I give you Kevin Robinson, or as I call him, Weather Boo. I mean, look at him:
Irresistible. Homegirl Kristina’s been there for years, but her bleached blondeness just can’t compete when they’re onscreen together. Move over, bacon! There’s something leaner!
That’s right – top billing, bitch. Suck it, Abernathy.
Ooooh, Merle, someone's looking Haggard!
But seriously, I don’t think there’s any animosity there. My Weather Boo is just too laid back and fun for all that mess. In fact, I’m sure he and Kristina are, like, best buds and shit. Check out the barely repressed giggle fit these two are having! It’s like trying to keep a straight face during a group meeting when your boss has a big booger dancing in and out his nostril with each breath (which totally did NOT happen this morning, swear):
“Unusual storm systems” are hiLARious! You just know they’re going to the mall together after their shift.
Another reason Weather Boo is the new awesomeness is his commitment to keeping it real, so far as to retain made-up words such as “orientate”:
I’m sure if I ever end up in south Texas, I’ll definitely need “orientation” to get the fuck back out of there. Wait – let’s stop all this typing for a Kevin smile break.
Ahhh…my Tropical Update? Hot and wet. Now, while I got a little Gaydar tingle from Mr. Robinson, nothing he was saying or doing was moving the needle in any significant direction towards the CONFIRMED section of the meter. That is, until the dynamic duo returned from a spot break and Kevin let a tiny bit of his inner sass slip:
Hmm…taking delight in the misfortune of others? Check. Sarcastic “nah ah”? Check. We have a wiener. And wait - let's look at that last pic once more:
And I swear, it’ll seem like I made this up, but just as I was capturing all these clips and images, guess who must have sensed the shift in the Weather Channel Ultimate Stud barometer, but you know who, his head suddenly popping up from a snowdrift, live from Buffalo of all places, in an attempt to reclaim his throne –
Um, not so much.
Yikes. It’s over, Jim. There’s only room for one bald weather hottie up in here, and you ain’t it anymore. Sorry. But hey – you had a good run. What was it? Ten years? Fifteen? That ain’t bad. Pull up a stool at your favorite local piano bar, splurge on a hot, young hustler and enjoy retirement! I mean, as a weather man you should know that for every season, turn, turn, turn.
Speaking of which, Kevin, turn over. ‘Preciate it.