I tried to come up with a novel subject to rant about this week, but February is the month where the misery of winter overwhelms my mind and I can’t think of anything but how much I hate it. March is just as bad. Because March has the official start of spring, I reliably fool myself into thinking it’s gonna be a little better than February, but no, it’s always similarly freezing and oppressive.

People bitch about summer, and it certainly has its downsides. If you’re someone who sweats like Gary Williams, as I am, you have to plan around that, lest you be forced to tromp around soaked through and creeping everyone out. There’s the proliferation of insects. Crime rates rise. And if you can fall sleep easily in the heat, I assume you must be some sort of cyborg that can power down at will.

That said, I would take 10 months straight of the worst stretch of summer before going through winter. It’s not that I can’t deal with cold weather. It’s that it overstays its welcome and my threshold of cold cannot budget for it. That doesn’t mean I hate cold. Fall is a perfectly pleasant season – perhaps the best. And it gets cold by the end of fall. And that’s fine. The holiday season is nice with cold weather. The problem, once the New Year passes, I’m already set for it to be warm again. And winter has barely started at point.

Apparently, it’s possible to get Seasonal Affective Disorder in warm months. I steadfastly refuse to believe that happens and those who claim it are chemically imbalanced, naturally downtrodden sad sacks. That’s lazy, perhaps dangerous, thinking, but I firmly cling to it. If you prefer the winter to the rest of the year, I consider you a deviant on par with James Holmes and I don’t want to know you.

Since I anticipate “how come you fault Peter King for complaining about a cold-weather Super Bowl then gripe about winter?” comments, allow me to preemptively respond with two points: 1.) Fuck you 2.) A cold-weather Super Bowl is great because football in wintry conditions is great. And I could withstand four hours of being cold for the sake of attending a goddamn Super Bowl. After all, football is the only thing winter has going for it, but once football ends, winter is only half over.

Football abandons us, but the days are still short, frigid and desolate. There might be snow on the ground that makes people drive like dipshits. Everyone looks like ass because they’re fat from sitting inside all day, eating the cold stress away. When they do go out, they have to dress ugly because the cold destroys your will to do anything but keep warm.

I hate winter so much I wish there actually were a personification of it like Jack Frost just so I can flamethrower him in his crooked icicle dick. Fuck off, winter. This next month can’t get over fast enough.