And now, here's the weather. Over to you, Dave.

Thanks, Bob. Well, it's just crappy out there. No other word for it. 100% chance of white excretion all over the ground, turning into black ice overnight. Now there's a euphemism for you: black ice.

Coming down, it wasn't dramatic at all--kind of a slushy, snow--that amorphous precipitation the just-too-perky weather lass (sorry Brandi) calls "wintery mix." It's like a Planters Low Sodium variety pack of crappy weather.

Anyone with two neurons to rub together for warmth would have stayed in bed, so of course I went driving around. I plead insanity, though, because my kid was just driving me crazy. I'd have crossed the Yukon just to get her out of the house for a while. Took her to a friend's house. Had never been there, but discovered the subdivision is one hill after another. Managed to navigate through the freezing slush to the last one before the house, which has a sign that says "mountain goats only". Decided she could walk the rest of the way.

So of course, rather than a relaxing kid-free afternoon, I fretted for four hours about how much worse it would be after the icy talons of sub-zero temps began working on the roads. Sure enough, my driveway was an inch of ice solid by 5:00. I told her to start walking my direction. She says, well I fell in a creek and my shoes are all wet. I tell her start walking unless she wants to spend the next week there. So I drove to the neighborhood, made it around one scary hilly curve, and wasn't sure I'd make it back up the hill I'd just come down. Said @$^$ and parked next to a happy group who were about the pile in their car--they must like snow, because they're yipping it up. I on the other hand walk a quarter of a mile, stumbling, cursing--no where to put your feet except the virgin snow on lawns. Everything else solid ice. Even the slush had frozen hard into little mountains on the road. They look soft, but were like rocks exploding under tires as SUVs ate them up. Finally met the kid and her two friends, and we crunched, slid, and yelped back to the car. The Happy People had almost all gotten into their little station wagon--six or seven of them. I figure they'll have no problems with all that weight. I wait because they're in front of me. He stomps the gas, and slick tires just spin and slide sideways. Toward me. He has front-wheel drive, too, so I'm thinking we may just spend the night here. He backs up and tries again. Now he's even with me, still spinning out, trying to get up the hill. I just put it in gear and give the tiniest bit of gas and roll straight up the hill. He's still going backwards when I round the corner.

I get tailgated all the way home because it's rush hour. Did people work today??? There's only one usable lane on the main roads, but people try to pass anyway. I think up new variations on the phrase "flaming idiot" and wonder if I have my insurance card in my wallet.

I think we have this switch in our brains where we pretend to be civilized. We play along--role-playing--most of the time, but the first excuse to devolve back to selfish survival mode is all that's needed for the whole thing to collapse. You can tell a lot about someone by how they drive on ice. Hey, look, the light is turning yellow--should I accelerate down this icy hill to try to beat it?

Next on WKUS: Is Obama a Space Alien? Over to you Tom, for politics.