text: Surviving Snowquester - The Washington Post
  Surviving Snowquester
  This is the expression we all have when confronted with this snow. (Ilya Naymushin/Reuters)
  The Snowquester is upon us!
  Chicken Little had nothing on this crowd. Just in case you're not sure in which order to panic, fear not! The Compost has you covered.
  1) Stock up on supplies. Do you have socks? Do you have bottled water? You should go get more bottled water. There is no sense eating into your supplies of Nuclear Apocalypse Bottled Water or Government Shutdown Bottled Water or Furlough Water. Get separate Snowquester Water.
  2) Arm yourself heavily for any trips to Costco. If you aren't prepared to gently shank an elder woman in order to beat her to the Dasanis, why are you going shopping today at all? Affix razor blades to your shopping cart like that guy in "Ben-Hur."
  3) Prep the story you will tell your grandchildren about the Snowquester of 2013.
  4) Decide whether or not you want to conceive a child, and stock up accordingly.
  Pros: Fun way to pass the time, child might later be subject of a feature article on Snowquester Babies.
  Cons: College tuition, child might later be subject of a feature article on Snowquester Babies.
  5) Panic. Eat the cat.
  6) Decide whom you'd like to spend the Snowquester with.
  Pros: Surrounding yourself with friends means you can avoid the awkwardness of drinking by yourself.
  Cons: Friends will want to drink some of it.
  Other cons: Might devolve into Donner Party-like scenario if Snowquester is anywhere near as bad as predicted. Try to invite slow-moving, grass-fed friends.
  7) Telephone your boss to explain, "Like Marissa Mayer of Yahoo, I believe that it is irresponsible to work from anywhere but the office, where we can forge meaningful synergies, and therefore my only option in the face of tomorrow's dangerous precipitation is to shelter in place and accomplish nothing."
  8) Decide what item you want to realize, mid-storm, that you have forgotten to stock up on and badly need, forcing you to wade out into three feet of deep powder. Ideally, it should be something like toilet paper.
  9) Panic continuously for eighteen hours as a thin rain drizzles past your window.
  10) Repeatedly type "All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy" until you have covered numerous sheets of paper and unnerved your Snowquester buddies. ("Why do you have a typewriter, you weird hipster?")
  11) Blame President Obama for the Snowquester, saying that back in August he said something about how "a little chill would feel pretty good right about now." Alternatively, blame Congress. It is never a bad idea to blame Congress, although they are such an easy target — the Kim Kardashian of political discourse, really — that it feels nearly unfair.
  12) Panic again. Eat someone else's cat. Go lurching out into the snow to purchase more bottled water. Discover that every store where you usually shop is still open and the people who have Actual Jobs seem unperturbed by the weather conditions. Feel a little sheepish, but only a little.