Chapter 1: The Daily Routine of Meteorologists

Each morning, just like any other, Meteorologist Paul Stanley, 61, began his day in his Oklahoma hometown with a familiar ache in his right hip. He shuffled to his front porch, stuck out his finger to gauge the wind, and mumbled, “Feels like rain,” before reporting it to the station.

Meanwhile, 42-year-old Cheryl Sandman in South Carolina opened her dusty curtains, observing that crows were flying low. “If crows fly low, winds are going to blow,” she recalled from her meteorology education and shared that with her office.

In Texas, 25-year-old Jose Hernandez calculated the temperature by counting cricket chirps, determining it to be 75 degrees without needing an actual thermometer—because who needs precision when meteorology math can be more entertaining? He also reported his findings to the office.

Together, these three joined a network of 4,470 meteorologists who, astonishingly, mispredict the weather up to 50% of the time daily.

How could they be so often off the mark?

“It’s simple,” Stanley explained with a grin. “We just make it up as we go. Fifty percent of the time, it works every time,” he joked.

On March 1, 2024, after a staggering 120 days of erroneous forecasts, Stanley declared a revelation he called cLIEmatology. The community backlash was palpable: birthday parties canceled, hairstyles ruined, and a local all-girls Catholic school’s TikTok video about a rain-soaked event went viral.

“Even our four-year-old daughter Masie predicted rain for her birthday, but Stanley assured us it would be clear. We didn’t cancel her outdoor trampoline party, and it turned into a torrential downpour, ruining everything,” lamented local skeptic Janine Jenkins.

Stanley quickly became the town’s most disliked weatherman.

During a video chat from an undisclosed location where he was hiding, he quipped, “There’s a 0% chance of rain down here,” while laughing at the absurdity of it all.

Stanley obtained his meteorology degree online in 2021, part of a growing trend across the country.

“It was a breeze! We just walked around with notepads, observed the sky, and analyzed the surroundings. I realized I could either mimic other forecasts or flip a coin—none of it really mattered,” he shared.

Eventually, he gave up entirely. “Most of my college days were spent drinking Mike’s Hard Lemonades outside Walmart with friends.”

Nonetheless, he graduated at the top of his online class with a Bachelor’s in Meteorology.

“I couldn’t keep this up any longer,” Stanley admitted. “CLIEmatology is just nonsense. I was tired of being blamed for ruining special events. People would hit me with their umbrellas or yank me with their scarves in the heat.”

He became the Most Hated Man in Broken Bow, with townsfolk hurling insults at him.

“Mess it up again and you’re done for, Stanley!” they would shout.

“Forecaster? More like Ignorecaster, right?”

In a twist, Stanley enlisted his 13-year-old granddaughter Trisha to help him broadcast a live confession about how meteorology holds as much scientific value as astrology and other non-scientific practices. Although this claim sparked some controversy, he stood firm, stating that his dust mite allergy didn’t simply vanish as he claimed.

The hashtag #cLIEmatology quickly gained traction on TikTok, X, IG, and Facebook. The video amassed over 10 million views within half an hour, catapulting Trisha to influencer status as she began receiving messages from whistleblowers worldwide.

Climate change skeptics also seized on Stanley’s admission, using it to argue that rising global temperatures are mere guesses from "monkeys with online diplomas."

In the weeks after his confession, more meteorologists stepped forward, praising Stanley for his bravery in challenging what they termed the pseudoscience of Big Meteorology, which includes unattainable prize schemes like Weather BINGO—none have ever won.

When asked about being called a hero, Stanley nearly choked on his sunflower seeds. “I’m no hero,” he insisted. “I’m just trying to shed light on a gloomy world and ease the pressure on meteorologists.”

Ironically, as he said this, the storm cleared, the sun shone, and temperatures dropped.

Stanley had accurately predicted the weather for the first time.

Special thanks to editor Carol Lennox for embracing this unusual narrative.

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