2025 Ostrich Yearly Forecast

So I asked our weatherman to read the forecast for 2025. He agreed, and went to his scrying room. When he came out, I asked him to start with the good news.

"Good news?" he said. "What am I, an obstetrician?"

"Alright," I said, "just give me the forecast."

"Did you see the Pop-Tarts Bowl?" he asked me.

"You have a bowl just for Pop-Tarts?" I said. "A bowl?"

He shook his head, told me to shut up, and pulled out his phone to show me highlights of a football game between Iowa State and the University of Miami. Thus I came to learn that, in real life, there exists a televised event where two teams of elite young athletes give their all in competition for the Pop-Tarts Trophy (which has, for real, a working toaster built into it.)

"I didn't think you were a football fan," I said.

"I'm not," said he, "but when you pit the Cyclones against the Hurricanes, you get a weatherman's attention."

"And this relates to the forecast how?"

"Keep watching," he said.

He skipped forward past the final whistle (Cyclones by 1), past the post-game interviews, to the trophy ceremony, whereupon a human Pop-Tart, cinnamon flavor, was raised to the slot of a massive toaster, a sacrifice to the victor. A fanfare played and the tray began to drop. As the pastry/man descended to his fiery end, brimstone light glowing orange from below, he held up a sign that read Follow Your Dreams. Clutching this, he was subsumed.

"There's your forecast," said the weatherman.

"My god," I said. "That's grim."

"Could be wrong," he said with a shrug. "The long-range outlook is always a crap shoot."

"What should we do?" I asked him, as he zipped his jacket and laced his boots.

"Read the sign," he told me. "Follow your dreams."