Out here in "Tornado Alley" our city wide alarm, siren, klaxxon, horn, signal, blast, warning whistle, reason-to-panic-and-kiss-your-wife-goodbye, is tested at noon on Fridays. Figure that we've officially entered tornado season.
I do recall reading a small blurb about it in our local newspaper last week.
Good thing, because when that sucker went off at noon, even though the sky was blue, the wind was gentle, and the clouds were white and puffy, this LA boy had a brief "stranger-in-a-strange-land" attack as the theme song from "The Wizard of Oz" cued up in my sub-conscious iPod play list.
Flying monkeys are whacked. But the thought of old Miss Gulch/Wicked Witch of the East flying through the air on her bicycle still gives me the heebie-jeebies.
One has to wonder if the man who was married to that actress (Margaret Hamilton) ever had good sex with her again, after she played that role.
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Where I live, they do this, too. Every week of my life. Yet I found myself jumping about three feet in the restuarant the other day when they went off. I thought we were being invaded. I felt really stupid after realizing it was the same tornado siren test I've heard for over 30 years now.
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