You have a thick neck and poorly defined calf muscles and you live in South Dakota with your feckless partner and your five expressionless children. You are an owl. Your days consist of lengthy stretches of nothing, punctuated by sudden bursts of unimaginable terror. Coyotes, badgers and snakes are all bent on reducing your beak to marmalade.
But it’s the weather that poses the biggest threat. Specifically, shouts Force of Nature, it’s the “MONSTER STORMS” that rumble ominously across the prairies, each of which forces you and your family to scurry into your burrow, whereupon you will stand with your trembling backs to the wall, legs wide apart and fluffy britches a-flap, like anxious viscounts in the court of Charles II. Will you survive? Or will you be eviscerated by the “cluster bombs of tornadoes” that churn with increasing frequency through the midwest?
