HELLO TO THEE, fair reader of Everything as Fuck. It's a time of the year for rebirth. Mother nature's wet barf slurry of decaying leaves and miscellaneous nature gravy are swept into the rivers and replaced instead with intrepid buds and grass renaissances and trees returning from the dead like old singin', dancin' razzle-dazzlin' Christ Jesus himself. Fucking right, dearest reader, spring is upon us.
It's time to trade in all that dumb-ass winter wool for less wool and then, eventually, hopefully, no wool. The sun is reaching out with golden fingers, and it's time for you to entwine them with flesh that hasn't known real-deal wilderness air since your whole crew was strategizing Halloween costumes and black-out drinking scenarios. For months, the sun has turned its back on you—oh, you fucking saw it, hanging up in the sky like a sterile chrome Christmas ball on some boring bullshit family's too-perfect tree (I BET THEY DON'T EVEN GET DRUNK AND SCREAM-SING CAROLS)—it just didn't look back. It was chilling up there in the sky, ignoring you like an animal at the zoo, maintaining its nobility and distance no matter how many times you yell, "HEY, HIPPO. HEY. HEY. HEY. HEY, HIPPO. LOOK AT ME. HEY, HIPPO. LOOK AT ME, HIPPO." Now the sun has turned its attention to you and your shoulders and arms and legs, covering you in delicious hippo kisses.
Maybe you smoke cigarettes (though I can't condone that—I care about you), but now you don't have to huddle around other smokers for warmth when you momentarily take leave of your friends and your good times. Withering were the days when each midnight bar you passed was fronted by a monastic collective, smoke and steaming breath billowing out from underneath American Apparel hoodie cowls.
Spring means it won't be as fun to eat soup and that sucks.
However... barbecues and outdoor meals consumed near bodies of water, family! Crisp, cold apples and squeezing lemons into things and motherfucking corn! Wouldn't you gladly take those over the golden glow of wintertime soups? Plus, you can still eat soup—just crank up your air conditioner or engage in conversation with someone who works at one of those stores in the Pearl that only sells wicker. That'll cool you off enough to enjoy soup.
Flowers are blooming and unfolding, and so is the city. The days are getting longer and the possibilities are growing and maybe you'll get to meet some beautiful woman with golden hair that reminds you of fields of tall grass and a laugh that makes you feel like you just won every prize at the state fair and eyes so blue and cool that you could almost eat soup in front of them and maybe you'll get to take in some fireworks or jump in a lake with that woman. (OR DUDE. IT COULD BE A DUDE.) Who knows what will happen this year, beloved reader, but spring is sprung. @IanKarmel