Here in the South, this time of year is the season that singlehandedly kills more people than any other, and not just because we get drunk and fall out of our tree stands while deer hunting. According to everyone, the wild fluctuations in weather are responsible for literally all illness. Forget that guy who discovered the germ theory of disease, no. All sickness is caused by the fact that it might be 78 degrees one day and 27 degrees the next, meaning that we in Alabama never know how to dress for the weather. I’m sure it makes sense to someone.

The real problem with the crazy shifts in temperature is that I have been unable to decorate for Christmas this year. I’m not going to stand outside in shorts and a T-shirt and string Christmas lights or hang wreaths from every window. You might already think, “Hell, 80 degrees would be perfect for having to spend three hours in my front yard doing something pointless,” but no. You’re wrong. It’s the festivity issue at stake.

This weather thing is not new. It’s a phenomenon that has been killing azaleas and confusing farm animals for hundreds of years now. But thanks to Al Gore and his movie that I had to sit through, now I know that it’s not just something natural that happens in cycles with the constant warming and cooling of the Earth. Now I know it’s my fault. And your fault. Mostly your fault.

How am I supposed to slather on sunscreen and selfishly stand in my front yard basking in the glow of a sun that is now killing polar bears as we speak, just to toss some Walmart inflatable yard art around my property? It just feels wrong. That’s why I have not flung a single decoration at this point. It’s entirely your fault, Gore, and not at all due to my laziness. I hope you can live with yourself.