I Plan Ahead for Hurricane Lulu

If a hurricane heads for my luxury villa, I will tack plywood over my windows, certainly. But I will never spray the plywood with flippant notes addressed to the hurricane - because eventually I will have to return to my plowed villa, and the last thing I will want to face is my own pathetic wet plywood notes; all my precious, womanly crap in shambles, and there, looming above it all, is MY stupid note that says "HEY LULU (for that is my hurricane's name), UP YOURS" or "LULU STINKS," or "BRING IT ON, LULU," or "I'LL BE BACK, BITCH." The very idea of hurricanes and the plywood notes they provoke is enough to keep me living in my inland igloo for the remainder of my life. My long and healthy life.

Maybe I would spray "SURE HOPE THIS PRESSED BOARD PROTECTS MY ULTRA AWESOME AIWA SOUND SYSTEM" or "SOMEBODY CLEAN THIS SHIT UP!" or "DID SOMEBODY LAY ONE, BECAUSE IT SURE SMELLS NASTY OUT HERE," or some equally romantic adage that would lift my spirits when I return to survey the damage and retrieve my participation trophies.