the world meteorological organization vs. tina turner

Don’t glare at us that way, Ike! We’re not happy about it either.

First, disclosure—sweet, self-justifying disclosure: much of the National Evil’s family hails from an area that sees a lot of hurricane traffic. One aunt and uncle’s house was completely submerged by Hugo in ’89. So the Evil knows from hurricanes, in a sense both vicarious and intensely personal.

Now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, we can move on to a question that has been eating at the Evil: Why in the hell would anyone—and by anyone, we mean the World Meteorological Organization, keeper of the fabled Alphabetical List of Hurricane Names, Excluding Q, U, and Z—name a hurricane Ike?

Look: progress was most certainly made in 1979, when the list of names was expanded beyond those of the female persuasion. (Evil learned that thanks to this website: that’s right, it’s FEMA for Kids! Check out the festive font in which “Hurricanes” is rendered.)  A blow against sexism, indeed! . . . So now we have Hugos, Andrews, Gustavs, et al. do-si-doing across the Atlantic with your Camilles and Katrinas. But another blow needs to be struck, apparently—one in favor of common sense.

We are talking about a weather system that bludgeons delicate beaches, that pummels rooftops, that slaps around cars and boats . . . in short, that brutalizes all it touches. And now the WMO has slapped onto this monster storm a name synonymous with bludgeoning, pummeling, slapping around—in short, brutalizing—Tina Turner. WTFuck?!

(Ahem: this weekend, while watching your Georgia Bulldogs obliterate Central Michigan, Evil heard a young woman cry “What the F?!” As that little tramp has thrown the English language off balance with her refusal to finish the phrase, Evil sees no choice but to counter in kind with his own epithet, “WTFuck?!”)

Think of it: every time Tina Turner flips on the telly to watch a report on how Ike is manhandling a mobile home, or hears from a friend that Ike just beat the living shit out of, who knows? Galveston?—how could a shudder of repressed terror not run up her spine? And why, why, why would the WMO do this to poor Tina? Did she reject a pass at the WMO’s chairman back in the 70s? Is his wife jealous of her still-great gams? Why this has been allowed to occur—an international body directing a personal strike against one woman’s fragile psyche—Evil can’t fathom, but he will respond with his new favorite catchphrase:

Alas, another moron.

Let’s have some common sense, people, hmm?—and eliminate from the List all those names indelibly linked to a famously abusive, crazed, or murderous person. No more Hurricane Ikes! Nor Hurrican OJs, nor Hurricane Phil Spectors!

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