ArcaMax

Storm riders, it's time to begin all rituals that induce good fortune. Knock on wood, harness the energy of the moon and wear the same socks each time a red cyclone appears on a radar.

Those of us in the crosshairs of hurricanes pray to be spared every year, of course. But in 2025, hurricane season takes on a decisive aura of finger-crossing. The official clock for storm activity starts June 1. Federal meteorologists predict an above-average Atlantic season with up to 19 named storms and as many as five major hurricanes. This prediction is calmer than last year's -- BLESSED BE -- but as forecasters like to say, it only takes one.

Don't we know it. Many parts of the country are just now bouncing back from Helene and Milton's damages, with drywall still missing, permits recently granted, and displaced homeowners still displaced. Visit Florida's beaches to witness the region's tenuous hold on normalcy, the ripped-out trees, the slanted sun decks and the washed-away dunes.

Meanwhile, President Donald Trump supports shrinking or killing the Federal Emergency Management Agency, whose actual slogan is, "When disaster strikes, we're here to help." The already beleaguered FEMA has lost thousands of employees amid this administration's steamrolling. The Department of Government Efficiency, led by Elon Musk, cut hundreds of workers from the National Weather Service, people tasked with collecting data and warning folks when dangerous weather is afoot.

The acting administrator of FEMA was fired after testifying to Congress that getting rid of FEMA is a bad idea. The new acting administrator issued a memo rescinding FEMA's strategic plan less than two weeks before the start of hurricane season, saying that priorities and goals would be coming for 2026-2030. One official told CBS News that, without a plan, "there are just a bunch of offices doing whatever they feel like doing."

Cool! There's more, but you get the gist. Hurricane season 2025 and any related mayhem is left up to the hard-working remaining scientists and disaster professionals trying to patch the chaos like a moth-eaten quilt. And, well, vibes.

In that spirit, let's take a look at the Atlantic hurricane names, shall we? In the absence of experts, that seems like the strongest data to go on as we wade through the death grips of climate change in glorious denial. The following ranking of danger is akin to a fantasy football team assembled on the merits of pant color and mascot likability.

Andrea, Barry, Chantal: They are the early arrivals to the party. They say they have to get home to feed their cats, but really, they are extreme introverts drained by prolonged eye contact.

Dexter: Con, he's a noted serial killer. Why did anyone choose this name for a storm? Honestly, guys. Pros: he's a lovable serial killer with a heart of gold, so all good people could be in the clear.

Erin and Fernand: Suspicious! I will not give reasons!

Gabrielle, Humberto, Imelda, Jerry: We are entering danger territory with these guys, particularly the "H" and "I" names, as history shows. Then there's Jerry, who wants you to think he's a nice guy with nice polo shirts and a nice crossover SUV, but he's secretly got photos of women with the eyes cut out in a locked box in his garage.

Karen: No, you may not speak to the manager. The manager has been fired in lieu of forming a strategic safety plan.

Lorenzo, Melissa, Nestor, Olga, Pablo: They're huddled together, whispering something about performing a choreographed dance to the collected works of Jimmy Buffett. Be alert.

Rebekah and Sebastien: Unconventional spellings make them a lesser threat. This is science; be brave enough to do your own research for once.

Tanya and Van: Listen, we had to invite Tanya and Van because their kids are friends with our kids. But honestly, they're weird. Tanya has now twice invited us to join the downline of her wind shear business, and Van just kind of stares off into the middle distance until Tanya snaps at him to take her photo looking natural over the Bay of Campeche. Get them out of here.

Wendy: She wouldn't dare. Not our Wendy.

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Stephanie Hayes is a columnist at the Tampa Bay Times in Florida. Follow her at @stephhayes on X or @stephrhayes on Instagram.

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Copyright 2025 Creators Syndicate Inc.