the middle of a hurricane, they dont [sic] have to go!

You folks are idiots to criticise Reed Timmer. Keep it up man. I will pay extra taxes to make sure you always get rescued

I've always wanted to be a meteorologist, (I've always had a fascination with weather). I actually planned to take classes to learn to predict and maybe even do a little storm chasing.

But if this is how you guys treat each other, then I have completely lost all respect for everyone in the weather service. You're acting like a bunch of teenagers in high school, bullying others who don't comply exactly to your standards.

Disgusting.

Thy... Did you even bother to actually read any of the BLOG entry or comments? First, there's no "weather service" involved here whatsoever. In fact, as already stated above, many of the commenters aren't even meteorologists.

It's not about complying to standards, it's about safety and common sense. Apparently there's too little concern for either in some quarters, and I and others who care about the hobby of storm observing absolutely will not hesitate to call attention to such problems. It is not bullying in any way, shape or form. It's holding people accountable. That's the difference. Understand yet?

For anyone to say that Reed should die because of his actions is ridiculous. It is dangerous, but it is his choice. Do you people ever stop to think that his work may help with the future of storm warning systems and protection for people that may be in the path of these storms? The more we learn we can learn the better educated everyone can be about storms. Just becaue [sic] something is dangerous, doesn't mean it should be ignored. Also if you don't like it, turn the channel or don't read about it, we have freedom of speech and expression, Reed is a grown up and can do what he wants, and so can you people. If you don't like it don't watch it. I would never storm chase because I am too afraid, I think it is great that someone is willing to risk it to possibly help with everyones future. Keep up the good work and good luck Reed!

I agree with Taylor on one important factor: No chaser *deserves* to die. Such an event would not be good for them, their family, or the storm observing community as a whole. I do believe, however, that it is inevitable, and that the mania to capture XTREME VIDEO (someone else's term, not mine) is going to hasten the inevitable.

As I mentioned above, I consider the "Darwin" comment by Chuck to be over the top. Still, that's his view and he's entitled to it. Deal with it. Some of our commenters are getting way too fixated on that, too, which misses the point.

I disagree with Taylor that the XTREME VIDEO mania helps the warning process. The warnings are happening anyway, with or without such chasers. This is thanks to conscientious and safe storm observers and sharp warning forecasters communicating calmly and cooperatively together in the Integrated Warning System.

The ego and greed driven hyper-competition among some chasers -- to grab XTREME VIDEO, slap it on YouTube and bask in the glory -- does absolutely, positively nothing for public safety or warnings. Indeed, it harms the process by encouraging others to compete with it or risk not having such "good stuff."

Yes, I love freedom of expression and will continue to both encourage and utilize that right. So keep expressing. As you can see, I'll allow dissenting views.

As an aside: Some of the submissions I've rejected have been absolute crap in every way. I reserve the right to reject profane and/or horribly written trash from those who can't compose a coherent sentence, who don't understand that a SHIFT key actually exists; and I have exercised that right several times already. Naturally, such rejected spew has been coming entirely from a vocal gaggle of semi-literate apologists for XTREME VIDEO yahoo behavior. Those folks should be working hard on obtaining their G.E.D., not bothering with BLOG comments.

"Indeed, it harms the process by encouraging others to compete with it or risk not having such "good stuff.""

IMO 75% of criticism leveled at "irresponsible" chasers isn't made out of regard for the ostensible "yahoos" or those who may follow them, but simply out of a selfish concern that the "xtreme" (I really hate that term, even used ironically...David Cross, who generally annoys the living hell out of me, has a pretty funny rant about it) material these guys get will somehow diminish the worth of their own. Oversimplistic? Probably. A cop out? Possibly, but no more of one than the logically hollow response that always follows an accusation of elitism. Either way, it's always tough to disregard when you drop comments like the above into your argument, laughable quotations around "good" or not.

Regarding your retort to Joel Taylor, it's always best to stay away from accusing others of failing to make a reasoned debate when your own ordered list of responses has exactly zero logically correct arguments. It's also a good idea to take into account that one has a blog or a website before accusing anyone of egomania or self promotion, especially when you actually take the time to screen the comments people leave.

On a lighter note, I can't decide which is funnier...the last paragraph of the original post being read in the voice of Daffy Duck, or that of an 18th century English dandy. I think you should read it aloud in both voices and then set it in the background of this page in a continuous loop. It certainly shouldn't detract from anything else you have to do, since you apparently transcribe every written response while inserting [Sic] to assure us that the typos of those who apparently don't have as much time on their hands are theirs and theirs alone.

I'm going to go check out the rest of your website now, as I have a strong suspicion that you aren't half the pretentious jerk you come off as in this thread (you definitely seem passionate about chasing and weather) but I just wanted to drop my two cents so they could be magically transmuted into dung.

We had some mildly intense convection here last night. Figured I’d latch onto the inspiration spawned by that and introduce Need Glimmer to my good, but not so merciful bud, Meso Smackievelli. Speak of the Lucifer of words himself—in his impetuousness to have at Need (he doesn’t care for that guy at all), Smackievelli just clocked me in the retina with a Big Bertha driver. That said, I’m going to hand off the keyboard to him and go look, with the eye that still has sight, for some ice.

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Vorticular wishes to my peeps here on Weather Or Not. I’m back, and I’m here to talk to and about that shilly-shallying picador, Need Glimmer.

Has there ever been anyone in chasing who so coveted the spotlight the way this feckless pinhead does? What a rabid need to be seen, heard, acknowledged, accepted. Need Glimmer. Are there no limits to what this attention trollop will do to garner notice? Our resident purveyor of spastic chase commentary would hurl himself ass first into violent rotation if it meant another three-minute spot with John Roberts. I mean, Need is a guy so immoderate in his maniacal spasms that you'd think he was out there shagging the tornado. This deranged munson would sprint commando into a tube, humming the theme to Gone With The Wind, if it resulted in some, errr, national exposure. As long as Need gets his Glimmer, the hair's-breadth escapes from the hooded agent of death will continue. Here’s a typical exchange between your average media hack and Need:

“Take a look at this. Some amazing footage shot by a storm chaser in Oklahoma. Looks like something straight out of Twister. Here with me now is the man responsible for the incredible spectacle you’re witnessing—Need Glimmer. Good morning, Need. Thanks for being with us. Wow, were you guys ever close.”

“Oh, man. Big Mama! Were we ever! It was like, whoa, so crazy, dude. We sucker-punched the core and there it was, this violent tube. The storm threw it at us outta left field, like a bolo punch! Oh, nutty ass! What a rush it was, broham! C’mon, lick that palm and shoot me some slappage. Yeah, that’s what I’m talking about.”

“So, you didn’t intend to be that close? It was more by accident? And you had to react fast?”

“Oh yeah, bra. It was like totally tubular . . . Tublular. Ha! It really was. As you can see, I’m as good at word play as I am at maintaining a rational distance from a tornado. So, yeah, it was sweet tubeage, el duderino. We had to like back outta there fast. My boi with me was doing butt Picasso all over his Fruit of The Looms, so I tagged the Go pedal in reverse and got us the hail outta there . . . Hail. Ha! I’m like so pimp daddy at these chasing witticisms. Doesn’t my frazzled, disjointed commentary like totally rock?! Anywho, I wanted to get closer, maybe throw a little kiss on that screaming biotch. But my boi was about out of manties with a weekend of chasing ahead of us. So I drove the car like 40 MPH in reverse, never taking my eyes off the tornado ahead to watch the road behind. Who’s more mac daddy than me, huh?”

“What’s the draw for you? Why do you chase tornadoes? Is it the thrill? Being close?”

“Duuuuude, did I say that? Have you been like listening to anything I’ve said or whatever? Isn’t it obvious I do it to save lives, to further the science of severe storms, to conduct responsible field research in the name of advancing like warning time and stuff? I'm like a candidate for a PhDork in meteorology, okay? I'm also a candidate for a frontal leucotomy, but they're not sure yet whether I own enough native gray matter to even make it worth the effort. You know, though, I’m still the quintessential academic. The adrenaline of chasing and the notoriety and whatnot—that doesn’t interest me. Yeah, it’s all about saving people and contributing to the greater good and crap. If you watch enough of my videos, which you can do anytime you’d like by just searching on my name—that’s Need Glimmer, spelled N E E D G L I M M E R—on YouBoob or by visiting www.tornadotards.com, I think you’ll see that my actions confirm my deep commitment to the science and to being a responsible role model for future storm chasers everywhere. Again, that’s N E E D G L I M M E R. Need Glimmer. www.tornadotards.com”

“So where does this tornado rate amongst all those you’ve seen?”

“Oh, let me tell you, broseph, when it like clocked the silo head on and then roared through the farmhouse like a buzz saw, hooooaaaaaahhhhh, duuuuuuude, it was like beyond bitchin’! Holy seizure-like stormgasm!”

“Save lives you said?”

“Yeah, you gotta save those lives. Be compassionate and all that hooey.”

So, that brings us to now. The poster boy for wild daftness and unapologetic self-promotion seeks to clear his spotless name, justify his sparkling conduct. How rich. Need, you do realize, don't you, that you are the single most embarrassing shade of moron to ever color the landscape of chasing? You’re working toward a doctorate, you boast? What in? Dimwittedness?

Is all this profligate exertion of mind-boggling idiocy a genuine personality trait? If not, you must realize that preying on the ignorance of the brain-dead masses doesn’t exactly conceal your agenda. Point in case: you can’t Google the name Need Glimmer these days without dozens of YouBoob links being returned in the search results. What a choice archetype of chasing you are. Such an example you set for the scores inspired to interest by events such as the Greenburg, KS EF5—those inclined to watch you jackass around the Plains and, based on that, confirm in their own perspective that Twister really was an accurate portrayal of chasing. Don't tell me, on 5/4, after you were through playing chicken with that atmospheric Cuisinart, you boned Jo in the shower at Aunt Meg's, right? Or was it Dusty, and that's why he so emphatically refers to you as "The Xtreme!"?

Congratulations. You are singlehandedly responsible for mangling the public perception of chasing and chasers. Good show, Need. Personally, I’d rather be shot out of a Howitzer into a grease fire than be lumped in with you. If we measured the magnitude of your imbecility by the scale we chasers assign to visually assessing tornado shape, you are most definitely a wedge.

So fixated as you are on impressing the world with your hankering for the Xtreme, why not:

- base jump head first from the top bunk in Mommy’s house?

- stand out on I35, loop a rope around your neck, then lasso the other end onto a rapidly traveling semi?

- lay down on a mound of broken glass and have one of the other Stormbolism dweebs back over you a few times?

- leap into the gears of a combine?

- challenge a grizzly bear to a swipe-at-the-jugular contest.

- Perch on a telephone pole in the midst of an especially intense barrage of CG.

- leap from the top of said telephone poll in full spread eagle onto the iron bars of the electric fence below (I figure this one should ensure you'll never procreate).

- Pose as an offended gay sailor at a Neo-Nazi hate rally.

Any of these would, more or less, achieve the same result as your efforts in tornado pursuit. Now, on to some of your attempted murders on profundity:

"Several students of hers approached my mother this morning and told her that people were "wishing Reed would die from Darwin". Chuck Doswell ought to be ashamed of himself..and should show some professionalism. I have no problem with him stating he wants me to die to my face...or even sending me an email...but posting it all over message boards where young children can read them is ridiculous."

Oh, boo-hoo. What a soppy, fragile little milquetoast you are. Is that the best you could do? You had nowhere else to flee but to such a weak and unmanly comeback? Oh, whoaisReed, let us join hands and weep for the malicious desecration of the children. How pathetic. How Timmerous (that word, in case you didn’t know, is typically spelled ‘timorous’, but the creative liberties were simply too humorous not to take).

You want to know what’s really ridiculous? You near a tornado. Have you ever listened to yourself in the heat of one of your customary close calls? You sound like a disturbing cross between Sam Kinison in the midst of a screaming fit and a baboon with hemorrhoids. You're a far better example of ridiculous than the woeful reach quoted above.

Newsflash, Daisy Jane, if parents don't want their children reading what they perceive to be "inappropriate Internet content", it is their responsibility to screen what sites their children are permitted to visit. Should poor, unsuspecting Bobby happen upon the verbal wrecking ball being swung at you, that's the parent's fault, not anybody’s here. You also need not look any further than a reflective surface if you’re fishing to lay ancillary blame. Here’s a scene intimately familiar to you:

The camera’s rolling. You and the rest of Team Buffoonery are one cyclonic revolution away from being drilled into unrecognizable scraps of human waste product. Just before coming for you, the whirling beast disintegrates a farmhouse and a barn. But neither the peril of the situation nor the decimation of property and life distracts Need Glimmer from his frenzied brand of enthusiasm, irrepressible in its transparent desideratum to engender salable dramatic flare. Oh no. You make precisely no effort to bridle the unassailable nature of a jackass. Rather, like a looping reel of The Greatest Hits of Tourette’s Fits, you launch into your spot-on imitation of a flap-gum donkey with a watermelon-sized methamphetamine suppository rammed north up the southern access. Could it be that obscured vision is responsible for your habitual attempts to be shredded by a tornado? I mean, I could see the windshield becoming quite smeared and blurry, what with you spitting rubber-room outbursts all over it.

Yeah, you’re a stellar role model for the children. Hide this vile blog from them! Because they’re so much better off watching you try to be the Steve Irwin of chasing. 'Kriki! Watch me drive right into this tornado, kids!'

Do the world a favor: grab a copy of Nabakov’s most famous work and do your challenged best to comprehend his underlying message on hypocrisy. Maybe it’ll ignite a scintilla of illumination in that dull and dreary part of your noggin that hasn’t seen the light of logic and sensibility since you wrongly analogized the two on your SAT.

If you don’t grasp the loony-brained ridiculousness of what you and your band of deeply aggrieved lickspittles are whimpering in response, I can arrive at but one conclusion: that you're every bit as obtuse as you come off in your Tornado Knievel spectacles. You posting that doltish letter to your mommy is nothing but a weaksauce admission of having not the first idea of how to respond in kind to your detractors. After all, what does a feeble little wounded ego do if the bullies are knocking him around the school yard? First, he prays for a quick reprieve from his Cryptorchidism, then he runs and cries to his mama. Sound familiar? What’s next? You going to enlist mommy to show up here and admonish all us big bad brutes for putting such a harsh, unlubricated verbal ream on her precious little Need?

Aside from mixing more convincing concrete to foundation your arguments, you would also be well served to cultivate a mode of expression that exceeds frail and lifeless. Next, work hard on more noble, less self-serving ways to show the world that your journey toward a doctorate isn’t for naught. All these pretentious, compensatory antics accomplish is to establish you as the chafed ass end of the chase community. I for one don’t appreciate having to cringe in embarrassment every time I have to explain to a Weather Channel-watching non-chaser the mindless behavior of that “Need Glimmer guy”. You’re a putrid representation of the average chaser, yet by way of your concerted Ooo, Oooo Look At Me! campaign, the respectable folks given to this avocation are forced into comparison with your attention-whoring idiocy.

Think of it in these simple terms: It’s like claiming that ‘1/20th of your average annual income’ is dedicated to ordering tough guy stuff from, say, Cabela’s or maybe www.I'maninja.com, when actually, trying and failing to be surreptitious about it, you spend hours a day flouncing around the bra and panties clearance table over at Victoria’s Secret.

In other words, quit trying so hard to convince the crowd that you’re something other than what we clearly know you to be. If you’d just chill out and give up the farce, you’d be far less likely to make such a humiliating circus of yourself every time you try your best to collide with a tornado. Well, maybe not. But at least you’d earn a modicum of respect for no longer passing yourself off as having a Mother Teresa aspect to your chasing persona. Especially when you’re so much more like what Timothy Treadwell was to the Kodiak Bears (a kook, a nuisance, and irreparably damaging, in case you’re unfamiliar with him).

I certainly don’t wish Darwinian justice on you, but it’s worth mentioning that Timothy Treadwell ended up bear scat. Persist on this course of being winner of multiple gold medals in the Idiot Olympics, and I won’t be surprised to hear one day that you ended up debris.

"However, I have zero respect for him as person based on my personal contact with him, and his death wishes on message boards."

Oh no you didn’t. You're not even trying to imply a lack of respect for Chuck as a person, are you? Tell me you're not. Man, you're just as adept at making a moron of yourself in the written word as you are on video. Has your delusion mutated into a belief that, as a person, you’re actually deserving of respect? I mean, what have you really accomplished in life but to become a master of busting into the convulsions of a drooling retard any time a tornado is near and the camera is on? Have you even hatched the first flicker of a clue in that empty neural coffin you pass off as a head? Are you aware of the level of respect you command in the chase community?

Let me break it down for you: majority regard paints you a stammering, vacuous, common sense-challenged putz. What prevaricatory drivel was it that you spewed on your Weather Channel interview last week: “My main objective in chasing is to warn local NWS offices and save lives?” You’re serious? C’mon, Need, you couldn’t possibly think that you’d achieve buy-in for that amongst the droves of decent folks, in and out of the chase community, who know the real story. Let me help you out with a more sensible and accurate version of that laughable line of crap: “Nothing gives me greater pleasure in chasing than to act like a babbling schmuck when I see the ‘record’ light flashing”.

You don’t have to thank me for articulating your thoughts more precisely than you’re able. It’s just what I do. I’m a giver.

"Your son seems like a wonderful young man and you must be very proud."

Proud of what exactly? Need’s keen talent for endangering himself and all those who share a vehicle with him on a chase? His propensity for unblushing self-promotion beneath the ruse of portraying himself as hero to the public? The repeated inability to differentiate enthusiasm from recklessness? A craving so powerful for attention that it supersedes Need’s best efforts to demonstrate even a particle of common sense? His distracting of search and rescue resources to come pluck him from the consequences of his foolishness? That when he starts frothing at the mouth and speaking in indecipherable idiot tongues 10 feet from a tornado, he draws admiration for the Down Syndrome individual who beat the odds and chases in spite of an IQ that's south of 40?

The word was "proud", right? I wonder how the letter's author would define "colossal disgrace".

"I'm afraid the yahoo opponents will have to DEAL with hours and hours of XTREME video from TornadoVideos.net for at least the next half century!!! "

That may be true, since you appear determined to, given your statement above, spend your whole life perpetuating the image of a dopey tool who actually basks in the embarrassment of his every premature stormjaculation. It's also true that you're going to have to endure some 50 years of being thrashed, by the likes of yours truly, into the scattered fragments of a career screwup. Unfortunately, a chase isn't the only thing that can result in a bust. People often do, too. Hey, you wanted the spotlight. Kind of blows, doesn't it, when the beam of exposure falls on what everyone knows to be true about you but you?

Part with the denial, Need. We both know 50 years is optimistic, maybe even delusional. Like I said, I don't wish a Darwinian end on you; I want you around so I can continue having fun chafing your Tinkerbell ego. But let's face it, if a tornado doesn't get you sometime soon, I have no doubt the reclusive, sociopathic farmer—who's cornfield you crashed into while trying to flee from your own stupidity—is going to drag your battered carcass out of the wreck and finish you off with his top of the line Deere grain thresher.

Now, go play Explore The Frenchman's Cove with Boring R, then drive off happily ever after into the tornado together.

Boring R wrote:

"Regarding your retort to Joel Taylor, it's always best to stay away from accusing others of failing to make a reasoned debate when your own ordered list of responses has exactly zero logically correct arguments."

So says the latest pseudo-intellectual arrival to harbor in Need's chocolate starfish. When you're done trying to wow the crowd with your astounding logician's brain, I'd snatch your ineffective attempt to be profound and backpedal into an advisable retreat. Refrain from launching another loutish blitzkrieg until you've struggled your way to this realization: your very bewildered post suffers a paucity of argument identical to the post that attracted your accusation.

You endeavor to impress with an unconvincing arrogance. Arrogance is fine within the context of smack, if you know how to properly wield it, which you don't. What's worse is that your end product wasn't even remotely close to smack, much less effective smack, despite that you flashed a befuddled desire for it to be.

Your forced hubris sets out to simultaneously condescend and make it appear that you're a transmission with many more gears than the clunky shift boxes that loiter here. Problem is, your indecision in presentation renders all that snazzy ascendancy a wardrobe of fine silk that looks as though it's been hung too long in a closet full of moths. Do you want to be funny? Do you want to be hermitic? Do you want to be both? Or was it your intention to be neither, which is precisely what you accomplished?

Since I'm feeling slightly munificent today, I'll do you the solid of some free advice: To avoid the future humiliation of someone spotting and pointing out your flubbed and ultimately failed efforts, don't exceed your abilities by admonishing others for that of which you yourself are guilty. You didn't realize you were guilty of hypocrisy when you wrote that drab stack of words, but, then, that's what I meant by not trespassing on ground that lies beyond your farthest reaching capacities.

You see, Boring, you didn't argue anything. All you did was chloroform us with a bunch of vapid opinions and a barely JV attempt at smack. It you want to write smack, write smack! I won't hold it against you. That's my preference. If you're going to do it, though, do it right, do it well, do it with flare. Your somewhere-in-between, muddled mess that strains to be smack, but doesn't ever quite get there, is merely verbal anesthesia.

On one hand, you tried the patronizing approach, which would have been fine (well, better), if you had the first clue of knowing how to stitch in some humor amidst the serious stuff. Since it's clear that you weren't sure which would be more effective, you just cut it right down the middle—the first half serious, the second an abrupt transition into a crippled attempt at smack, the author of which, you, proves that, at some point, Lennie Small and Helen Keller must have taken to bonking each other with conceptive results. If you want to craft smack, at least the effective variety, learn how it's done first. It's evident that, presently, you don't have a clue.

Here you tried your clearly inexperienced hand at a little poke of concluding shite talk:

"On a lighter note, I can't decide which is funnier...the last paragraph of the original post being read in the voice of Daffy Duck, or that of an 18th century English dandy. I think you should read it aloud in both voices and then set it in the background of this page in a continuous loop. It certainly shouldn't detract from anything else you have to do, since you apparently transcribe every written response while inserting [Sic] to assure us that the typos of those who apparently don't have as much time on their hands are theirs and theirs alone.

I'm going to go check out the rest of your website now, as I have a strong suspicion that you aren't half the pretentious jerk you come off as in this thread (you definitely seem passionate about chasing and weather) but I just wanted to drop my two cents so they could be magically transmuted into dung."

Is that supposed to be smack? If so, it sucks more than Jenna Jamison. More than a suction vortice. More than anything manufactured by Oreck. Did you actually imply a fusion of voice between an irritating cartoon duck with a squamous cell carcinoma in his throat and that half-a-fag Prince Edward from Braveheart? You're serious? That sophomoric juxtaposition is little more than your overtaxed brain squealing for help as it grinds out its best, but still laughably inadequate, effort. And then you shove off into trying to invent gimpy excuses for the dolt patrol, the starkly challenged lurking among us who were threatened with expulsion in grade school if they came within twenty statute miles of a spelling bee.

I imagine you were one of those dolts, which is why you served up your unsolicited defense of them. Tell us, Boring. Why does the manifest ineptitude of correctly piecing a simple word together strike such a cord in you? You blamed it on time, or lack thereof. Bwaaaah! That's like saying the Palestinians are a primitive, barbaric people, compared to the Israelis, because they haven't had enough time in the last 2,000 years to evolve in equivalent parallel to their Hebrew neighbors.

Bottom line: Some people have it. Some don't. Think before so quickly running to the defense of the sect to which you belong. While you're at it, quit butchering what might have been good smack if written by someone far more capable. Maybe next time you'll conceive something that rises in creativity beyond reference to your intimate knowledge of dandyish young men from England.

To the rest of the bumbling, mealymouthed sycophants with their sniffers firmly embedded in Need’s corn chute:

Need is doing fine on his own making a decided ass of himself. He doesn’t need your help with that and Weather Or Not doesn’t need to become a hive of dorks courtesy of all of you. Put your Go Need! pom-poms away and go pick up a copy of Roger Van Oech’s Innovative Whack Pack. Once you learn a few tricks for being creative, here are your instructions going forward:

Break dock from Need’s bung and go work on conceiving your first ever original thought. Then come back and share. If it’s not completely bovine, you may be permitted another comment devoid of a notable thrashing in response (bovine can be defined as any reference to Need’s Xtreme dumbassery that you dolts attempt to legitimize as a worthwhile contribution to chasing, meteorology, and humankind).

Now, scurry off devoted Glimmer proselytes. Go burn your dearth of mental balsa and get back to us with the unremarkable results.

Tornadically brutish and unwise to oppose,

The Third Coming of Meso Smackievelli (inspired by and dedicated to Need Glimmer).

Haha, my god...that looks like someone locked a bunch of those Jim Rome nerds in a room for a week with a thesaurus, a bunch of coke, and a typewriter.

You just wasted a god awful amount of time repeating yourself. You apparently don't like Reed, feel he's not intelligent, are upset that he gets a lot of attention, apparently think I'm sycophantic (I've known of the guy for just under a week) and poor at talking "smack" (probably true, I generally like people), and wanted to force those points home by recycling them 80 times. Just so we're on the same page, I'm not trying to talk "smack", insult anyone, or win any awards for rhetoric, and I'm confused as to how my original post was pretentious...I've got my mouth wrapped around the half of my buffalo chicken wrap that's not on my shirt right now and I'm halfway out the door, so I'm not exactly highfalutin' around this joint. I just wanted to voice my opinion, and I did it with relative brevity, which I hope to god you learn to do. Mostly I'm just really confused as to what exactly there is to respond to in that massive blurb, and I'm terrified that the Jim Rome subculture is rapidly approaching a Star Trekish threshold of critical dorkiness that it'll never recover from.

Boring:

I'm disappointed. You're already going France on me? What, you didn't think my keen Smackievellian eyes would be able to peer right through your embarrassingly trite save face routine? You tried the oft used 'I don't spend all my time on here' escape, yet your response was delivered with such loyal expediency. Na, you don't pass your day keeping tabs on this blog. And Need thinks he's going to make worthwhile contributions to research. You've only known him a week, but surely you must already see how perfect you are for each other.

So says Boring:

"It's not that I don't have the first clue of how to respond, I just don't want to. And, and, and I have to hit it anyway. Yeah, yeah that's it--I'm halfway out the door. Goin' over to hang out at the local hole. Cause I don't waste time on blogs. I have a real man's social life. So what if the place is called the Blue Oyster Club. What of it? The chaps I wear aren't always buttless. And besides, me and my buddies get to watch Jim Rome over there on the big screen. Rome's the man. He knows how to work the exclamation 'Dammit, Jim, I'm a Vulcan!' into a hackneyed and unfunny analysis of a limply-conceived social stratum. Ha. See, I got you, you damn dirty Smackievelli."

Let's examine, in summary, how you did in response and what we've learned about you:

- You admitted that you're confused and are lost for how to return fire. Shocking.

- You're not trying to smack, yet that's precisely what you again attempted to craft. And you still don't even realize it. More confusion.

- You don't understand the simple distinction between pretentious and erratic, nor do you comprehend the necessity of choosing one voice and sticking to it. (Then again, I'm sure you don't know the difference between an appositive and an antecedent, either. Nor why some prefer the ETA over the RUC. And especially why Ohio State always torpedoes Michigan's season.)

- The best reference-based humor you can muster revolves around some drip whose most memorable smack was the one a mediocre Rams quarterback bounced off his face.

- You eat fried poultry with the skin still attached and really should don a bib when you do so.

- You pray to God for brevity so, maybe, you can have roughly the same chance as a bleeding seal in a shark tank of straining out a worthy reciprocal take.

Keep not trying to write smack while trying to write smack, Boring. And do better next time. You're living up to the name I've given you far too compliantly.

I'm flattered that someone would think I am David Fogel in disguise, because his linguistic aptitude far exceeds mine or anyone else I've read of late, especially Corey R. Alas, my erroneously presumptuous correspondent, David Fogel is a real chaser -- very real indeed, as authentic as the tough New Jersey streets from which he hails. Ask around.

Meanwhile, regarding David's masterful linguistic liquefaction of our recent Great Lakes guest's hollow contrivances...

Step back and take lessons as Smackievelli Fogel takes one woefully overmatched Spartan to the woodshed of creative writing, delivering a schooling the likes of which won't be seen elsewhere unless Anatoly Karpov draws Paris Hilton in his next chess tournament. This is entertaining.

NOTE: Reed has *kindly* requested that his posts be removed, and this has been done.

"It appears that "David Fogel" relates intelligence with the number of adjectives he can pack into a sentence and still maintain grammatical correctness."

I guess that's the best response we can hope for from the Corky Thatcher of chasing. Here's a novel suggestion: Conceive your own crippled retorts. Boring already laid claim to that one.

>

You know what I actually like about you, Need? Every time you write a response, you confirm the consensus opinion that toilets are the bearers of your greatest profundities. And you don't mind at all that very widespread perception of you. So, props for knowing that you're a moron, admitting that you're a moron, and agreeing with the countless folks who often accuse you of being a moron. Good on you for going it unafraid to be what and who you are.

As for outlook text: I'm sure we'd all be eager to see you give it your thick-witted best if you think you can do better. Unfortunately, there are problems with your 'efficient' writing style that ensure you'll ever be given the chance.

Along your road to nowhere that you refer to as 'working toward a doctorate', did not even one professor take the time to teach you about continuity of thought and the concept of transition? 'How is wicked Smackievelli going to make me look obtuse this time?' you ask yourself? Here's how:

You start off preaching about the poor wording of SPC Outlooks, then you dive right into implying that you know who I am. Need! You disjointed fool. Good writing requires clear connections. Writing 101: To get to the other side, you must first build a bridge. Duh! How can you serve up criticisms of someone else's scribbling aptitude when you don't even have a handle on the basics yourself? You with me? Or do you need another metaphor or two? Show, don't tell. You've heard that before? Your first assignment is to construct a single sentence that paints effective imagery. Once you have a rudimentary grasp on that, understanding how to respond to me should become a bit easier for you.

But wait. Not only are we treated to your jumbled flow and lifeless prose, but you're also lapsing into the same confusion that afflicts you when you play Pin the Asshat on a Tornado. You spend a good deal of your life stumbling around in a drunken-like haze of incoherence, don't you? Yeah, I write outlooks all the way from the East Coast. You've got it all figured out, Clouseau.

Don't get me wrong, I can a turn a phrase, but I'm not nearly as Meteorologically intellectual as the Jedi of forecasting to whom you think this name belongs. You can only wish your dopey ass owned even half the skill, knowledge, and respect of the dude you aimed your emasculated little insult at. Let me enlighten you about what you really know. Remember the aforementioned bearer of your greatest profundities? Next time you spend a little time on it, have a look at what you leave behind. That's what you know.

>

Why not just pucker up to a bullhorn and scream 'I can't respond to what's further above my head than a 300 millibar jet!" Paraphrase it yourself, dullard. Oh wait, you can't. You'd have responded in kind if you owned the capacity to do so. But, as you've proven while chasing, in your writing, and in just about your every action in life, I'm sure, you don't have it to hang with the big guns. That's why you push so hard to be noticed. Why in trying to carve out your place, all you've actually accomplished is to become the inspiration for a tsunami of mockery. For example, when dorktards with designs on being assimilated into the Glimmer collective demand of your current following, 'bring us to your leader,' you obviously find yourself entertaining recruits.

You're out of your depth, Need. But don't let that stop you from sticking around. You're fast becoming everyone's favorite verbal punching bag. How does it feel to know you're finally good for something?

Bwaaahhh!!! Need's overloaded microprocessor (and the word that requires emphasis here is 'micro') really did think I was you, or you were me, or, uhhh . . . Hell, who knows. I don't think there's anyone who can splash color on the fabric of Need's amazing confusion, least of all him.

Did we really run him off with such relative ease? Shame. Smackievelli had only cracked the doors to the flood gates of verbal hell.

I guess Need deserves due proppage for being sapient enough to know when it's a good idea to turn tail and flee. Finally. Now, if only he can apply this transitory moment of good sense to his exploits in chasing.

Guess being up close and personal with Smackievelli and the proprietor of this site, the Maharajah of Mesocyclone, was much scarier to Need than doing the Lambada with a tube. Go figure. Maybe the Glimmer Man learned something here today.

Anyone know what the line in Vegas is on him making a return with a fresh batch of supportive letters to Mommy?

-"It's not that I don't have the first clue of how to respond, I just don't want to. And, and, and I have to hit it anyway. Yeah, yeah that's it--I'm halfway out the door. Goin' over to hang out at the local hole. Cause I don't waste time on blogs. I have a real man's social life. So what if the place is called the Blue Oyster Club. What of it? The chaps I wear aren't always buttless. And besides, me and my buddies get to watch Jim Rome over there on the big screen. Rome's the man. He knows how to work the exclamation 'Dammit, Jim, I'm a Vulcan!' into a hackneyed and unfunny analysis of a limply-conceived social stratum. Ha. See, I got you, you damn dirty Smackievelli."

You just described my entire Friday night with frightening accuracy.

- You admitted that you're confused and are lost for how to return fire. Shocking.

I can't retort to an absence of points. Try playing tennis without a ball sometime.

-- You're not trying to smack, yet that's precisely what you again attempted to craft. And you still don't even realize it. More confusion.

Like I said, I like people. If I ever meet you I'll probably like you (as long as you don't talk like you write, in which case I'll be dead before you even finish introducing yourself). I don't go out of my way to create contrived insults when I'm trying to make a point. There's nothing contrived about comparing your initial post to the calls people make to that show every day...they sound the same, and they both involve someone spending a lot of time on something that's really not very important and that probably will be embarrassing at a later point in life.

-- You don't understand the simple distinction between pretentious and erratic, nor do you comprehend the necessity of choosing one voice and sticking to it. (Then again, I'm sure you don't know the difference between an appositive and an antecedent, either. Nor why some prefer the ETA over the RUC. And especially why Ohio State always torpedoes Michigan's season.)

I probably shift voice too much when I make message board posts. I'm not really a stickler on writing form in blog posts. I can't believe you would ever confuse that cut rate 8-man "program" with the juggernaut that is MSU football.

-- The best reference-based humor you can muster revolves around some drip whose most memorable smack was the one a mediocre Rams quarterback bounced off his face.

One of the single greatest moments in ESPN history.

-- You eat fried poultry with the skin still attached and really should don a bib when you do so.

With pride.

-- You pray to God for brevity so, maybe, you can have roughly the same chance as a bleeding seal in a shark tank of straining out a worthy reciprocal take.

And so I don't have to take bathroom breaks while reading your posts.

I can't respond to what's not there. Your initial post managed to stretch approximately 5 sentences worth of content into about 3 pages of redundancy. You should strongly consider applying as Press Secretary in the next administration.

Gee, that's too bad, Rogelio. I had forgotten about this thread but Señor Smackievelli reminded me of it this morning. I arrived a few minutes too late, unfortunately.

Nature separates humans into two groups, Rogelio: those who pwn and those who are pwned. What we saw here on your blog is a textbook example of this process. Pwnboy Timmer went limp once Señor Smackievelli started playing Whack-A-Mole, so he became French and got back on the short bus.

You're right, it was entertaining to witness this brutal beatdown. We can only hope that Ma Nature will do the same to Pwnboy and their kind at some point in the future. Scavengers have to eat too, ya know!

BC:

Sorry you missed the fun, man. All we've got left is one of Need's most recent sycophants. He goes by the handle of Boring. As you'll see when you snooze through his writings here, he's basically your average stylistically-challenged mauler of the language. That, and I get the sense, from his constant failures to be profound, that one of these days he's going to sip from a goblet filled with hemlock or something to give a very forgettable legacy some small chance to be remembered. Guess it takes all kinds.

You know what, Boring, you've made a worthwhile contribution to society. No longer do the insomniacs of the world have to waste their time playing the sounds of the ocean or spraying lavender all over their pillow. All they need do is pick up anything you've written and sleep will be theirs at last!

You write like you recently hatched from the grad school egg. You’re all hollow confidence and labored pomposity, the telltale mark of a wannabe academic who’s all show and no go. Sure, you may get 50 or 60 miles to the gallon, but not a damn thing happens when you tag the gas. Enlighten us. That cheaply framed piece of parchment with a few undecipherable signatures hanging on the wall in your crapper—it entitles the sluggish-minded to suddenly be wicked smahht? That how it is?

Smackievelli survey says: Dork!

You seem a mildly intelligent specimen. I figured you would have latched onto the dynamic by now. I hate it when my confidence in someone's abilities is misplaced. Since my chase vacation begins in just a few days and I'm in a good mood, I'll be nice and enlighten you.

Smack doesn't exist for your sake. It doesn't exist for mine, either. Nor does it exist for brevity's sake, or verbosity's, or the 18 year old ripper's next door who you'd love to fertilize, but who you fear would mock you for being so many years older and not having the first clue of how to operate her equipment. Smack exists for smack's sake. You're strutting around in the mucus green suit that mama got off the $19.99 rack at Syms for your high school debate club conventions. Here comes the enlightenment:

This isn't a debate, Boring. This is you verbally getting your ass tanned and flopping around like an epileptic in grand mal as you desperately try to birth something even marginally competitive or entertaining. There's no absence of points. Just an absence of your ability to keep up. But don't feel bad. There are levels in life for a reason.

Let's have a ganders at the pathetic attempts at smack that you don't understand are pathetic attempts at smack:

"Try playing tennis without a ball sometime."

" (as long as you don't talk like you write, in which case I'll be dead before you even finish introducing yourself)"

"they sound the same, and they both involve someone spending a lot of time on something that's really not very important and that probably will be embarrassing at a later point in life."

"And so I don't have to take bathroom breaks while reading your posts."

"I can't respond to what's not there. Your initial post managed to stretch approximately 5 sentences worth of content into about 3 pages of redundancy. You should strongly consider applying as Press Secretary in the next administration."

What do all of the above have in common? They all attempt to lob insult. And, for a gold star, can you tell me what insult is often referred to in the context of what you're trying to accomplish? Very good, Snoring! 'Smack' is the correct answer.

Oh, you're definitely trying your limp best to conceive reciprocal shite slinging. You're just unfunny and otherwise failing miserably at it. So, your best hope to put together an effective save face/run and hide combo is to pretend that your issues with properly managing voice are confined to blog posts, and that there's nothing worthy of your response. That puss out might work with the average Wolverine, but it doesn't save you from creatures meaner and higher up on the food chain. My trained Smackievellian peepers are quite adept at spotting a man with female genitalia. Not that I blame you for sprinting in the other direction with such eunuch-like urgency; if I saw a tornado coming for me and had no other choice, I'd dive into a ditch, too.

Thing is, the superhuman vigor of your retreat makes it seem probable that one (or several) of your buds from the Blue Oyster Club thought it would be a good idea to try planting habaneros in your corn cavern. If this is going to become a regular practice of you and your Rome is Flaming buddies, please say so. I'll get my broker on the phone, stat, and dump all my money into Tucks.

In conclusion, I submit that we focus on Boring's most recent embarrassing admissions. I, Smackievelli, was kind enough to write up a sequence of dialogue to portray a night in the life of our last remaining punching bag, Boring. In that dialogue, I demonstrate quite clearly—to everyone but Boring apparently—that he hangs out at a place called The Blue Oyster Club and wears chaps that are sometimes buttless. His response to this: "You just described my entire Friday night with frightening accuracy." Coupled with his pride in messily gorging himself with the preferred finger food of the typical sports bar cretin, we now know this much more about Boring:

- He's a grotesque porker neither ashamed of his vile diet nor the 'fatty' status it precipitates.

- His LDLs and triglycerides imply a blockage of arterial plaque that exceeds the total volume of Lake Michigan.

- He suffers from chronic sore throats due to the frequent (but willing) assault on his tonsils.

Boring, there's no chance you would like me if we ever met. Not that we ever would. I don't roll with tubby dullards whose favorite pastime is mining the stink abyss. And if you ever did stalk me to an end of us actually meeting, I'd be so quick to make fun of the sloppy chunkster in his prismatic Speedo that you wouldn't even have the opportunity to find something endearing about me. I know how that must upset you, seeing as you harbor such affection for people.

Kumbaya, Boring, Kumbaya.

Don't be hard on yourself, Dave, I'm pretty confident I'd like you.

-Smack doesn't exist for your sake. It doesn't exist for mine, either. Nor does it exist for brevity's sake, or verbosity's, or the 18 year old ripper's next door who you'd love to fertilize, but who you fear would mock you for being so many years older and not having the first clue of how to operate her equipment. Smack exists for smack's sake. You're strutting around in the mucus green suit that mama got off the $19.99 rack at Syms for your high school debate club conventions. Here comes the enlightenment:
This isn't a debate, Boring. This is you verbally getting your ass tanned and flopping around like an epileptic in grand mal as you desperately try to birth something even marginally competitive or entertaining. There's no absence of points. Just an absence of your ability to keep up. But don't feel bad. There are levels in life for a reason.

Thank you for this really long but direct admission that you aren't making any points, just spewing out amusing but pointless crap.

-What do all of the above have in common? They all attempt to lob insult. And, for a gold star, can you tell me what insult is often referred to in the context of what you're trying to accomplish? Very good, Snoring! 'Smack' is the correct answer.

We already went through the difference between the contrived insults and just being critical of someone. To be honest, I'm getting a little embarassed [sic] to still be involved in this myself, and not because of your zany theatrics. Online pissing contests are not something I take a lot of pride in, and I'd probably be a little embarassed [sic] to have my friends and family read this. If you're as old as I suspect you are, I can't imagine how you'd feel. So adios, buckaroo!

It looks like this whole topic has run its course, and probably did a good while back. [The post itself was almost two years ago.] I let it go too long as it was, but it did get rather entertaining toward the end. And with that, comments on this entry now are closed.