The skys were angry that day, my friend.  Like an old man returning soup at a deli.  The rain fell hard and wet, wet like water.  And as the water began to rush down the streets, I muttered a small prayer of thanks to Saint Melvin, patron saint of sealed homes, for I was dry.  Dry and safe. 

...or so I thought.

But perhaps I should tell you a bit about myself.  Born to sharecroppers in the late 1900's, I came to Atlanta seeking both fame and fortune (although I made a deal to myself that if I could only have one, I would choose fortune).  Early on I discovered that I had a unique talent for the harmonica, a talent my father found quite frivilous.  It's not so frivilous now, IS IT DAD?  It was the harmonica that brought me my fame and fortune and the home that I have now.  The home that kept me dry...for awhile.

And so I sat by the window and watched.  I watched the water roll down the streets, the levels rising like a pheonix from the ashes, only less wet.  And not on fire because it's water, and water never burns.  And I continued to watch and the water levels continued to rise, washing away the grime of the gritty southern streets (my favorite recipe for grits: here).  My eyes darted around my home as I surveyed my house's foundation, assuring myself that it was sound.  The water couldn't touch me.  I looked back out to the rivers of rainwater, watch the homeless flailed helplessly as the current of the floodwaters swept them down the street towards the Gulf where they would eventually go out to sea.  So long and good ridance!  Say hi to Castro!  Get a job!  That's why I had a house, to avoid the Gulf.  That and I needed a place to hold my three couches, two chairs, and 17 mirrors.  Did I mention that I have a phone in my bathroom?  I do.

But the water levels still rose.  Higher and higher they climbed, until the waves lapped at my doorstep.  I stuffed a towel under the door.  The sky may fall, but I shall absorb you!  The elements can not defeat me!  I am a GOD!

...and the rains continued.  And the water levels rose.  

My home.

My sanctuary.

Soggy.

I had no choice but to take to the stairs and climb towards the heavens.  Closer to the rain, farther from the current. But as I rose, so rose the water.  I looked out the window at the carnage.  Corpses bobbed in the water, bloated, blue.  A muskrat paddled by, a small fish in his mouth.  A tear formed in the corner of my eye as the memories rose up from deep within.  It was September 24th, 1986.  The fish was a goldfish.  The fish was more than a pet, he was a friend.  My best friend.  But as much as I loved his golden gills and handsome fins, he did not share a love of life.  It was on that day that he swam headlong into the filter, and out of my life.  

But I digress, and the time for digression has passed as the water was now forcing me to the roof.  I scrambled up the attic stairs and hoisted myself up onto the roof, just ahead of the tide.  Real estate was becoming scarce and, were the rains to continue much longer, I was going to be one sad Southerner.  And to make matter worse, something must have been in the water as the corpses were beginning to re-animate.  This was turning into a long day.

A word began to rise up from the water.  A low hum grew to a frightfully recognizable cry:

"BRAAAAAAAAINS"

Hands grasped the edge of the roof, hauling their attached bodies up onto the house.  From all sides they began to surround me, slowly closing in.  The only question at this point: who would get me first, the water or the monsters?  I closed my eyes, resigned to my fate.  And as their teeth sunk into my scalp, clearing a path to the treat contained within, a thought flashed through my head...

I guess this means the Cubs and Braves will have to play a double header tomorrow.