Poor Jim Cantore. He must have no clue where to go. I feel for him. Really.
Seriously, though. You know you're fucked when Jim Cantore and The Weather Channel crew come to town. Chewing tobacco breath on the back of your neck, lube free, no dinner bought first, no kissing or snuggles afterwards bent-over red-neck lovin' cornholed. That is the fucking you're going get when Jim Cantore comes into town.
It's sad that such a nice guy and such a HAWT guy is essentially one of the Four Riders of the Apocolypse