Hurricane Isidore, the most dreaded, yet over-hyped occurrence in Baton Rouge and New Orleans last week, hopes to clear the air about what exactly transpired a few days ago and why she behaved in such a violent manner.

    Momentarily satisfied and settled somewhere in the Appalachian Mountains, Isidore told Studio 8 reporters that she now feels ready to inform the world of the coldness and isolation that so quickly built up inside of her, eventually causing her to lash out at various islands and North America’s southeastern coast with such unabashed ferocity and destruction.

    “I was in a funk. I guess you could call it a sort of tropical depression,” Isidore sighed, uprooting a small cluster of pine saplings. “The middle of the Gulf of Mexico is not a fun place to live. Boring, desolate, and dirty. I had to get out and see something new.”

    Isidore claims that, like most of the earth’s natural disasters, she is grossly misunderstood by the throngs of humans she terrorizes from time to time.

	Above: A picture of the now washed-up Isidore in her early days, before the fame and glory, as a hardly-known tropical storm.

    “Nobody even tries to get to know me. They just run away in fear,” Isidore whined, causing a pond to overflow. “For instance, I am quite fond of burritos. Did you know that? Does anybody know that? I’m not surprised. Nobody cares enough to ask what I like or don’t like. I happen to hate the state of Alabama. Surprised? Well, I wanted to destroy it last week, but I miscalculated and ended up mostly in Louisiana and Mississippi.”

    Thousands of homes, vehicles, and ill-equipped pets were lost as Isidore tore her way through the coast in the middle of the night. Cleaning up Isidore’s tantrum has cost millions of dollars and thousands of man-hours, with many more of both to follow. Yet, Isidore says statistics like these merely serve to cloud the real problem at hand.

    Tossing a few small bales of hay into the air, Isidore said, “Here’s a good example of the disrespect I have to live with. People are always talking about my eye, the eye of the hurricane. They call it ‘calm’ and ‘peaceful.’ Well, how about ‘beautiful’ or at least ‘pretty?’ Is that too much for a gal to ask? I guess it is.”

    Ever-so-cautiously, a brave S8 reporter reminded Isidore that over a hundred innocent people perished as a direct result of her irate activities in Louisiana last Thursday.

    “Oh, I bet you think I’m totally heartless,” she responded, a chunk of turf disappearing into the sky. “Well, there was a time after I had just devastated some small islands near Cuba when I thought maybe I should stop and turn around. You know, I wasn’t feeling very fruitful at that point.”

    However, Isidore says she quickly changed her mind when she witnessed some televised news footage of Louisiana residents boarding up their houses and piling sandbags in preparation for the powerful winds and flooding to come.

	TOP: A thriving elderly community in Arkansas before Hurricane Andrew blew through town in 1992. BOTTOM: The horrible aftermath. Actually, Andrew only knocked down one tree. The rest was later demolished to make room for a new Weiner’s discount clothing store.

    “The temptation was too much for me,” Isidore admitted. “Those pretentious little humans thinking they could stop me with some tape and bags of dirt. I know some earthquakes who wait for years and years until some architect announces that he’s made an earthquake-proof building. They crumble that building to the ground, have a good laugh in a pub somewhere, and wait for the next little pompous human to open its mouth. It’s a crappy way to live, but we can’t do much else than that.”

    When interviewed, other natural disasters mentioned that they miss the days before weathermen and meteorology came along, a time when humans worshipped the forces of nature that they didn’t quite comprehend. While the sacrifices and gifts offered up by humans of long ago were silly and essentially useless to the volcanoes, avalanches, and tsunamis, they somewhat appeased them nonetheless.

    Isidore says that the humans of today are far less superstitious, and they shall pay dearly for it. Until mankind learns its lesson, Isidore vows that she and her associates will continue to strike out whenever they desire.

    “Before I go, I’ve got one last question,” Isidore said as the interview wrapped up and the sun broke through the dark clouds. “Not to sound petty, but whose bright idea was it to name me Isidore? I’d like to find that meteorologist, rip the roof off his laboratory, put him in a little whirlwind mosh pit with some heavy furniture, and then send him flying at 125 MPH toward a cactus farm in Arizona! I mean that, too. I’m really pissed.”

    Isidore then flew off and directed her winds at a log cabin, but she was too worn-out to do much more damage than shattering a few of its windows.